The first morning at the Celestial Springs came wrapped in mist and the sound of falling water.

Derek woke before the others—not from excitement, but because the spiritual energy pressed against his chest like a second heartbeat. His ghosts felt it too. They hovered at the edges of his vision, brighter than usual, their forms almost solid. Dr. Blackwood stood by the window, gazing out at the pools.

"You feel it," the ghost said.

"Yeah."

"This place is old. Older than the monks. Older than the Veil, maybe."

Derek swung his legs over the side of the cot. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It’s supposed to make you curious."

---

Cora was already in the water when the others arrived.

She’d found a pool at the base of the smallest waterfall, the water warm and clear, steam rising around her. She sat on a submerged ledge, the water lapping at her chin, her eyes closed. The falls pounded behind her, a constant rhythm that drowned out thought.

Phasing required focus. Breath control. The ability to slip between solid and ethereal without losing yourself.

She’d been able to do it for seconds at a time. She wanted minutes.

She inhaled. Held it. Released.

The water around her rippled, but she didn’t move.

Sink into it, she told herself. Let go of the edges.

Her body flickered. Once. Twice.

Then she was through—not fully, not completely, but enough that the water felt different. Cooler. Less substantial.

She opened her eyes. Her hand was translucent. She could see the rocks beneath it.

Longer, she thought. Hold it longer.

The world blurred.

---

Mason stood at the edge of a different pool, this one too hot for anyone else to touch. The water steamed, bubbles rising from unseen vents below.

He didn’t get in. He stood on the bank, his hands raised, his palms facing the water.

Heat radiated from the pool. Ambient heat. Natural heat. The kind that came from deep within the earth.

He pulled it toward him.

Not aggressively—he wasn’t fighting. He was absorbing. Drawing the warmth into his core, through his skin, into the gauntlets that sat on his wrists like second hands.

His flames had always been orange. Normal. Basic.

But here, in this place, with this energy, they could become something else.

He focused. Pulled harder.

The water in the pool rippled. A tongue of steam rose, wrapped around his fingers, and ignited.

Blue.

Not orange. Not red.

Blue.

His eyes widened. The flame flickered, then steadied.

Hold it, he told himself. Don’t let it go.

---

Sera sat on a flat rock overlooking the valley.

Below her, the forest sprawled—trees and rocks and streams, all of it hidden under a canopy of green. From here, she could see the entire basin, from the cliffs to the east to the winding river to the west.

She closed her eyes and reached out with her blood sense.

In Greyhollow, she’d tracked a week-old trail through stone and soil. Here, with the spiritual energy humming through the ground, she could do more.

She felt the monks first—three of them, their pulses slow and steady, like drumbeats. Then the birds, scattered through the trees, their hearts too fast to count. Then the small creatures—rabbits, foxes, things that burrowed.

Then the rocks.

Not alive. But present. Their stillness was a kind of pulse, a deep vibration that went beyond blood.

She pushed further.

The entire valley opened beneath her senses. Every living thing. Every hidden trail. Every secret path.

She opened her eyes.

"I can see them," she whispered. "All of them."

---

Derek sat in the center of a stone circle, his staff planted before him, his ghosts arranged in a ring around his shoulders.

These weren’t his usual spirits. These were old. Bound to the Springs long before the monks arrived, long before the Ashen Guard existed. They had no names, no faces—just presence, cold and ancient.

Dr. Blackwood stood at the edge of the circle, watching.

"They’re not like you," Derek said.

"No. They’re older. More patient."

"And more dangerous?"

The ghost didn’t answer.

Derek closed his eyes and reached out with his power—not to command, not to control. To listen.

The old spirits didn’t speak in words. They spoke in impressions. Memories of water. Memories of stone. Memories of hunters who had come before, seeking the same energy, the same growth.

We remember, they seemed to say. We remember all of them.

Derek’s breath slowed. His heart matched their rhythm.

What do they want? he asked.

To be remembered, they replied.

Dr. Blackwood’s voice came from a distance. "You’ve made contact."

"I think so."

"That’s more than most."

Derek opened his eyes. The old spirits had retreated, but their presence lingered, warm and cold at the same time.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now you learn to call them when you need them."

---

Lucian sat apart from the others, on a rocky outcropping above the main pool.

He’d found the spot the night before, after the monks had shown them to their rooms. It was quiet here, removed from the steam and the sound of falling water. A place to think. A place to breathe.

He sat cross-legged, his hands on his knees, his eyes closed.

The energy of the Springs pressed against him from all sides—not hostile, not welcoming. Just present. Like the air, like the light.

He didn’t fight it. Didn’t try to absorb it or shape it or use it.

He just let it wash over him.

His breathing slowed. His thoughts quieted. The weight of the tournament, the worry about Valentine, the questions about his father—all of it faded into the background.

There was only this moment. This breath. This stillness.

And then, something clicked.

Not a system message—he didn’t need one. Just a feeling. A deepening. Like a door he hadn’t noticed swinging open.

Meditation Level 99.

The ability to clear the mind completely, to focus without distraction, to enter a state of perfect stillness even in chaos. At this level, meditation is no longer just rest—it is a weapon. A shield. A way to see through illusion and find the truth beneath.

He’d always been able to focus. The farm had taught him that. Long hours alone, nothing but the crops and the sky. But this was different. This was control. Purposeful. Deliberate.

He opened his eyes.

The world looked the same. The rocks, the pools, the mist. But he felt different. Calmer. Sharper.

He stood and walked down to the main pool, where his team was gathering.

Cora was wringing out her hair, her skin still damp. "I held it for almost a minute."

Mason was flexing his fingers, small blue flames dancing between them. "The heat here is different. Cleaner."

Sera had her phone out—no signal, but she was taking notes anyway. "I tracked a rabbit through solid rock. I didn’t know I could do that."

Derek’s ghosts hovered around him, brighter than before. "The old spirits here... they’re not like the others. They’ve been waiting."

Lucian looked at each of them. "Good."

"What about you?" Cora asked. "Did you do anything?"

"I meditated."

"That’s it?"

"That’s it."

She studied his face, looking for the lie. Found none.

"Okay," she said. "Weirdo."

They gathered their things and walked back toward the monks’ quarters, the mist closing behind them.

The Springs were patient. They had time.

So did Ashen Dawn.