The Citadel's days blurred together in a haze of brilliance and exhaustion.
John woke each morning before the sun crested Revenak's walls, his body sore, his thoughts heavy. But when he stepped into the training arena, the ache faded—replaced by fire.
Leto was already there every time.
Calm. Centered. Waiting.
John smirked. "You never sleep, do you?"
Leto's faint smile flickered. "Light doesn't need rest. It only needs purpose."
He gestured toward the center of the training ring. "Let's begin."
John knelt at the edge of the glowing circle. Beneath his hands, the floor pulsed faintly with energy—like a heartbeat. The faint hum of Light filled the air, responding to his breathing.
Leto's voice guided him, steady as stone.
"Close your eyes. The Light is not something you command. It is something you align with. Stop trying to force it to move through you. Let it see you first."
John inhaled slowly. The warmth inside his chest flared—then flailed, raw and unstable. Sparks of gold burned across his skin before fading.
"I can't make it stay steady," he muttered.
"You shouldn't," Leto replied. "You invite it, not chain it. The Light has will—it is drawn to balance. Be still, and it will come."
John exhaled again, slower this time. The fire within him quieted, no longer roaring. His heartbeat slowed. For a breath—a single perfect heartbeat—the Light flowed smoothly through him, glowing faintly from his palms.
It flickered, then died.
He could barely lift his arms. His Light pulsed wildly beneath his skin—too hot, too violent.
"I can't control it," he gritted. "Every time I reach for the Light, it—"
"Burns you?" Leto finished, voice calm, unreadable. "Good. It means it's alive."
"That's not helping," John snapped. Sweat rolled down his jaw. "It feels like trying to grab lightning."
Leto circled him slowly, spear balanced effortlessly in his hand. "And what did you expect, boy? That the Light would kneel? That it would obey you because you want it to?"
John's jaw tightened. "I thought if I pushed hard enough—"
"—you'd win by brute strength?" Leto cut him off with a sharp bark of laughter. "
John lowered his spear slightly. "Then tell me what to do."
For a moment, silence. Only the hum of the Light around them filled the air.
Then, Leto struck the ground with his spear.
A ring of pure radiance flared outward, circling them both.
"Sit," Leto ordered.
John obeyed, breath still ragged. Leto sat across from him, his expression softening just a fraction.
"The Light is not fire, though it burns. It is not power, though it gives strength. It is—" he gestured to his chest "—clarity. Purpose. The echo of creation itself. You cannot control it until you understand why you need it."
John frowned. "Why I need it?"
"Yes. You chase strength like a man running from weakness. But tell me, John…" Leto leaned forward slightly. "What will you do once you have it?"
The question hit harder than any blow.
John looked down at his hands—the same hands that had trembled when he first fought the human faced spider, the same hands that had failed to protect Tamara.
"I want to protect them," he said finally. "Tamara. Ember. The people who don't get second chances."
Leto studied him for a long time, then nodded once.
"That," he said, "is a beginning.
By midday, the cultivation ring had vanished. Leto replaced it with a wide sparring field, the air heavy with heat.
"You have talent in the spear but it's wild and untamed," Leto said, circling him. "You strike like a storm. Power without control destroys itself."
John gripped his spear, jaw tightening. "Control's easy to talk about when you're not fighting for your life."
Leto's response was a single motion.
In a blur, his own spear struck John's from below, sending it flying. Before John could blink, the Guardian's weapon rested against his throat.
"You always fight for your life," Leto said quietly. "That's the mistake. The battlefield is not about survival—it's about rhythm. Intention. Flow."
He stepped back and motioned for John to retrieve his weapon.
"Again."
They clashed again and again under the white sun.
Every time John lunged, Leto deflected. Every time he tried to overpower, Leto sidestepped. By the fiftieth strike, John's arms were trembling, his vision blurred.
Finally, Leto stopped and tapped the center of John's chest. "You fight here," he said, then tapped his temple. "But victory begins here."
He stepped back. "Listen to your Light when you strike. Don't let your fear guide it. Let your intent sharpen it."
