"Now, what you’re going to do is jump in,” Janga said, pointing at the spring.

I blinked, glancing at the water and then back at him, unsure if I’d heard him right. Jump into the water?

“Right here?” I asked, still pointing at the spring, my confusion obvious.

Janga nodded, his expression calm but firm. “The spring is more than just water. It’s a conduit for the Myogen Stream. Immersing yourself in it will help you feel its flow more clearly. It’s not about the water—it’s about what’s beneath it.”

I stared at the spring again, hesitating. The surface was calm, reflecting the light like a mirror, but the idea of jumping in didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

“Do I really need to jump?” I asked.

Janga chuckled softly. “Standing in it won’t force you to commit. Myogen requires complete trust—trust in yourself, and in the process. Hesitation is your enemy. If you’re too afraid to take a leap, how will you ever master its flow?”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Alright,” I said, stepping closer to the spring. The water looked deeper up close, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of doubt.

"Remember,” Janga added, his tone serious now, “it’s not just water. The Myogen Stream will test you. But if you focus, if you trust yourself, you’ll come out stronger.”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. But fear crept in like a storm cloud, dark and unrelenting—the fear of deep water, the fear of drowning. Again.

I never learned how to swim.

What on earth made me think I could pull this off?

But hesitation wasn’t a luxury I could afford. Complaining wouldn’t help, either. If this was my chance to grow stronger, then I’d take it—whether or not it killed me.

So, I jumped.

And immediately, it began.

Water surged into my lungs as I thrashed, my arms and legs flailing uselessly, trying desperately to reach the surface.

“Argh!” I barely managed to scream, though the sound was swallowed by the water above me.

It was just like before—like jumping off that bridge. The same suffocating panic, the same struggle, the same haunting experience dragging me down.

After several seconds, I managed to climb back up, using the branches below to haul myself out.

Gasping for air, I collapsed on the bank. I survived—barely. But I’d failed the goal. Instead of mastering the water, I’d been consumed by the terror of drowning. It was overwhelming, a tidal wave of panic that left me shaken.

The teacher grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not unkind. “First,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding, “learn how to breathe underwater.” With a casual shrug, he turned and strode off to oversee the other students.

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By my 24th attempt, I had finally calmed my body enough to float. Progress, at last. But breathing underwater? That was still a battle. Even so, I managed to hold out for nearly a minute this time.

“Not bad,” I thought, chest heaving as I broke the surface again. “But not good enough either.”

It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. But I had to make it easier—or at least make it possible.

I kept trying for hours, determined to conquer this challenge. Occasionally, I caught glimpses of the students, lounging and eating in the distance, watching me as though I were some bizarre sideshow. Teacher Janga, however, had vanished entirely, as if my struggle bored him.

“Haaa!” I let out a frustrated yell, exhausted yet unwilling to give up. Strangely, I found it exciting to see my progress, even if it was slow. Knowing I was improving made me more determined to master this completely.

“It’s pretty exhausting, huh?”

I turned at the voice. A student approached, his dark hair a semi-afro that contrasted with his easy demeanor. He held out a banana, his grin disarming. “Here. Looks like you’ve earned this.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his presence. “Oh… thanks,” I said, taking the banana and holding it up. “It’s been hours.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he replied with a chuckle, glancing back toward the other female student who was still eating. “You’ve got, uh, an audience.”

They were both students at the temple—this guy and that girl. I wasn’t sure if they were learning the same lessons from Teacher Janga, but the difference in their presence was undeniable. The guy, standing with a confident posture and a head of black semi-afro hair, exuded composure and ease. Meanwhile, the girl walking toward us had striking green hair tied neatly at the back of her head. Her energy was intense—overwhelming even—but in a way entirely distinct from his.

Both of them glanced down at me, half-submerged in the water.

“By the way, I’m Zander,” the guy said, gesturing to the girl beside him. “And this is—”

“Eira,” she interrupted smoothly, giving a subtle wave.

Exhaustion was clawing at me, making everything feel twice as annoying, but I managed to get my name out. “Zachary,” I said, biting into the banana I was holding.

Zander crouched by the water’s edge, his expression curious. “So, did you feel the myogen underneath?” he asked.

Was he serious? Did he think I’d reached some profound connection with the water already? I had to laugh. No, I wasn’t even close to that level. Right now, I was just trying to master the basics of swimming—and honestly, that was fine by me.

I chuckled lightly. “Not quite. I’m still working on learning how to swim.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Pfft.” Eira stifled a laugh, clearly amused.

“That’s on me,” Zander admitted with a sheepish smile. “Just… relax and focus on breathing underwater.”

His awkward attempt at encouragement made Eira burst into a louder laugh, her amusement spilling over uncontrollably.

“Wow, Zander, you’re giving swimming lessons now? What’s next, meditation classes?” Eira laughed, harder than necessary.

Honestly, I wish I had swimming lessons. That’s exactly what I need right now—desperately.

Zander looked at her, dead serious. “You think so?” he asked.

Eira’s laughter stopped cold. Her expression shifted. “Man, you’re an idiot,” she said, shaking her head as she walked away, waving dismissively with her back to us.

