The second day began colder than the first.

Not in temperature—the Springs kept their own warmth, a constant embrace of steam and mist. But the air felt different. Sharper. Like the valley itself was paying attention.

Derek stood at the edge of the stone circle, his staff in hand, Dr. Blackwood floating beside him. The old spirits had retreated during the night, but their presence lingered, a faint pressure at the back of his mind.

"You’ve called them here," Dr. Blackwood said. "Now you need to send them out."

"Send them where?"

"Away from you."

Derek frowned. "I thought the whole point was to keep them close."

"No. The whole point is to command them. And you can’t command something that never leaves your shadow."

The ghost drifted toward the treeline, stoping twenty feet away. "Send me there."

"I can’t."

"You can."

"I’ve never—"

"You’ve never done a lot of things. Until you did them."

Derek gripped his staff tighter. He closed his eyes. Reached out with the part of his mind that felt cold, that sensed the spirits around him.

Dr. Blackwood was close. Too close.

Move, Derek thought.

Nothing.

Move, he thought again, harder.

The ghost flickered. Didn’t move.

"You’re pushing," Dr. Blackwood said. "Don’t push. Guide."

Derek exhaled. Let go of the tension in his shoulders. Let go of the fear that lived in his chest.

Go there, he thought, not pushing, just... suggesting.

Dr. Blackwood drifted five feet toward the treeline.

"Good," the ghost said. "Again."

Go there.

Ten feet.

Go there.

Twenty.

By the time Derek opened his eyes, Dr. Blackwood stood at the edge of the forest, a hundred meters away, his translucent form faint but visible.

"I did it," Derek whispered.

"You did it. Now call me back."

Derek smiled.

---

Cora found Lucian on the rocky outcropping above the main pool.

He was sitting cross-legged again, eyes closed, breathing slow. She watched him for a moment—the stillness, the calm. It annoyed her.

"You’re meditating again."

He opened his eyes. "You’re interrupting."

"I’m challenging you."

"To what?"

"To a spar."

He stood. Dusted off his pants. "You’re going to lose."

"I’m going to learn."

She drew her short sword. He didn’t draw his blades.

"Not going to use those?"

"I don’t need them."

She attacked.

Her blade came fast, aimed at his shoulder. He sidestepped, not fast, just enough. She spun, cut low. He stepped over it. She phased, reappeared behind him, struck at his back.

He wasn’t there.

She turned. He stood three feet away, hands in his pockets.

"Faster," she said.

"I’m not moving."

"You’re moving. I just can’t see it."

He didn’t answer.

She attacked again—faster this time, her phase carrying her through his guard. Her blade stopped an inch from his chest.

He caught her wrist.

Not hard. Just... there.

"How?" she asked.

"You telegraph."

"I don’t."

"Your shoulder drops before you phase. You’ve been doing it since the tournament. Fix it."

She pulled her wrist free. "Anything else?"

"Your footwork is sloppy when you’re frustrated."

"I’m not frustrated."

"You’re frustrated."

She wanted to argue. He was right.

"Again," she said.

He nodded.

They sparred until the sun was high, and Cora never landed a single hit. But her movements were smoother by the end. More controlled.

"Tomorrow," she said, breathing hard.

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

---

Mason stood in the shallows of the hot pool, his arms raised.

Around him, the water steamed, bubbles rising from the vents below. He’d learned to absorb heat—to pull it from the air, from the earth, from fire itself. But absorption wasn’t enough.

He needed to project.

He raised his left hand. Focused. The air in front of him shimmered.

A wall. Thin, translucent, made of heat.

He pushed it forward. It held for a moment, then dissipated.

"Not bad," Sera said from the bank.

"Not good enough."

"Keep practicing."

He raised his hand again.

This time, the wall was thicker. Warmer. He could feel the energy humming through his gauntlets, steady and controlled.

He pushed it forward. It traveled five feet before fading.

"Better," he said.

"Better," she agreed.

He raised his hand again.

---

Sera sat on the same flat rock overlooking the valley.

She’d spent the morning tracking—birds, rabbits, the slow pulses of the monks. But blood sense had limits. Blood was specific. Blood was a trail.

She wanted more.

She closed her eyes and reached out, not for blood, but for life.

The valley opened beneath her.

Not the way it had before—not the scattered pulses of individual creatures. This was different. This was a web. Connections between living things, invisible threads of energy that bound them together.

She felt the trees. Their roots, deep beneath the soil, drinking from the same water that fed the Springs.

She felt the fish in the pools, their cold blood, their silent hunger.

She felt the monks, their presence not just physical but spiritual, anchored to this place by decades of meditation.

And she felt her team.

Derek, his ghosts cold and bright. Mason, his heat a steady burn. Cora, her phase a flicker at the edge of perception. Lucian—

She couldn’t feel Lucian.

Not because he was hidden. Because he was still. Too still. Like a pool of water that reflected everything but gave nothing back.

She opened her eyes.

Weird, she thought. He’s always weird.

But she smiled.

"Life force," she said to herself. "I can sense life force."

She stood, stretched, and walked back toward the pools.

---

The afternoon sun was warm on his face.

Lucian sat on the outcropping again, watching his team train. Derek was projecting Dr. Blackwood across the clearing. Mason was building heat walls that held longer each time. Sera sat with her eyes closed, her brow furrowed, reaching for something only she could feel. Cora was running drills, her blade flashing in the light.

They were growing.

He could see it in the way they moved, the way they breathed, the way they trusted themselves and each other.

He closed his eyes and let the energy of the Springs wash over him.

Meditation, he thought. Stillness. Patience.

The world faded.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was lower, and his team was gathered at the base of the outcropping, looking up at him.

"Dinner?" Cora called.

He stood. "Dinner."

They walked back to the monks’ quarters together, the mist closing behind them, the Springs humming with quiet energy.

Somewhere else in the mountains

"Great students you brought here Alistair, they are truly unique, especially that boy."

"He is the son of Margaret, your former student."

"Just like his mother, he is going to do great things."