CLANG.

Temptation's sword came down like a hammer, slamming into my odachi. The metal rang loud, the vibration shooting up my arms. He pressed hard into the bind, overpowering the weaker angle of my blade with his weight and force.

When the enemy is heavy, go light.

Instead of resisting, I let his momentum guide my sword away, allowing it to slip and roll with the pressure. But I didn't stop there. I turned that deflection into a sudden cut, trying to redirect his power against him.

It almost worked.

Another blade was already there, intercepting me. This time, I was caught in the bind, my blade pressed to his. But there was no pressure. No weight. His sword hovered, like he was barely there.

When the enemy is light, go forceful.

I surged forward, driving my blade until the tsuba collided with his. The clack of guard against guard echoed sharp and clear. His blade twisted slightly. His left ribs opened up, exposed. I didn't have time to reposition my sword for a clean strike.

So I improvised.

I leaned forward and slammed my forehead into the gap, horn first.

Pain. Resistance. A shimmering pulse.

My skull met a magical barrier.

"Point! Alexander!" Morres called from the sidelines, voice both drowsy and loud enough to cut through the moment. His tone carried the weariness of someone who had judged one too many spars this week.

I stepped back and took a breath. My arms felt heavy, my head ringing slightly from the impact.

Temptation lowered his sword and tilted his head.

"Yes. While I can say with some confidence that you lack the flexibility of a true warmaster, you are clearly inclined toward the sword and the bow. That was a fine exchange. However," he added with a flourish, "you should have used the kashira to strike my face. A bludgeoning move with the pommel would have taken advantage of the angle. Without full control over my sword, I could have redirected and raised it into your neck."

Then came the lecture.

He dissected everything. My footwork, my stance, the tiny muscular tics that betrayed openings I hadn't realized I left. His tone was elegant, poetic, and somehow both instructional and insulting at the same time. I couldn't tell if he was helping me or delivering a eulogy for my technique.

I was saved after only ten minutes.

Ranah stepped in, graceful and firm. She waved me forward with one hand and summoned Lumivis with the other.

"Training with swords is fine," she said. "Now I want you to do something harder. Sit. Talk."

She shoved me into a chair and stared at Lumivis until he finally sat across from me.

"You two talk often enough, but now I want something specific. I want you to define what you both want from this contract. What do you expect from each other?"

Lumivis was quiet for a moment. Then he sat upright and spoke with a seriousness I rarely heard from him outside of moments where blood had already been spilled.

"I'll go first. For me, it's simple. I want to grow. I want to learn. You are a beacon of chaos, but it is organized chaos. You create change. You break things open. That's valuable to me."

He looked directly at me. His voice was steady.

"I want more power. Not just strength. I want evolution. As a spirit, there is only one path available to me now, and it runs through you. My contractor."

His honesty made me pause. There was no fluff. No theatrics. Just clarity.

I looked down at my hands for a moment before answering.

"I want to learn too," I said. "I want to understand things. The world I came from isn't a lie, but it was small. I lived in a pond, and now I see an ocean. I need a partner who can protect me from more than just enemies out there. I need someone who can help with the things I don't see in myself."

I looked up.

"I'm a fool sometimes. You've already corrected me once. I want you to keep doing that. I also want to create a Machina. Not an artificial one. A real one. A spiritual one. Something like the ancient forms. I want it to reflect not just who I am, but who you are too."

Lumivis gave a small nod. For once, he looked like he understood more than he let on.

Ranah watched us for a long moment.

"Good. That is how a contract survives. Not through magic, but through clarity."

Clarity, huh.

If only Lumivis could give me some of that. He spoke with all the elegance of a practiced scholar, but when it came to the things I truly needed answers for, he might as well have been speaking in riddles.

The kind of clarity I wanted wasn't about spirit bonds or metaphysics.

It was about people.

More specifically, the ones currently glaring at me across every meal, and the very confusing weight I carried in my chest whenever any of them smiled.

I shifted in my chair, then finally turned to Ranah, who was still standing nearby with her arms crossed like she was waiting for me to drop the next brick of awkwardness.

