The Essence Flow

Chapter 148: Learning The Distance

CHAPTER 1: “The First Step”

(From the journal of Veik, Third-Class Student)

Day 19 at the Academy

I told myself I’d ask today.

Simple goal. Ask Towan for some help with hand-to-hand form.

Nothing fancy. Just tips. Footwork, maybe. How to not get thrown like laundry every time I spar.

Everyone says he’s nice. Loud, friendly, talks to anyone. “He’s the approachable one,” they say.

I don’t even want to be First-Class. I just want to stop getting folded like wet paper.

I barely made it into the Academy.

Failed the first flag trial. Got through on the written exam and pure desperation. My Essentia output is laughable. I think my wind alignment turned out to be a stiff breeze and a cough.

Most people here come from lineages, power, training. I came from a village so small we didn’t even name the goat herd. Just called them “the goats.”

So yeah, I’m Veik.

It means “weak.” Mom thought it would build character.

Spoiler: It didn't.

Location: Upper Courtyard

Towan was there.

I spotted him after class, sitting with Alira, Len, and a guy who might’ve been Elliot—the one who knocked out a Second-Class with one strike and made it look like math.

Towan was laughing at something Alira said. He leaned back on his hands, grinning. Friendly. Casual.

Human.

I took a step forward.

Okay. Just ask. He’s not a teacher. He’s not a god. He’s—

“Towan,” someone called.

My breath caught.

A girl with silver-streaked hair walked onto the courtyard.

Sylra Auren.

She looked like the wind decided to take human form and judge you.

“You promised me a rematch,” she said.

“Unless you’re scared.”

Towan stood up, cracking his neck.

“Scared? Nah. I just don’t like losing twice in a row.”

They moved to the sparring ring.

I should’ve left. I didn’t.

They started slow. Just testing. Feet sliding like dancers.

Then—snap.

Wind. Movement. A blur.

Sylra twisted mid-air and lashed a strike down that I couldn’t even track. Towan blocked it with his forearm. Laughed.

Then countered with a spinning elbow that made the stone crack under his pivot.

No shouts. No flashy Essentia. Just two people built different.

I watched for five minutes. I think I blinked once.

By the time they stopped—Towan grinning with a bloody lip, Sylra brushing dirt from her shoulder—I realized my hands were shaking.

I wasn’t ready to ask him for help.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe if I catch him alone.

Maybe if the wind doesn’t move like it wants to break my neck next time.

Note to self:

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Don’t watch sparring matches before trying to talk.

You will feel like a bug at a dragon convention.

CHAPTER 2: “The Quiet One”

(Journal of Veik, Third-Class Student — Day 20)

Okay. New plan.

Catch Towan when he’s alone. No crowd. No Sylra spinning through the air like a knife. No Alira setting grass on fire by accident again. Just... Towan. Friendly, casual, help-you-with-your-stupid-stance Towan.

I even woke up early. Me. I don’t wake up for breakfast, let alone voluntary embarrassment. But today, I was motivated.

I found an upper-yard training circle just after sunrise. Empty. Perfect.

Dew on the stone tiles. Cold wind brushing my sleeves.

And then I saw him.

Towan was there. Alone.

Shirt half off, hair a mess, doing some kind of one-handed pushup that involved a spin at the top. Why? What function does that even have?

I inched closer. Not too close. Just enough to maybe wave. Maybe cough awkwardly. Maybe get a little help before the existential panic.

Then I heard another set of footsteps.

“You’re early,” said a voice—calm, smooth, tired in a way that sounded earned.

Elliot.

I recognized him from the masked duels. The one with precision like a blade that studied physics. He walked like he’d already calculated where his foot would land ten steps from now.

Towan beamed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Towan said. “Figured I’d burn off the nightmares.”

They bumped fists.

I ducked behind a pillar. Not proud of it. Survival instincts.

Then they sparred.

No Essentia. Just movement.

It was beautiful.

Towan fought with bursts, swings, raw force wrapped in instinct.

Elliot danced around it like he’d memorized the rhythm. He slipped between punches, countered with calm palms to pressure points, ended one round with a sweep that Towan didn’t even see.

And then Towan laughed, rolled back up, and won the next round by catching Elliot’s leg mid-kick and throwing him over his shoulder like a training dummy.

They went back and forth. No anger. No showing off. Just two monsters practicing how to kill people politely.

I sat there behind the pillar, knees hugged to my chest.

I wasn’t watching students.

I was watching soldiers.

I told myself I’d ask him after.

But how do you ask a guy for help when you just watched him lose and win against someone who sees combat like chess?

I didn’t ask.

Instead, I went to my regular sparring partner—Dram, the guy who once tripped over his own Essentia mist and knocked himself out. We flailed at each other for twenty minutes and called it a draw.

I miss Dram. Dram makes me feel strong.

Note to self:

Bring snacks to training field next time. If you’re going to feel completely inferior, at least be well-fed.

CHAPTER 3: “The Mistake”

(Journal of Veik, Third-Class Student — Day 21)

Today, I made a mistake.

Not the kind you can laugh about later.

The kind that sticks to your bones, even when you try to sleep.

I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Really.

I was heading to the instructor wing. Going to ask Professor Kaelin if she had any advice for Third-Class students. She doesn’t normally speak to us unless it’s to ask us to “please stop setting your own shoes on fire,” but I was feeling bold.

And then I heard voices in the hallway.

At first, I thought it was a conversation.

Then I realized it was a warning.

“You’re a mistake,” said Sevren Kirvant. “A misplaced shadow pretending to be a student.”

He stood in front of Rellie. The quiet girl with soft eyes and the mismatched dagger. She barely came up to his chest but didn’t flinch.

Sevren leaned in.

“They pity you. That’s why they keep you around. But one day, they’ll stop pretending. And you’ll be alone again.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

She just watched

him.It made something in my gut twist. Not because of her stillness…

Because I could tell she wasn’t scared.

He should have been.

Then I felt the shift.

It wasn’t a sound. It wasn’t a tremor. It was like the world held its breath.

And then:

Step.

Not a stomp. Not a charge. Just a single, deliberate footstep on the stone.

Towan.

He walked in from behind me and didn’t say a word at first.

His eyes were locked on Sevren. Not angry. Not loud.

Just… different.

His whole body was relaxed, but the tension was in the air around him, like heat before a storm. I didn’t even notice I’d stepped aside to let him pass. My body moved before I did.

“Back off,” Towan said.

It was calm. Flat. Not a threat. Not a challenge.

That made it worse.

Sevren straightened, tried to put on his usual sneer, but his hand hovered just a little too close to his hip. Like he was thinking about drawing a blade but knew it wouldn’t matter.

“I was just talking,” Sevren said.

Towan took one step forward. Just one.

His aura didn’t explode. There was no dramatic Essentia burst. No lightning or flames or pressure.

But the air felt heavy, like every molecule had suddenly agreed that this was not the time to breathe.

“I said,” Towan repeated,

“back. off.”

And Sevren—

He stepped back.

Didn’t argue. Didn’t puff his chest.

Just moved.

Rellie didn’t say a word the whole time.

She just met Towan’s gaze and gave him a look that said “thanks” in a way that didn’t need sound. Then she walked away.

And Towan?

He didn’t glare. Didn’t puff up.

He just stood there until Sevren was gone, then exhaled and leaned against the wall like nothing happened.

I didn’t breathe for ten full seconds.

I was going to ask him today.

But I didn’t know how to talk to someone who could make the air obey him.

Note to self:

Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.

And don’t mistake quiet rage for no rage at all.