Training felt different the moment we entered the hall.
The air was thicker—not with danger exactly, but with possibility. The runes along the walls pulsed in slow rhythm, as if already responding to whatever the three of us carried from the courtyard. Halin waited near the center circle, hands clasped behind her back, face unreadable.
She gave us a single glance—one that lingered on our closeness, our slightly linked steps—and then nodded once toward the circle.
"You've stabilized the bond," she said. "Today, we see how deeply that stability runs."
Seris raised a brow. "That sounds ominous."
"It should," Halin replied.
Lira inhaled slowly, already bracing herself. I felt her slight nerves through the bond, but they weren't overwhelming. Seris's determination pressed warm against my left side.
Halin motioned us forward. "You will enter resonance again—together. But this time, instead of merely observing the fracture, you will attempt to guide it."
My throat tightened. "Guide it?"
"Yes," Halin said. "Influence its pattern. Nudge it. Shape the edge of it, however slightly."
Lira frowned. "Won't that aggravate it?"
"Only if you try to force control," Halin answered. "The fracture responds to fear and dominance. But if the bond encourages it—invites cooperation—there is a chance it will respond in kind."
Seris's jaw clenched. "Since when do we negotiate with mysterious ancient entities living inside people?"
Lira whispered, "Since we don't want it tearing through everything every time it stirs."
Halin stepped back. "Begin."
I swallowed, stepping into the circle.
Lira took my right hand. Seris took my left.
The warmth of them spread instantly through the bond—familiar, steady, grounding.
I closed my eyes.
Breathed in.
Let the world fall silent.
The fracture stirred.
A cold pulse.
A soft ache beneath my ribs.
Not violent.
Expectant.
Lira's presence flowed in quietly, soothing at the edges like gentle pressure against a bruise. Seris's warmth pressed firmly from the other side—protective, fierce, but controlled.
Together, they formed a barrier of sorts. Not closing the fracture out—just holding space for it.
"Slowly," Halin said behind us. "Do not press. Invite."
I listened inward.
The fractured resonance flickered—hesitant, cautious, but aware.
"I feel it," I murmured.
Lira's voice brushed the bond like a whisper of wind. We're here.
Seris leaned close, breath warm at my cheek. Stay with us.
The fracture pulsed.
Not painfully.
Almost like answering.
I reached toward it—not grabbing, not forcing—just letting myself be open to whatever shape it took in this moment.
Something shifted.
A faint tug—like a thread pulling tight.
Lira inhaled sharply. "It's—moving."
Seris gripped my hand harder. "Easy. Easy."
The fracture flickered again—and then—
It reached back.
Not into me.
Into the bond.
My breath caught.
Lira gasped, the bond flaring around her, warm and bright. Seris's pulse jumped visibly at her throat.
Halin's voice sharpened. "Do NOT recoil. Stay present. Let the bond absorb it, not your body."
I steadied my breathing.
The fracture brushed the bond—soft, tentative, almost curious—like testing a surface it had never touched before.
Lira's fingers trembled in mine. Seris leaned closer, forehead nearly touching my temple, grounding me through sheer will.
Then—
Something unexpected happened.
The fracture softened.
Not healed.
Not controlled.
Just… less jagged.
The pressure loosened—not like surrender, but like acceptance of our presence. Like it recognized the bond enough to stop resisting it.
A warmth spread through my chest—not mine, not theirs. Something in-between.
Lira whispered through the bond, voice shaking with awe: Arin… it trusts you.
Seris's grip tightened. Or it trusts us.
The fracture pulsed gently.
A soft echo of something old— not words, not memory, but an emotion I couldn't name.
And then—
It faded.
Slowly, quietly, without tearing anything apart.
The bond held steady.
My knees nearly buckled with relief, and Lira steadied me instantly. Seris caught my shoulder with her free hand.
Halin stepped forward at last.
"That," she said quietly, "was progress."
Lira swallowed. "It didn't fight."
"It responded," Halin corrected. "There's a difference."
Seris looked between us, eyes wide despite herself. "So what does that mean?"
Halin studied me for a long moment. "It means the entity's imprint inside Arin no longer sees him as alone."
A chill ran through me.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Lira's hand slid into mine more securely. Seris's arm brushed my back. The bond pulsed—warm, steady, anchored.
Halin turned away. "Again tomorrow. For now—rest. You'll need it."
We left the hall slowly, none of us breaking contact until we were back in the corridor.
Lira finally exhaled. "That felt… huge."
Seris nudged my shoulder gently. "We're basically resonance whisperers now."
I laughed, breathless and shaky. "Whatever happened… didn't feel wrong."
Lira nodded. "It felt like the bond made room."
Seris tilted her head. "For what?"
I looked at both of them.
"For something new."
Their eyes widened—not in fear this time, but something like wonder.