“Don’t mind her,” Zander said, waving his hand as if brushing off the awkwardness. Probably not the first time she’s done this.

Was this normal for them? Maybe they’d just known each other too long. I don’t know how long they’ve been at the temple, but it must’ve been years for them to act so casual.

I sighed. “I’ll try again,” I said. I thought I learned the importance of resting, but I just couldn’t. Not now. I had to learn to swim. I was finally making progress, and the excitement was too much for me to ignore.

“I’ll keep an eye on you. Just breathe calmly, okay? And don’t worry, if you drown, I’ll jump in after you. Wahaha!” he joked, laughing at his own comment.

Great personality, this guy. Still, his humor was oddly motivating. I made a mental note to thank him—once I finally learned how to swim.

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It took me several hours—swimming, resting briefly, watching Zander and Eira train, and then diving back into the water again. I thought it would take me until tomorrow to figure out how to breathe and stay calm underwater. But to my surprise, I managed to learn it in just one day.

My fear.

It slowly faded. I didn’t fear the water itself—I feared drowning. But I faced that fear, fought it, and, somehow, I conquered it. And in doing so, I learned something valuable.

“Took you so quick, Zach,” Zander said as I stepped out of the spring. My skin was waterlogged, the telltale sign of spending way too much time in the water.

It had been grueling at the start, but I’d done it. I’d finally done it. It felt like ages since I’d started, but now excitement bubbled up inside me. I couldn’t wait to dive in again tomorrow, though my body was begging for rest.

I nodded, following Zander toward the stay house. It was a small wooden cabin. Zander explained that he and Eira had separate places to stay. There were only three houses here: one for the teacher, one for Zander, and one for Eira. Since I’d shown up unexpectedly, I’d have to crash at Zander’s place.

Not that I minded. Honestly, it was kind of exciting. Back on Earth, my friends used to talk about sleepovers like they were the pinnacle of fun, but I’d never been invited to one. I guess people thought I was weird—at least, until I started improving myself. Even then, a sleepover remained on the list of things I never got to experience.

As we stepped inside, the house was just as modest as it looked from the outside. A single bed sat against one wall, and the small living room was barely big enough to stretch out in. But it was enough for me to sleep in.

“Hey, sleep here later. I’ll take the living room,” Zander said, pointing at the bed, then at the living room.

How was I supposed to respond to that? Of course, I’d say no. I’d much rather sleep in the living room—it wouldn’t kill me. Besides, the idea of taking his bed didn’t sit right with me. I might be a guest, but that felt like pushing it.

“No, no, I’ll sleep here. I’m fine with it. Honestly, I fall asleep faster in living rooms anyway,” I said, waving off his suggestion. It was an excuse, obviously, but a convenient one. Better this than guilt-tripping myself to sleep in his bed.

Zander nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, handing me a pillow and a blanket.

After setting up my makeshift sleeping spot in the living room, we headed out for dinner. Eira had cooked, and the dining table was loaded with dishes I’d never seen before—an assortment of vegetables and a few meats that smelled incredible.

The food looked amazing.

Zander’s eyes practically sparkled at the sight of it. He was ready to dive in. “These are—”

“Hey!” Eira swatted his hand away as he reached for a piece of meat. “We pray first,” she said firmly.

Oh, right. I’d completely forgotten. This world had a different set of gods from the ones we knew on Earth. Here, people often prayed to the Goddess of Harvest, especially during this season when farmers depended on her blessings.

“I forgot,” Zander admitted sheepishly, sitting back in his chair with a grin aimed my way.

I started to clasp my hands together in a familiar prayer gesture, but they placed their right hands over their chests and bowed slightly. I quickly adjusted, copying them.

“Oh, gracious Goddess of Harvest, Keeper of the fields and nurturer of life, I bow before you in humble gratitude. For the golden grains that feed us, For the fruits that sweeten our days, And for the green abundance that fills our tables, I give you thanks. You bless the hands of the farmers, Toiling beneath the sun and rain, And turn their labor into bounty. Through your grace, we are sustained. May your blessings continue to fall Upon the soil, the seeds, and the seasons. Let the earth remain kind, And the harvests plentiful. We honor you with every meal we share, With every seed we sow, And with every prayer of thanks. Oh, gentle Goddess, we are ever in your care. May we always live in harmony With the gifts you provide.”

With the prayer complete, we finally got to eat.

“So, did you learn how to swim yet?” Eira asked, smirking.

I nodded. “Yup.”

“He’s a quick learner,” Zander chimed in, focused on his food.

Eira’s smirk deepened. “That reminds me of something you told me, Zander,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief.

Zander looked up, clearly puzzled. “What?”

“You said, ‘You may learn faster than me, but that’s why you’ll fail sooner, too.’ Remember that?” Eira said with a laugh.

The words froze me mid-bite. That was… intense. It sounded more like something you’d say to an opponent than a friend.

Zander sighed, shaking his head. “Why’d you have to bring that up? I was so immature back then.”

“Right, right. Just eat,” Eira said with a grin, brushing it off.

For a second, I thought their banter might escalate, but they were clearly used to this. It was just how they were.