"Hey, Ranah?" I rubbed the back of my neck. "I know you've been focusing a lot on my spiritual growth, and training my Machina and all, but... since we're already talking about clarity..."

I hesitated.

"Can we maybe talk about something else? Something harder?"

She raised an eyebrow, her silence telling me to just spit it out.

"How are you supposed to talk to women?" I finally asked, slumping slightly. "Like, actually talk to them? I mean, I know you're a woman, and that probably makes this a weird question, but I figured maybe you'd heard... gossip."

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Ranah didn't flinch. She just smiled. Not a mocking one, not even amused—just tired. Like someone who had heard the question a thousand times from boys who should've asked it sooner.

"Oh, you mean that dramatic little dinner performance," she said, tilting her head slightly. "The one where you explained in front of three very emotionally complex people why you aren't interested in any of them?"

I let out a sigh. "Yeah. That one."

She walked a slow circle around my chair, half pacing, half deciding how much honesty to hit me with.

"I talked to Barbatos about it," she said finally. "We agree on two things. One: that whole disaster was inevitable. And two: the next person coming in from Solomon's Gate? We both hate his guts."

That caught me off guard. "Wait, what?"

Ranah waved it off.

"Doesn't matter. Point is, we dislike him. Strongly. But he's exactly what you need right now. He's the perfect person to train you in parallel thinking, in reading subtext, in how to understand what someone isn't saying. Subterfuge, emotional control, all of it."

I blinked. "So... a spy?"

"A manipulator," she corrected. "And a tactician. Someone who understands people in ways you clearly don't yet. You're not broken, Alexander. But you're seventeen. You've been trained for war, not connection. You can swing a sword. But emotional intelligence? That needs work."

I let Ranah's words settle, heavy and final. Then I nodded, slowly, accepting the truth of them even if I didn't like the taste.

"In fact…" she muttered with a sigh, glancing past me, "here he comes now."

I turned to look.

What approached was, at first glance, remarkably unremarkable.

The man walking toward us could have blended into any crowd, any city, any background. His features were so average they bordered on deliberate. He wasn't handsome, but not ugly either. His face was plain, hair a non-color somewhere between brown and not worth mentioning. He stood just above average height, wore clothes that fit into no specific culture, cut, or fashion. They were simple, clean, and universal—something you'd imagine someone designing a disguise would wear.

He looked like a placeholder. A face you forgot as soon as it passed.

Until he opened his mouth.

"Ranah. How delightful to see you again."

His voice was music. A symphony of precision and beauty, every syllable crafted like the last drop of honey on a silver spoon. It was melodic, effortless, and utterly intoxicating. It was also the most venomous sound I had ever heard. Every word wrapped in a smirk you couldn't see but could feel down to your bones.

"I'm sure you've told the boy all sorts of lovely lies about me," he continued, stepping closer without any rush. "So allow me to speak plainly. Truthfully. For balance."

Ranah crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, clearly bracing herself.

"Yes," he said, already smiling, "you did defeat me in our duel on Soprha. That duel, mind you, lasted seven years. Not seven days. Not seven months. Seven uninterrupted years of combat. And yes, you won. Because I ran out of arrows."

He turned slightly to face me, still addressing Ranah like she was the sun and he was merely orbiting for warmth.

"But let's be more honest. You didn't win through some tactical brilliance that broke my formation or disarmed me. You won because you waited. You camped out, patient as a mountain, and drained me dry. You didn't outmaneuver me. You outlasted me. The judges decided in your favor not because of points, but because I collapsed."

Ranah exhaled slowly, her expression taut with tension.

"Alexander," she said flatly, "this is Leraje. Solomon's Gate sent him. He's the only archer in their ranks, and as you can already tell, he's a fallen angel of both glory and vanity."

My mouth went dry.

A fallen angel.

My mind spiraled with memories I hadn't asked for. The Choir. The whispers. The burning truth of what tried to rip me apart once already. My heartbeat quickened.

Leraje smiled, just slightly. "I already know what you're thinking, child."

His tone was still pleasant, but it felt like a cold hand brushing along my spine.

