The noise deep within the forest faded away, leaving only the buzz of night insects and the sound of Keelin's rapid breathing. He still stood frozen before the giant tree, his mind trapped in an endless loop of shock and fear.
Farouk the Moroccan's calm voice broke the silence, his eyes shining with both wisdom and strength.
"What's wrong, Keelin?"
Keelin flinched slightly and gathered himself.
"N–nothing… I just got lost in thought."
Farouk smiled faintly, as if reading the storm inside the boy's head.
"I see. How long did your academy give you for this exam?"
"One month," Keelin replied quickly. "A month to fully merge with the Aether Stone and prepare to reach Level Three."
Farouk slowly nodded, lifting his gaze toward the full moon peering through the branches like a watchful eye.
"And what do you plan to do when the sun rises tomorrow?"
Keelin took a deep breath.
"I'll sleep now. In the morning, I'll search for food… then start training hard."
Farouk looked at him with a mix of pity and concern.
"This place is very dangerous, my son. The beasts here show no mercy to strangers. Sleeping out in the open might be a one-way ticket. Come with me. There's a better place than this darkness."
Keelin hesitated, then followed him.
Farouk moved through the shrubs and climbing plants with astonishing ease, as if the forest itself cleared a path for him. After several silent minutes, he stopped before a wall of dense vegetation and pushed it aside.
"Welcome to my home… this is where I stay."
Keelin's eyes widened.
It wasn't an ordinary house—it was a carefully concealed architectural masterpiece. Built inside a natural rocky hollow and covered with moss and plants, it blended perfectly with its surroundings. It stood slightly elevated, overlooking a small flowing spring, providing both protection and resources.
"Are you going to stand outside?" Farouk asked while opening the small wooden door. "The cold here bites to the bone."
Keelin stepped inside, running his fingers along the walls. From the outside it looked small, but inside it felt like another world.
The scent of authentic incense greeted him. A massive library stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with old leather-bound books and rare manuscripts carrying the smell of aged ink.
The furniture was simple yet comfortable—hand-carved wooden chairs and warm-colored woven rugs covering the stone floor. In the corners, glass bottles held dried herbs and faintly glowing substances.
Farouk headed to the small kitchen corner while Keelin admired the library.
"Your home is beautiful, Farouk," he said quietly.
Farouk chuckled confidently.
"I know. Beauty lies in simplicity and precision."
Moments later, Farouk returned carrying an engraved metal tray. On it was a silver kettle releasing thick steam with the refreshing scent of mint and tea. Beside it lay strange-shaped sweets—golden, fragile, dusted with sugar and almond pieces.
"Come sit before the tea gets cold," Farouk said, pouring from a height, creating thick white foam on the surface of the cups. The cups were carved from aromatic juniper wood, shaped perfectly for the hand.
Keelin stared at the drink. The tea glowed like clear ruby.
He took a sip.
His eyes widened.
The taste blended bitterness, sweetness, and minty freshness in perfect harmony. A warm energy spread through his veins, washing away the exhaustion of the past days.
"What is this?" Keelin asked in disbelief. "This is the best thing I've ever tasted!"
Farouk smiled.
"One of my favorite inventions. I call it Atay. You can call it that too. And don't forget the sweets—they give instant energy to the nerves."
Keelin ate, the sweets melting in his mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he felt at peace.
After a comfortable silence, Farouk set his cup down, his tone turning serious.
"Tell me, Keelin… what kind of training are you planning tomorrow?"
Keelin scratched the back of his head nervously.
"I'm not really sure… maybe meditation to merge with the aether."
Farouk shook his head.
"Meditation alone is useless at Level Two. You must activate your power under pressure. Tell me—what's the name of your ability?"
"I don't know… but I can sense the path of an attack or danger moments before it happens."
Farouk straightened abruptly.
"You can see the path of an attack? You mean… you glimpse the near future?"
"…Something like that."
Without warning, Farouk grabbed the empty wooden cup and hurled it violently toward Keelin's forehead.
In that split second, something strange happened.
Keelin saw a faint silver thread shoot from his brow, tracing the cup's path through the air.
Without thinking, he ducked instantly.
The cup passed over his hair and smashed into the wall behind him.
Farouk smiled in triumph.
"I thought so. Your ability is 'Path Vision'… or predicting the next moment. Your training won't be quiet meditation."
He stood slowly, his crimson eyes gleaming with challenge.
"It will be evasion. I'll teach you how to dodge until your aura becomes pure instinct."
Keelin swallowed.
"And… how will we do that?"
"When the sun rises tomorrow," Farouk said calmly, "you'll learn what true hell feels like. Sleep now. You'll need every drop of energy you have."
Keelin lay down on the small bed in the corner of the house, while the name Farouk the Moroccan echoed again and again inside his mind.