The Essence Flow

Chapter 200: A Voice From Ten Years Ago

The morning air in the academy halls hummed with a new, electric energy. It wasn't the usual pre-class dread, but the vibrant, buzzing gossip of hundreds of students trying to piece together the same puzzle. Every conversation, from the grand staircases to the quiet nooks, was about the two living legends who had seemingly dropped out of the sky and into their midst.

“From what Professor Kaelin told me during the staff briefing,” Sylra explained, her voice cutting through the chatter at their usual table with the authority of the first-year class representative. She leaned in slightly, and the others instinctively drew closer. “They’ll each be teaching a dedicated subject, but not until next semester.” She let the news settle, watching their faces fall. “So, we’ll have to wait until after the winter holidays to see them in a classroom.”

“Damn it,” Alira muttered, the words a frustrated exhale barely above a whisper. She slumped back in her chair, her tactical mind already craving a glimpse of their teaching styles, of the new forms and strategies they might reveal.

Len was uncharacteristically quiet, staring into the middle distance. Her spoon stirred her tea absently. (Makes sense he got a new job…) she thought, a faint, familiar guilt tugging at her. (After all, I wasn’t around for him to bodyguard me anymore.) The end of her father's contract with the legendary Weaponsmaster had been an unspoken consequence of her enrollment here.

“Sir Varras has become quite the popular topic,” Elliot remarked with a wry grin, expertly changing the subject. He nodded toward a cluster of older students whispering and giggling nearby. “I’ve overheard… quite a few conversations about him. Doesn’t hurt that he’s officially the youngest professor on campus now.”

A faint, almost imperceptible twitch pulled at Len’s eye. It wasn’t jealousy—that would be beneath her. It was something stranger, a prickling of proprietary annoyance that the kingdom’s most guarded secret was now being treated as common gossip.

Sylra, ever observant, noted the twitch and smoothly shifted the focus. “Lytharos has been quite the talk, too. Having someone with his depth of real-world experience teaching here will be invaluable for everyone.” Her eyes then flicked to Elliot, a knowing look in them. “Though you probably already know most of what he’d teach, right?”

Elliot gave a single, confident nod, a silent understanding passing between them. He’d had a private tutor in a legend; the rest of the academy was just now catching up.

The usual gentle hum of the academy’s essentia felt distant, muffled by the singular, persistent note ringing in Rellie’s soul. She walked the polished stone hallways alone, a rare occurrence, her focus turned entirely inward. A sensation she’d felt the previous day—a fleeting, familiar signature amidst the storm of new arrivals—had anchored itself in her mind and refused to let go.

(I’m sure I felt it…) The thought was a steady drumbeat in time with her heart. (That essence… it’s him. I’m certain of it.)

She wasn't walking aimlessly. She was following a thread, a faint but impossibly strong pull on her senses—the unique, grounding presence of someone she hadn’t seen in almost ten years. A man to whom she owed a debt that could never truly be repaid.

Her quick, purposeful steps echoed through the increasingly deserted corridors. She moved past the bustling central courtyards, past the libraries and common rooms, until she reached one of the most remote training grounds. It was a quiet, forgotten place, nestled where the academy’s newer architecture began to blend with the older, foundational stone. No students came here; it was too far from everything.

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The only sound was the wind whispering through the high, arched windows. And there, standing in a solitary beam of late afternoon sunlight, was a figure.

He stood with his face tilted toward the sun, as if soaking in its warmth after a long, cold night. Then, as if feeling the weight of her gaze, he turned.

Recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by a warmth that seemed to melt the years away. A soft, familiar smile graced his features, etching gentle lines at the corners of his eyes.

“Rellie?”

Her name on his voice was a key turning in a lock she’d thought was sealed forever. It was him. It was really him.

Tears, bright and unbidden, welled in Rellie’s crimson eyes, tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Without a word, her composure shattered, and she ran—not a walk, not a hurried step, but a full, desperate run across the wide, empty yard.

“Leon!” she cried out, her voice cracking with a decade of unsaid words. She threw her arms around him, the solid, real feel of him confirming it wasn’t a dream. “It really is you!”

The air in the secluded training ground seemed to still, holding its breath for them. Leon’s chuckle was a warm, familiar sound she hadn’t realized she’d been missing for a decade. His hand, calloused and strong from a lifetime of wielding a sword, gently patted her head with an affection that was achingly paternal.

“Oh, hey there,” he said, his voice a low, comforting rumble. He held her by the shoulders at arm’s length, his keen eyes scanning her face with a mix of pride and wonder. “Look at you. How have you been, kid? You’ve grown from a sapling into a full-grown tree since I last saw you.”

“I thought you died!” Rellie’s words tumbled out in a watery gasp, the fear of those long years of silence finally breaking free. Her empathic senses, already reaching out, brushed against the core of his being. The frail, fading essence she remembered was gone, replaced by a deep, steady, and formidable power, like a dormant volcano. “But you’re… you’re all good now?” The question was hopeful, tentative.

She finally let go, taking a half-step back to wipe her tears with her sleeve, a gesture that made her look young again.

“Mind telling me how you ended up at a place like this?” Leon asked, his tone shifting to gentle curiosity. He crossed his arms, leaning back against a sun-warmed stone pillar. “Last I checked, I’d drilled the arts of negotiation and ledger-balancing into you, not essentia flows.”

“I’ll… tell you everything,” Rellie said, taking a steadying breath. The story would take time.

The sun had dipped lower by the time she finished, casting long shadows across the dusty ground. Leon listened without interruption, his expression unreadable until she mentioned a certain boy with determined eyes.

“So you met Towan, huh,” Leon said, a slow, incredulous smile spreading across his face. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of all the people in all the world… I never expected the two of you would find each other.”

“I recognized your movements the moment I saw him,” Rellie explained, a faint smile of her own touching her lips. “The footwork, the way he holds his stance before striking… it was all you. I could tell at first glance he had learnt from you.” Her smile faded slightly. “I wanted to learn where you were from him… just to know if you were even still alive. I’d heard… rumors. That you’d fallen sick.”

“The good part is… I’m all good now,” Leon added, thumping a fist lightly against his chest. His expression then grew serious, a shadow of old guilt passing behind his eyes. “And Rellie… I am sorry I left you back then. I didn’t just disappear. The people who were after me… they were relentless. I couldn’t let them find you. You were better off thinking I was gone than being a target.”

Rellie looked at him, her crimson eyes seeing not just the warrior, but the man burdened by a protector’s choices. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “You know I know how you feel.”

Leon’s serious expression broke into a warm, relieved grin. “Right. Haha. I suppose you always could.”

The unspoken understanding between them—forged in a dusty merchant caravan a lifetime ago—settled back into place as comfortably as an old cloak.