Elsewhere in the Citadel, Tamara's lessons with Guardian Selara were a quiet storm. Selara's power flowed like an endless winter wind, sharp yet beautiful, her every motion carved from precision.
"Your Ice-born nature is not a weakness," Selara told her, palms glowing pale. "It is Light refracted. Cold that preserves instead of destroys."
Tamara exhaled slowly, summoning her frost into a delicate spiral. The Light shimmered through it like a prism. For the first time, it didn't fight her—it harmonized.
She smiled faintly. "I think I'm starting to understand."
Selara nodded. "Good. But understanding is only the beginning."
Blake, on the other hand, was having a less elegant experience.
Guardian Rin, his mentor, was ancient—skin weathered like cracked stone, eyes half-lidded as if eternally unimpressed. The first day, Blake had strutted into the sparring chamber with a grin and a swagger.
"So you're the guy I'm supposed to learn from? You sure you can keep up, old man?"
Rin had simply raised an eyebrow, then tapped his staff once on the floor. A faint purple haze filled the air.
Minutes later, Blake was on his knees, clutching his stomach and cursing.
"What the hell did you—ugh—do to me?"
"Lesson one," Rin said mildly. "Respect your elders."
That night, John returned to his quarters.
Ember was waiting, tail wagging faintly, small paws leaving glowing prints on the marble floor. The cub circled him once before curling up beside his feet as he sat down.
The alchemy book lay open on the table, runes shifting across the page. John traced them absentmindedly. Potions, elixirs, Light condensers—all beyond him for now. But each symbol whispered a promise: potential.
He glanced toward Ember, who had started softly glowing in rhythm with his breathing.
John smiled faintly. "You're doing it again, you know. Syncing with me."
The cub chirped once, then yawned. Its glow pulsed once more before dimming as it drifted to sleep.
John closed his eyes, letting the faint light seep into his chest. This time, the fire inside didn't rage. It simply burned—steady, warm, patient.
For the first time, he had direction on which way to move forward.
The weeks passed quickly.
Training consumed the days, meditation the nights. John's body changed—muscles taut, movements sharp, his spearwork flowing with rhythm instead of rage. Leto's teachings echoed through every strike. The Light and fire within him no longer warred; they pulsed as one heartbeat.
The next day.
The city was alive in a way he hadn't yet noticed—birds of light gliding between rooftops, faint hymns echoing from temples, and the hum of power flowing through the glass veins that fed the Citadel's core.
He rounded a corner—and stopped.
Tamara stood near the southern fountain, her black hair catching the light like strands of frost spun from dawn. Her gloves hung loose around her waist, and faint mist trailed from her fingertips even when she stood still. Ember padded at her feet, nose twitching, tail flicking.
John smiled before he could help it.
"Didn't expect to see you outside the ice chamber."
Tamara turned, smiling softly. "I could say the same. You look almost rested. Did Leto finally let you sleep?"
"Barely." He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. "Feels weird not waking up sore."
"Try being frozen half the day," she said, a playful glint in her eye. "Every time I think I'm getting stronger, Ser Alina decides I'm not cold enough."
John laughed. "Guess that makes us both victims of perfection."
Tamara tilted her head. "It's been a while since we actually talked."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I… missed us talking."
Her expression softened, and for a brief, fragile moment, the Citadel's hum faded. It was just the two of them and Ember, circling their boots, leaving faint trails of gold on the marble floor.
"Want to walk?" she asked finally.
"Yeah," he said. "I could use a reminder that the world isn't just training grounds and bruises."
"Actually…" John pulled the alchemy book from his bag. "I was going to pick up a few materials from the markets. Leto says I should start practicing alchemy between sessions. Something about learning patience."
Tamara's brow arched. "Alchemy? How much have you improved this passed month?"
He smirked. "What? You think I can't read instructions?"
"I think you'll blow something up," she said, grinning. "But sure—mind if I tag along? It's been a while since I saw the city outside the walls."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.
They started down the sunlit road together, Ember padding along between them. The streets ahead shimmered with life—the hum of merchants, the laughter of children, the glint of light off glass and crystal.