This time, when the Essence drifts, Obinai doesn't try to seize it. He guides it, softer, more patient. It's like handling delicate threads—too much force, and they snap; too little, and they slip away. He breathes, steady and slow, feeling the rhythm of the particles as they swirl, waiting for the right moment to guide them back into place.
It's almost… peaceful.
Then an itch prickles at his cheek...
His fingers twitch, his focus flickering for just a second—
Shit—
The Essence scatters, slipping through his grasp like smoke. His teeth grind together as frustration spikes hot in his chest. Stupid. Stupid itch. He digs his nails into his palms, fighting the urge to rub his face, to do anything other than sit here and keep trying.
Focus. Try again.
This time, he tightens his control, gripping the Essence with more force. The moment he does, something shifts. A flicker of color—deep, dark, subtle at first, but unmistakable.
The particles—once white, pure—begin to change. A faint blackness creeps into their centers, twisting within them like ink swirling in water.
Obinai's eyes snap open. His pulse skips. What the hell was that?
The black tint vanishes almost immediately, but it lingers in his mind, a ghost of something unnatural. Something wrong.
"Obinai?" Vale's voice cuts through the quiet. "What happened?"
Obinai blinks rapidly. "Uh… nothing," he mutters, forcing a casual tone. He shuts his eyes again, feigning concentration. No way in hell am I bringing that up.
His nails dig into his palms. Come on. Work.
Minutes pass, slow and grueling. The crystal dims signaling the coming of night around him, the air cooling against his sweat-slicked skin. The longer he sits, the more he begins to feel the movement of Essence, like waves in an unseen current.
He starts to anticipate the way the particles drift, catching them before they scatter. Instead of controlling them through brute force, he moves with them, allowing them to settle into place naturally.
The structure begins to take shape.
It's delicate at first—a fragile lattice of glowing strands, each one fitting into the next like an impossibly intricate puzzle. Layer by layer, it builds, becoming denser, more stable.
This is it. I'm actually doing it.
But just as he nears completion, the last few pieces begin to resist.
The final strands are elusive, slipping through his mental grasp like drops of water running between his fingers. He chases them, trying to corral them into place, but the second he shifts his focus, something else happens—
The entire structure wavers.
His breath catches.
A slow unraveling begins, the delicate formation trembling under its own weight. It's collapsing.
Panic slams into him. No, no, no—
His heartbeat pounds in his ears. His breath shortens. His fingers curl into fists against his knees as he struggles to hold everything together, to force the particles back into place before everything falls apart.
Hold it. Just hold it—
But no matter how hard he tries, the strands slip further from his grasp, fraying at the edges, crumbling—
Then—
It stops.
Not because of him.
The structure steadies itself, the unraveling halting as if caught in an unseen force.
Obinai watches in disbelief as the mana circle begins to pull the stray particles in on its own.
Not with force.
Not with him forcing them.
It draws them in like a magnet, securing them into place with an effortless, natural pull.
He exhales sharply, his entire body sagging.
The circle glows now—stronger, more vibrant than anything he could've forced into existence himself. It pulsates faintly, steady, humming with a quiet, undeniable power.
It's… complete.
Obinai lets his head tip back, staring up at the dark sky. His entire body feels heavy, his limbs sluggish and weighed down with exhaustion. Sweat clings to his skin, soaking through his clothes. His breath comes ragged, his muscles aching from being still for so long.
He blinks blearily, adjusting to the darkness. When had night fallen? The air cool and sharp against his overheated skin.
Vale is gone.
Obinai stiffens slightly, glancing around. He half-expects the older man to be watching from somewhere nearby, but the field is empty.
A flicker of light catches his eye. Through the window of the cottage, a warm glow flickers, the soft movement of shadows visible beyond the glass.
Obinai exhales, rubbing his hands over his face. He's too tired to process everything right now. He just wants to get inside, out of these sticky, sweat-drenched clothes, and—
He hesitates.
That thing that happened before—the black tint in the Essence—what the hell was that?
It wasn't normal. It wasn't part of what Vale explained.
Was that me?
A pit forms in his stomach. He shakes his head roughly, pushing the thought away. Later. Worry about it later.
Right now, all he wants is food, a bath, and maybe—just maybe—to sleep for a week.
Dragging himself up on unsteady legs, he makes his way toward the cottage. The grass crunches softly beneath his steps, the cool night air soothing against his overheated skin.
The wooden door creaks slightly as he pushes it open.
The warmth of the room washes over him instantly, wrapping him in the scent of herbs, woodsmoke, and something faintly sweet.
Vale sits at the table, a cup of tea in his hand, watching him with a quiet, knowing look.
Obinai exhales, stepping inside.
"That," he mutters, "was the hardest damn thing I've ever done."
Vale chuckles. "And yet, you did it."
Obinai huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, barely." He trudges toward the table, collapsing into the nearest chair with a groan.
Obinai barely lifts his head as Vale watches him.
"How do you feel?" Vale asks.
Obinai exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. His limbs feel like lead, his body sluggish, his mind sluggish. Every part of him is wrung out, like a towel twisted to its limit. "Tired," he mutters, dropping his hand into his lap.
Vale nods, almost as if that was the response he expected. "Excellent," he says simply. There's a faint trace of amusement in his tone. "Go and wash up. There's a bath around the back of the cottage. You'll find a fresh set of clothes waiting for you outside."
