Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 7th of Brightforge, year 315 UC
Bryan stood in the training room, eyeing the others as they warmed up. Christopher was stretching his arms above his head while Alexander adjusted his training outfit nervously. Alessia stood apart from them, her gloved hands clasped tightly together as she waited.
His mind wandered back to the Inquisition—grueling sessions that ended in bruises, broken bones, or worse. They'd been taught to ignore pain, to keep fighting even when their bodies begged for relief. Weakness was failure. And failure wasn't tolerated.
But that approach wouldn't work here. These students weren't battle-hardened operatives; they were still learning. Pushing them too hard would only shatter what little foundation they had.
Bryan rolled his shoulders, weighing his approach. The basics of body augmentation weren't complicated, but mastering it took precision—something that required patience and time. Time most didn't have. Or didn't want to give.
He observed each of them carefully. Christopher had natural strength but lacked finesse. Alexander's hesitation would limit his progress unless addressed. Alessia's fear of her own power created barriers she'd need to overcome.
None of them had endured the merciless training he had—repeating techniques until they were muscle memory, until exhaustion blurred the line between progress and punishment. They hadn't been shaped into tools. Weapons.
Maybe that was a good thing. His training had been efficient, yes—but brutal. Designed to create survivors, not people.
These students deserved better. Even if he'd never say that out loud.
"You two—over here."
Bryan said, motioning to Christopher and Alexander.
They exchanged glances, then approached.
"Before we get into body augmentation, we need to talk about ether control."
He began.
"You need a solid foundation. Without it, this won't work."
Christopher scratched his head.
"I thought body augmentation was just pushing ether through your body to get stronger?"
"That's like saying swimming is just waving your arms in water."
Bryan replied dryly.
"Technically true—but completely missing the point."
Alexander shifted uncomfortably.
"So what exactly is ether control, then? I mean... I know the textbook definition, but—"
"It's just like it sounds."
Bryan said.
"You're controlling a force. One that doesn't always want to listen. Sometimes it resists. Other times it's too fragile. It has its own rhythm—you're not forcing it, you're guiding it."
Alexander tilted his head.
Bryan frowned slightly.
'Was that not clear enough?'
Bryan wondered as he peeked over to see what Alessia was doing.
Nothing.
She seemed to raise her eyebrow a little when she noticed his glance.
He looked away.
"I don't know how to make it clearer."
Bryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife. It wasn't a weapon—just a precision tool he used to draw blood when needed. A sharp edge for shallow cuts. Sometimes a finger, sometimes his wrist. Nothing more.
Deadly in the wrong hands, but never meant for combat.
"Gravity is a force, right? You can't stop it from pulling everything down. That's just what it does."
He tossed the knife into the air. It flipped once before clattering against the floor.
"Exactly like that. Gravity is always present. Always pulling. There's a saying: what goes up must come down. Why? Because gravity doesn't compromise. It doesn't bend. You don't get to bargain with it."
He saw Alexander nod slowly, the gears in his head turning. Good. The kid might not fully understand ether yet, but he at least understood forces. Everyone did. Even if they didn't realize it.
Ether was like that—always present, always waiting. No one really knew where it came from or what it truly was. But like air, it was always there when you reached for it.
Christopher spoke up.
"What about those floating ships? The ones in testing? Aren't they bending the rules?"
Bryan knew exactly what he meant. The prototypes with the balloon-like engines. Experimental tech from some city-state engineering firm. The movement systems were still unreliable—clunky when trying to shift directions. The Inquisition had logged several reports on them. He hadn't cared much about the company, but the designs fascinated him.
The name… it was on the tip of his tongue.
'Raven… Corp? Raven-something. Eh. It'll come to me.'
"They're not bending the rules."
Bryan said.
"No one escapes gravity. They're just using other forces to counteract it. Smart, sure. But not magic. And not real control. Gravity still wins. It always does."
He paused before shifting focus.
"Ether is similar—but not the same. You don't need perfect control to cast spells. Most people don't even think about what they're doing. They imagine the spell, and it happens. Simple. But that's just surface-level magic."
He turned to Alexander.
"If you cast your bubble spell, what happens? You think of a shape, give it a direction, and that's it. Ether fills in the blanks. The minimum required effort for a result."
He stepped forward, letting the silence linger.
"But what if you gave it more? What if you pushed more power into it? Altered the shape, the density, the velocity... even the color?"
He looked between the two, eyes sharp.
"Then you're not just casting a spell. You're wielding ether."
"Ether responds to intention—but it thrives under control. Anyone can throw a punch, but not everyone can break a bone. Why? Because control determines how much force is behind the hit, the angle, the impact point. It's the same with spells."
