The Essence Flow

Chapter 161: Another Bone In Your Body

Sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, painting geometric shadows across Rellie's slouched form as she stared blankly at Professor Kaelin's floating diagrams. The glowing schematics of artificial Essentia channels twisted in midair like transparent snakes—normally fascinating, today just noise.

Len's elbow bumped hers gently. "Don't be down, Rellie." Her whisper was barely audible over Kaelin's droning explanation of mana-flow ratios. "We just had bad luck. Maybe she'll appear tonight..." She paused her note-taking, quill hovering over half-copied equations. "...If not, we can always ask Sera for dagger tips. She did gift you that blade, right?"

Rellie's fingers twitched toward the hidden weapon at her thigh. "But I don't like Sera."

Len blinked. "Why?"

"It's not—" Rellie chewed her lip, watching dust motes dance in the sunlight rather than meet Len's gaze. "Not that I dislike her. She's just..." Her hands fidgeted, sketching vague shapes in the air. "Unpredictable. Like holding a lit firework inside your shirt."

Len smirked. "Towan's unpredictable too, y'know?"

"Not the same." Rellie's voice dropped to a husky murmur. "Towan's chaos makes sense. Sera's like... like a smiling door with no handle."

(She seems... stressed. Better change tactics.) Len gave a barely perceptible nod before turning back to her notes, though her eyes kept flicking to Rellie's tense shoulders.

At the window, Rellie watched clouds swallow the sun whole. Somewhere beyond the glass, the Queen's absence itched like a phantom limb.

The training field echoed with the rhythmic thwap of Towan's kicks against the practice dummy when movement caught his eye. Rellie sat slumped on a far bench, shoulders curved like wilted flower stems, her usual fiery demeanor reduced to embers.

(Did something torch her mood?)

Towan's roundhouse kick froze mid-air.He approached with uncharacteristic quietness, his shadow falling across her boots before his voice did.

"Good afternoon, Towan." Her greeting came automatic, eyes still glued to the dirt where she'd been scuffing patterns with her toe.

The concern in his voice was startlingly genuine when he crouched to her eye level. "Hey. What's eating you?"

Rellie exhaled through her nose, watching a ladybug crawl over her bootlace. "Just... hit another dead end trying to find a teacher."

Towan plopped onto the bench beside her, the wood creaking in protest. "Then train solo." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, wiping sweat from his brow with his armguard. "Can't always wait for answers to fall in your lap. Sometimes you gotta—" he mimed digging with invisible shovels "—unearth 'em yourself."

When Rellie finally looked up, she found no pity in his expression—just the quiet understanding of someone who'd once been a bag too.

"That's..." Her fingers unclenched from her sleeves. "...weirdly good advice. Thanks."

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Towan's grin returned full-force as he sprang up, offering a calloused hand. "Food? Bet Alira's inhaling third portions by now."

The laugh that burst from Rellie sounded surprised at itself. "Sure!" She took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet—the weight on her shoulders somehow lighter than before.

The training field lay abandoned under a quilt of stars, the last echoes of clashing blades long since faded into the night. Rellie waited until even the most dedicated night owls had shuffled off to bed before emerging from the shadows, Professor Kaen's precious swordsmanship manual clutched to her chest like contraband.

"Take good care of it!" The professor's warning echoed in her memory as she ran a finger along the book's gilded edges. The weight of responsibility sat heavy in her stomach - this wasn't just any textbook, but one of the library's restricted volumes.

Her dagger caught the moonlight as she drew it, the blade winking at her like it was in on some private joke. "A blade is a blade," she murmured, more to convince herself than anything. "The principles can't be that different... right?"

The training dummy stood sentinel in the pale glow, its straw-stuffed torso bearing the scars of countless battles. Rellie flipped through the manual to a dog-eared page showing an intricate sword stance, her lips moving silently as she parsed the instructions.

First attempt: A clumsy lunge that left her off-balance. The dagger felt all wrong in her hand - too light, too short compared to the sweeping arcs described in the diagrams.

Second try: She adjusted her grip, imagining the extra length of a sword extending from her fist. This time her footwork mirrored the drawings more closely, though her strike landed with all the force of a gentle tap.

By the fifteenth repetition, sweat darkened the collar of her training uniform. The movements became less jerky, more fluid - not quite the graceful forms in the manual, but something new. Something hers.

The dummy's straw guts spilled from a particularly enthusiastic slash. Rellie paused, panting, then surprised herself with a quiet chuckle. Maybe she didn't need to be perfect. Maybe showing up was enough.

The voice came like a shadow given sound—

"You're doing it wrong."

Rellie whirled, dagger flashing in a defensive arc before she even registered the speaker.

Sera stood three paces away, moonlight catching the silver embroidery on her midnight-blue uniform. The grass didn't rustle. The gravel didn't crunch. She might as well have been a ghost. No sound on her footsteps

"What?" Rellie's voice came out sharper than intended, her chest still heaving from exertion.

In one fluid motion, Sera closed the distance. Cool hands settled on Rellie's wrist and shoulder, adjusting her stance with surprising gentleness.

"Think of the dagger," Sera murmured, her breath stirring the hairs at Rellie's nape, "not as a tool in your hand..." She guided Rellie's arm through the motion. "...but as another bone in your body."

Against all instinct, Rellie didn't pull away. She closed her eyes. (An extension of myself...) The dagger's weight became part of her arm's natural curve, its edge another nerve ending.

Sera's voice wrapped around her like smoke: "It moves when you breathe. Strikes when you intend."

Rellie exhaled—

—and thrust.

The CRACK of splintering wood echoed across the empty field. The training dummy's post now bore a fresh scar, its edges razor-clean.

"Better." Sera stepped back, one hand resting on her hip. The ghost of approval played at her lips. "Now do it five hundred more times."

Rellie's dagger hovered mid-air, her breath catching like a tangled thread. "Why..." The words scraped raw against her throat. "Why are you helping me?" Moonlight caught the unshed tears glazing her eyes.

Sera tilted her head, the movement unnervingly precise. "Weren't you scouring the academy for a teacher?" She tapped the twin to Rellie's dagger at her own hip—same make, same deadly curve. "When you gift someone a blade, you gift them the responsibility that comes with it."

Rellie's grip tightened. "How did you even know I—"

"A little bird told me." Sera's lips curled as Len's frantic knocking replayed in her memory—three rapid taps, two slow, their old code. "Well. More of a golden-haired songbird, really."

Against her will, Rellie felt a laugh bubble up—sharp and sudden as a dagger thrust. It vanished just as quickly when Sera's training smile dissolved into something more dangerous.

"Enough stalling." Sera's boot scuffed the dirt, marking a fresh stance. "That dummy won't disembowel itself."