We walked side by side, shoulders brushing, hands nearly linked without trying.
The bond hummed quietly beneath our skin, pulsing with shared warmth.
And somewhere inside me—the fracture rested.
Not silent.
But peaceful.
Like it wasn't alone anymore.
When we stepped outside the hall, the air felt cooler than before, like the wind itself had been waiting for us. Lira kept close to my right side, fingers brushing mine every few seconds as if she kept forgetting she was allowed to hold them. Seris stayed on my left, arms folding and unfolding, restless energy humming through her aura—but not from fear this time.
It was something else.
"What happened in there," she said quietly, "felt… different."
"Better," Lira added almost immediately.
I shook my head. "Not the same as yesterday."
"No," Lira agreed softly, "but connected."
We found ourselves drifting toward the same courtyard as before without speaking, feet choosing a familiar path. The branches rustled as we stepped beneath them, small blossoms shifting in the breeze like petals thinking about falling and deciding against it.
Once we reached the bench, Lira sat gently, leaving space this time—like she wanted to let me choose where to be.
Seris didn't wait; she dropped herself next to me with a low exhale. "Alright. Someone say something smart so I can pretend I understand what just happened."
Lira pressed her lips together. "Seris…"
"No, really," she insisted. "You felt it. That wasn't just resonance stabilizing. Something inside him—" she pointed between us, "—actually listened."
"I know," Lira said. "I felt it too. It didn't push against us. It pushed toward us."
Not against.
Toward.
That realization tightened something low in my stomach.
Seris leaned back, looking up at the sky through half-lidded eyes. "Then what does it want?" she murmured.
I inhaled slowly. "Maybe… to understand us."
Seris turned her head, expression unreadable. "Or maybe it wants to use us."
Lira's fingers found mine subtly—searching for reassurance. "It didn't feel dangerous."
"That doesn't mean it's safe," Seris countered, but her voice lacked bite.
"It didn't feel like a threat," I said. "Not in that moment."
Lira's eyes softened. "More like… curiosity."
"And that scares me more," Seris muttered under her breath.
I understood what she meant.
Fear was predictable. Curiosity… wasn't.
My hand rested on the bench and Lira shifted closer, shoulder brushing mine gently. She didn't cling—she just made sure I felt her presence. Warm. Steady. Unmistakably with me.
Seris's thigh brushed against my other side in the same moment, deliberate and grounding.
The bond pulsed—soft, but real.
"Do you think Halin knows more than she's telling us?" Seris asked suddenly.
"Yes," Lira and I said at the same time.
Seris huffed. "Good. At least we all agree on something."
"We agree on a lot of things," Lira whispered.
Seris blinked, then shrugged. "Fair point."
The breeze carried petals past our feet. I watched them drift and wondered if the fracture felt moments like this. Did it understand calm? Connection? Or was this all foreign to whatever echo lay buried inside me?
"I don't want to be afraid of it anymore," I said softly.
Lira looked at me, eyes warm. "We'll face it with you."
Seris nodded, expression fierce in that soft way I was learning was her version of tenderness. "Whatever it is, it doesn't get you by yourself."
I smiled, breath shaking just slightly. "I know."
The bond pulsed again—gentle enough to be missed unless you were listening for it. We were learning to listen.
A few petals finally gave up their place in the tree above us, drifting down one by one. One landed on Lira's sleeve, light as a whisper.
Without thinking, I reached to brush it away. My fingers grazed her wrist and lingered—barely. Her breath hitched, cheeks warming.
Seris watched us with narrowed eyes, but instead of teasing, her gaze softened. She reached out and brushed her knuckles lightly over the back of my hand.
"Here," she said. "Don't forget about me too."
I took her hand properly.
Lira's fingers curled into mine.
For a long moment, the three of us just sat there, linked in quiet contact, listening to the wind in the branches.
Lira broke the silence first.
"Arin?"
"Yes?"
She searched my face. "When you felt it today… did anything inside you change?"
I thought about it.
Not about fear, or pain, or pressure—but something else. Like a door cracking open inside my ribcage.
"I didn't feel alone," I said.
Lira breathed out slowly. "Good."
Seris leaned her shoulder against mine, firm and protective. "Then we keep going."
The wind brushed across us. The courtyard felt smaller, safer, like the world had shrunk to this tree, this stone bench, and the warmth pressed against me from both sides.
For the first time, the fracture inside me didn't feel like a battle waiting to happen.
It felt like something watching.
Maybe even learning.
We stayed like that until the shadows shifted and Halin's distant summons echoed through the halls.
Lira squeezed my hand once before letting go.
Seris didn't let go until she had to.
We stood, still close enough that our shoulders brushed with every step, and walked together toward whatever waited next.
Not cautiously.
Not fearfully.
Together.