Bryan lifted the knife slightly, not threatening—just emphasizing.
"You want real strength? Then stop letting ether make the decisions. Tell it what to do, how to do it, when to move, and how hard to hit."
He glanced at Alexander.
"So. Does that give you a better idea of what ether control is?"
"Kind of?"
Alexander said.
Something in Bryan tensed.
'Kind of?'
That answer grated against him. What did it mean? Had he not been clear? Was this really that difficult to understand?
If Alexander couldn't even grasp this, then what was the point?
He wasn't doing this out of kindness. He was doing it so Alexander could pull his own weight. Because having someone that powerless on the team was… unsettling.
Bryan couldn't even imagine being that weak. How did someone like that survive this long?
Still—Alexander wasn't arrogant. He didn't pretend to know things. He asked questions, read when no one told him to, and paid attention when others didn't.
He tried.
Every time.
He was involved. Invested. Always pushing to improve, even if it wasn't pretty.
So then—why did it still bother Bryan?
He wasn't sure.
But it did.
He remembered that moment on the dormitory stairs—the second floor—when he saw them all huddled around that little table, reviewing that useless recording of their team battle. So little time before the real fight, and still Alexander had gathered everyone, hoping they might learn something from watching trained soldiers.
It was dumb. Wasteful.
But it came from the right place.
And Bryan had shamed him for it.
He didn't need to. Normally, he wouldn't have. Usually, he'd just walk away and let people dig their own holes. Helping others wasn't something he did.
That wasn't who he was.
So why that day? Why speak at all?
He thought about it now, brow furrowing slightly. What had been going on?
Nothing. Nothing special. Just him, descending the stairs. And them—laughing, talking, working together.
He hadn't been invited.
They looked… happy.
Was that what annoyed him?
No. That couldn't be it.
He didn't care about being included. He never gave them any reason to think he wanted to be.
Was it because they ignored his advice?
Earlier that morning, they'd interrupted his training. He could've walked away—should've. But he showed up. Tried to be a team player, in his own way. Gave them guidance. Kept it simple, tailored to their current skill level. Something they could actually use.
But then they pivoted. Went off chasing something else.
Was that what annoyed him?
Was he really that petty—upset because things didn't go the way he planned?
No.
His eyes landed on Alexander.
The boy wasn't special. Not strong. Not clever. No influential name or powerful background. And yet—he was here. He made it. And he was doing everything he could to rise to the occasion.
He wasn't used to leading. That much was obvious. He was nervous—painfully so. No confidence. No sense of command.
Is that it? Am I… jealous?
The thought was ridiculous. Bryan, jealous? Of someone so beneath him?
And yet… maybe.
Somehow, Alexander—this fumbling, anxious boy—still felt more human than Bryan did. And for a moment, Bryan couldn't help but wonder:
'Could that have been me?'
If he'd grown up with the stories, the hopes, the dreams kids were supposed to have about mages—would he have turned out like that? Naïve, maybe. But normal.
He'd always known magic as blood and survival. Not sparkles and wonder.
'If I'd been with her…'
Bryan blinked.
'Her?'
His brow furrowed slightly.
There was something there. A thread. A shadow of a memory. But the moment he reached for it, it vanished.
"Hey, man. You okay?"
Bryan snapped back to the present. Christopher was looking at him, brows drawn together.
"Huh? What?"
"You've been quiet for like… three minutes. Weren't you gonna keep going, or...?"
Bryan didn't answer. He just turned back toward the others and resumed the explanation—ether control, real control, and the discipline required to make it work. He wasn't expecting them to master it. Not today. Probably not even this week. But they could practice. They could try.
What really bothered him wasn't the teaching.
It was the fact that he'd zoned out for so long. That wasn't like him. He liked to be present.
Letting things fade like that wasn't who he was.
"You don't seem to be in your best shape."
Alessia said from nearby. She was leaning against the wall beside him, her eyes on the others.
Bryan glanced at her.
"And what would you consider my best shape to be?"
Alessia paused.
"Honestly… I'm not sure. Just a feeling, I guess. Instinct."
Bryan turned back toward the boys. His voice was quiet.
"Instinct, huh?"
He closed his eyes, letting the silence settle. He didn't want to talk. Not now. There was still too much swirling in his head, threads that didn't connect.
Alessia said nothing more. She seemed to understand, or at least respect the silence.
Ten minutes passed.
It was comfortable.
'If it were Farrah,she'd be pressing. Asking questions. Poking at things best left alone.'
Bryan thought.
Alessia didn't.
"You invited me to tag along. Said you could help me. I'm wondering when we'll actually get to that part."
Bryan opened one eye.
"Guess I did say that. Well, let's start, shall we?"