The afternoon after the theory lesson took them to the largest of the training rooms. The floor was a resilient carpet, the bare walls reinforced with steel. Master Rylan stood in the center, a stockpile of training weapons - swords, axes, spears, and dense wooden sticks - lined up behind him.
"The first rule," he thundered, "is that your blessing is not your life. It's a tool. A tool that can break, betray or be neutralized. Your body is your foundation. Today, we are forging this foundation. Without ether."
He made them try different weapons, observing their posture, their balance, their instincts. Hakime tried his hand at the sword, feeling heavy and clumsy. The axe was worse, a dead weight in his hands. Then he took a training spear.
Something clicked.
The wood was balanced, its length a natural extension of its arm. The basic moves that Rylan showed them - guarding, hitting in thrust, parry - seemed intuitive to him. The tip of the spear described precise circles in the air, a defensive and offensive dance. For the first time since his arrival, he was not struggling with an uncontrollable power; he was synchronizing with an instrument.
"Well, orphan," Rylan commented as he passed by him. "You feel for the distance. But you're too stiff. The spear is alive, not a stake."
Meanwhile, Arthur excelled at dodging and mobility, even with a short stick. Conor, of course, showed an affinity for the shield and the mass, weapons that capitalized on his brute force.
The second part of the day took them to a Control Room. It was a white, sterile cube, with no hope. The air was still, almost oppressive.
"Here, you won't learn how to use your power," Rylan announced. "You'll learn how to listen to it. Many of you, especially the high grades, treat it like a tap that is turned on wide. You're going to learn the flow."
He pointed to Hakime. "Show me your light. Not an explosion. A spark."
Hakime stepped into the center of the room. He closed his eyes, feeling the ocean of light within him. He tried to draw only a drop, as he had faced the Governor. But the power answered his call with frustrated greed. A blinding flash filled the room, so intense that several students screamed and hid their eyes. The light dissipated, leaving a stain on their vision and Hakime panting, frustrated.
"Too much," said Rylan, impassively. "You emptied 5% of your ether tank in a second. In combat, you would have died. Start again. Weaker."
Hakime gritted his teeth. It was like asking a giant to lift a needle without breaking it. He tried again. This time, an uncontrolled ray burst from his palm, hit the wall and dispersed into sparks.
"You are pushing," Rylan analyzed. "You are not guiding. Your light is part of you. You don't throw a projectile, you extend your will."
Meanwhile, other students were also struggling. Arthur created etheric impulses so weak that they barely raised dust. Conor managed to harden his skin, but only on his forearms, and his face was tense with effort. Lyra, in another group, showed tiny shards of glass that immediately broke, her forehead beaded with sweat.
"Mastery doesn't come from strength," Rylan repeated, walking around the room. "It comes from precision. A single well-placed ray is better than a sun that blinds everyone."
Hakime took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, ignoring the pressure, the looks. He focused not on the light itself, but on his intention. He didn't want to knock. He wanted to... enlighten. Just enlighten. He imagined a small flame, calm and stable, in the palm of his palm.
A few seconds passed. Then, a soft, constant glow emanated from his hand. It wasn't an explosion, it wasn't a ray. It was a sphere of pure light, the size of a coin, floating above his skin. She wasn't flashing. She wasn't wavering. She was.
He opened his eyes, astonished at the sudden control.
"Good," whispered Rylan, stopping by him. "You see? It is not the beast that needs to be tamed. It's the bridle. Now, hold it."
Hakime held the small luminous sphere for thirty seconds before slowly turning it off. He was exhausted, mentally more than physically, but a tiny and precious sense of victory invaded him. It was just a first step, a spark in the darkness, but it was his spark. He had finally found the beginning of the path.