Obinai just stares at him for a second, blinking slowly. Then he chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he pushes himself to his feet. How does he do that? Just—have everything prepared like it's nothing?
As he makes his way outside, the cool night air clings to his damp skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. He shivers slightly but keeps moving, following the narrow path that winds around the cottage. Eventually, he reaches a small, dome-shaped structure nestled discreetly among the dense foliage. He steps inside, pushing open the wooden door, and a natural hot spring, steam rising in thick, curling tendrils, fills the space before him.
The interior of the dome is serene, enclosed by smooth stone walls that arch overhead like a protective shell. The floor is layered with river rocks, polished smooth from years of running water. Lush ferns and patches of moss cling to the edges of the spring, their deep green hues vibrant against the muted grays and browns of the stone. There are no harsh lights—only soft, ambient glows filtering through small, round openings in the ceiling, casting a gentle, golden hue over everything.
The water ripples faintly, clear and inviting.
Obinai exhales, stepping closer. He can feel the warmth radiating from the surface, wrapping around him like a beckoning whisper. His body aches, every muscle sore from his training. He doesn't hesitate.
As soon as he sinks into the water, the heat seeping into his exhausted muscles, a long, heavy breath escapes him. His eyes shut briefly as the tension in his body unwinds layer by layer.
He tilts his head back, eyes flicking open to stare at the curved ceiling. I actually did it. The thought washes over him like the water itself, warm and strange. I accomplished something. Finally.
A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, a bubbling sense of satisfaction rising in his chest. He splashes the water slightly, testing its movement, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the glowing light above. He does it again, just because he can.
Then, the feeling shifts.
His fingers still in the water. His smile fades.
That moment earlier… when the Essence changed.
The way it moved differently. The way it felt wrong. The way it was suddenly… easier to control, but at the same time suffocating, like it was coiling around his ribs, pressing down on him.
What was that?
He stares at his hands beneath the surface, watching the water bend and curl around them. His fingers drift through it absently, tracing idle patterns. Was that… me? Or something else?
The silence stretches. The warmth of the water does little to ease the cold creeping into his stomach.
He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on something else. It doesn't matter. Not right now. Later. I'll figure it out later.
His fingers move through the water again, this time more playfully, stirring it in slow, swirling patterns. The way the surface warps is hypnotic, distorting the golden light like liquid glass. It's calming, in a way.
His mind drifts.
It's been almost a month now.
The thought is strange. Time had stretched and blurred together since arriving here. He hadn't thought about school, or his old life, in what felt like forever. Now, though—
He huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. "No school is good… kinda," he mutters to himself.
But then his grin falters.
I do miss free period, though.
That thought alone is enough to crack something open.
Does anyone even miss me?
He snorts at that. Hell no. He tilts his head, resting his arms against the edge of the pool. I was one strike away from getting expelled. Pretty sure they threw a party when I disappeared.
The joke is bitter. It falls flat even in his own head.
The silence swallows it.
Then, before he can stop it—
"I hate myself."
The words slip out, barely above a whisper, but they feel heavier than anything he's said in weeks.
He squeezes his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath.
"What am I even doing here?" he mutters, the weight in his chest pressing deeper. Why am I the one who ended up with this? Why wasn't it…
He swallows hard.
"Mya could have done this easily."
His throat tightens.
His breath shudders.
"She would've loved this. She could've actually done something with this power."
Tears sting at the edges of his vision. He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling harshly, trying to shake the feeling off. His fingers dig into his skin slightly, grounding himself.
"This just feels wrong."
The silence is deafening.
He lets himself sink lower into the water, letting it rise up to his chin, as if it could drown out the thoughts clawing at his ribs.
He stays there, staring blankly at the distorted reflection of himself in the water, until the warmth starts to lull him into something numb.
Eventually, he forces himself to move.
When he finally emerges from the spring, his skin feels raw, his body loose but heavy with exhaustion. The air is crisp against his damp skin, his breath fogging slightly in the cool night.
Outside the dome, neatly folded, is a fresh set of clothes. He pulls them on, the fabric soft and comfortable, familiar despite how different his life has become.
Each step back to the cottage feels heavier, his thoughts dragging behind him like weights.
The door creaks softly as he pushes it open.
Inside, the warm glow of the lanterns welcomes him. The scent of burning wood and fresh herbs lingers in the air, wrapping around him like something safe, something grounding. Vale is just descending the ladder from the loft, his expression calm as always, his presence steady.
The older man steps forward, placing a firm hand on Obinai's shoulder. "You've done exceptionally well today," he says, voice low, approving. "Your progress is remarkable."
Obinai doesn't know what to say to that. He just nods, something tight in his chest.
Vale pulls back, offering a small smile. "Rest well. Tomorrow, we continue."
With that, he steps past, moving toward the door. Obinai watches him pause at the entrance before slipping outside, vanishing into the night without another word.
A frown tugs at his lips. Where does he go every night?
The thought lingers for a moment, but exhaustion wins out. He sighs, dragging himself toward the loft. The climb feels longer than usual, every movement sluggish.
The bed is there, waiting.
Inviting.
He barely remembers pulling the covers over himself before sleep takes him, swallowing him
whole...