I took the chance to jump into the conversation. “By the way, how old are you two?”

“Twenty,” they said in unison.

So, I was a year older than them. Not a big difference, but it gave me something to think about.

"Twenty, huh? Well, guess that makes me the elder here," I said with a small smirk, trying to play it cool.

Zander raised an eyebrow. "You’re twenty-one?"

"Yeah," I replied, grabbing another bite of the unfamiliar but delicious food. "Not that it matters much, but don’t you think you should be showing me some respect, you know, as your elder?" I said jokingly of course.

Eira let out a laugh, almost choking on her food. "Respect? For you? You barely know how to swim, Grandpa."

"Hey, I’d be careful with the jokes. Elders have their ways of teaching lessons, you know." I said, smiling.

"Sure, sure," she said, waving me off like I was a harmless fly.

Zander, as usual, stayed out of our little exchange, focused on his plate. When he finally spoke, it was to say, "If you’re done debating seniority, maybe you’ll have room for dessert. Eira actually made something decent for once."

Eira glared at him. "I’ll let that slide because I’m too tired to argue. But remember, I can poison your food next time."

Zander chuckled, clearly unfazed. "Noted."

They bickered, and I found myself watching them more closely. There was something about the way they interacted—something comfortable, like they’d known each other forever. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of history they had, what had brought them both here to the temple.

After dinner, we cleaned up together, though Eira insisted I didn’t need to help. I ignored her and kept at it anyway. There was something satisfying about doing something normal, even mundane, in this strange world.

When we finally returned to Zander’s stay house, exhaustion was catching up with me. The small living room I’d set up earlier looked more inviting than ever.

“Alright,” Zander said as he sat down on the edge of his bed, “don’t let Eira’s words get to you. She just likes to tease.”

I shrugged. “I can handle it. She’s got a sharp tongue, but I’ve dealt with worse.”

Zander nodded thoughtfully. "You good in that room?"

I tapped the thick mat beneath me. "Absolutely. I’m really comfortable."

He smiled. "That’s good to hear, man."

I couldn’t resist cracking a joke. "Why don’t you start calling me ‘big bro’ from now on?" I said with a grin.

Zander glanced at me, smirking. "Ever been elbowed in the head, big bro?" He burst into laughter before I could reply.

I chuckled, adjusting the mat under my back as I lay down in the living room. The wooden ceiling looked even more rustic in the dim light, and the quiet of the place was oddly calming.

"Jokes aside," I said, breaking the silence, "how’d you end up as a student here?"

For a moment, I thought he’d fallen asleep—it was so quiet. But then, he spoke.

"I was a street kid," he said simply. "No parents, no home. I was barely surviving. Master Janga found me one day when some adults were trying to kill me." He paused, as if the memory lingered too close for comfort. "I guess you could say I was lucky. If I hadn’t run into him, I wouldn’t be alive right now. He saved me, adopted me as his student, and brought me here."

Zander stared at the ceiling, his voice quieter now. "That was almost ten years ago. He started teaching me when I was fifteen."

I didn’t know what to say to that. The idea of someone finding you at your lowest, stepping in, and giving you a second chance—it wasn’t something I could relate to. Zander’s story had layers, and I could tell he didn’t share it often. But it said a lot about him. Tough on the outside, but loyal to the core.

"And Eira?" I asked, breaking the pause.

It took him a few seconds to answer. "Oh, Eira? She’s… different. She was a noblewoman, actually." He turned his head slightly toward me. "Her father and Master Janga were friends. When her father was murdered, Master Janga took her in as his student."

I raised an eyebrow. "That’s surprising."

"Yeah, it is," Zander said, his tone lighter now. "But Eira’s tough. I think that’s why she and Master Janga get along so well. She’s been here for… I don’t know, six or seven years now?"

I nodded, processing their stories. Both of them had lost so much, but they’d found something here—a purpose, maybe even a family.

"Oh! I forgot to ask earlier—what about Teacher Janga? I haven’t seen him around anywhere," I said.

Zander glanced at me and shrugged. "I don’t know all the details, but he mentioned being called by the emperor. Some big problem is brewing in the empire, apparently."

The emperor? A major problem in the empire? For all the time I’ve spent in this world, I’d somehow managed to forget the bigger world outside the place that I've been so far—a world filled with politics, intrigue, and gods know what else.

I tried to picture Teacher Janga in the imperial court, surrounded by nobles and soldiers. It was almost laughable. The man seemed too rooted, too grounded to mingle with emperors and their problems. But then again, wasn’t that the kind of person you’d want solving major issues? Someone who could cut through the nonsense with wisdom and clarity?

Still, the idea of a "major problem" unsettled me. What kind of crisis would require someone like Teacher Janga to leave the temple? And how far would those ripples spread? Problems in the government rarely stayed confined to one place.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever this was, it wasn’t just some bureaucratic mess. If Janga was involved, it was something big. Something that might even reach us here.

And that was the scariest part. Because if Janga—someone so calm, capable, and wise—had to step away to deal with it, what chance did the rest of us have if things spiraled out of control?

No.

I'm just overreacting right now.

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