"Yes, I'm aware of your encounter with the Choir. And part of why I was sent is to ensure it doesn't happen again. You'll need proper veiling techniques if you plan to survive the attention you've drawn. You've already learned how to shield your thoughts. Impressive, truly. Those little insect amalgamations you use? Vicious. I adore them. When your life-realm matures, I expect you'll be able to create something truly monstrous. I look forward to—"

Ranah raised her hand sharply.

"Not yet," she snapped.

Her voice cracked through the air like a blade unsheathed.

"These two are still under my instruction. I won't have you slithering in to hijack this phase of his development. He still has work to do with Lumivis. His spiritual senses aren't ready for your influence."

Leraje stopped. Smiling still, but only with his mouth.

"Of course," he said gently. "I'll wait my turn."

He gave a bow, mockingly formal, and stepped back with the grace of a predator who had already mapped out the entire territory.

Ranah turned back to me, her eyes still sharp.

"Focus on your path, Alexander. Not the distractions."

I nodded again. Slower this time.

Once Leraje was gone—his presence evaporating like smoke without ever fully disappearing—Ranah let out a long breath. She didn't speak right away. Instead, she motioned for me and Lumivis to follow her across the chamber into a quieter corner where a ring of woven mats had been arranged around a still pool of water.

"Sit," she said simply.

I lowered myself onto one of the mats. Lumivis followed without complaint, cross-legged, posture straight and still like a statue drawn to life.

"Close your eyes," Ranah instructed. "We're shifting from talking to feeling. If you want clarity, then you must learn to sit with silence long enough to hear your own truth."

I obeyed.

At first, all I could hear was the soft ripple of water behind us. Then my own heartbeat. Then nothing. Not even Lumivis' breathing. Just the absence of noise. The void between things.

"Meditation isn't about emptiness," Ranah's voice finally came, soft as wind brushing across tall grass. "It's about presence. You are not escaping the world. You are entering yourself."

I tried to follow that thought. I let myself sink inward, though my mind still struggled. I thought about Fallias and the way her voice curved when she laughed. I thought about Cordelia and her quiet concern, about Ria and the knife-edge intimacy we never spoke of. I thought about Barbra. Gods, Barbra. I still didn't know what part of me saw her as terrifying and what part saw her as comfort. I thought about Fractal, how I wanted to protect her even when I didn't understand her.

There was too much.

"I'm overwhelmed," I said, eyes still closed.

"Good," Ranah answered.

I cracked one eye open. "Good?"

"You're not numb. You care. That's the first sign you're still human. Don't confuse chaos inside you with failure. Confusion only proves you have something to sort."

Lumivis finally spoke, his voice smooth and thoughtful.

"I once thought emotions were inefficiencies," he said. "But Alexander, yours are not wild. They are just full. You feel with intensity because you are a container too small for what you carry."

I opened both eyes now, looking between the two of them. Ranah was calm, arms resting over her knees. Lumivis looked down at the pool like he was speaking to the reflection of someone long dead.

"I don't know what I want," I admitted. "Not really. I thought I did. I thought it was power, or understanding, or survival. But I keep getting these moments where I wonder if it's something simpler."

"Then ask yourself," Ranah said. "What does a part of you want that you're too ashamed to say out loud?"

I stared at the water.

"I want to be understood," I said. "And I want someone to stay. Not out of duty. Not because they owe me anything. I want someone to see the worst of me and decide not to leave."

Ranah nodded once. "Now you're getting closer."

"I want to grow too," I continued. "Not just stronger. Wiser. Kinder, maybe. Less reactive. But I don't know if I'm capable of that."

"You are," Lumivis said. "Because you want it. Desires shape us more than fate does."

"Speaking of," Ranah added, "when the time comes for you to name your inner world and define your spirit's heart, you'll need to know what parts of yourself are worth preserving."

That made me pause.

"I don't even know what those are yet."

"You'll find them," she said, with certainty I didn't yet feel. "But only if you keep asking hard questions."

The room fell quiet again.

This time, I sat with the silence willingly.

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