But moments later, Towan’s eyes flicked open, breaking the silence like a stone dropped into still water. “I almost forgot to mention,” he said, his voice softer now, though no less urgent. He glanced at Elliot, his dark eyes searching for a reaction. “I’ve been working on enhancing my senses. I realized most of my focus stays locked on my opponent during a fight. It leaves me wide open to everything else around me.”
Elliot’s eyes remained closed for a heartbeat longer, as if he were reluctant to pull himself fully from the meditative state. When he finally opened them, there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. He hummed in thought, a low, resonant sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of experience. “That makes sense,” he said slowly, his voice measured. “We’ve always concentrated on the enemy right in front of us. It leaves gaps—like the one that nearly got you last time.”
Towan’s jaw tightened at the memory, his expression hardening. “Exactly,” he said, his voice firm, almost defiant. He leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping his knees as if grounding himself. “I can’t afford to make that mistake again. If I’m going to protect what matters, I need to see the whole field—not just the threat in front of me.”
Elliot studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes softening just enough to convey a flicker of understanding. “It’s a good adjustment,” he said finally, his tone carrying a note of approval. “But it’ll take more than awareness. You’ll need to trust your instincts, too. Sometimes, the fight isn’t just about what you see—it’s about what you feel.”
Towan nodded, his expression resolute. The faintest hint of determination flickered in his eyes, a spark that seemed to grow brighter with each passing second. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I’ll be ready.”
The room fell silent again, but the air between them was alive with unspoken resolve. Both men returned to their meditation, their Essentia flowing stronger now, as if their shared understanding had deepened the connection between them. The tension in the room remained, but it was a different kind of tension—one that spoke of preparation, of anticipation, of the calm before the storm.
It was night time, the kind of deep, silent darkness that clung to the world just before dawn—around 4 in the morning. The air was cool, almost heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Towan was awake, his body tense and restless, while Elliot slept nearby, his breathing slow and even. Towan had chosen not to wake him this time, though the decision weighed on him. He sat on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the sheets, his mind racing.
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A gnawing feeling of uneasiness churned within him, a restless dread that refused to be ignored. His thoughts circled back to the same question, over and over, like a predator stalking its prey. “What if they appear again?” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The faces of Caleis and Dravan—the two cult members who had emerged during the tournament—flashed in his mind. Their cold, calculating eyes and the way they moved, like shadows given form, haunted him.
“I don’t know where Master or Eryndar are…” he continued, his voice trembling slightly as he clenched his fist, the knuckles whitening under the pressure. The absence of their mentors, their protectors, left a void that felt impossible to fill. “Rhys and Kade are a mystery too,” he added, his tone tinged with frustration. The uncertainty of their whereabouts gnawed at him, leaving him feeling exposed, vulnerable.
He stood abruptly, pacing the room with quiet, deliberate steps, his mind racing through scenarios, each one darker than the last. “Will we be enough to hold them off?” he whispered, his voice breaking the silence like a crack in glass. He paused, his gaze drifting to the window, where the faint glow of the moon cast long shadows across the floor. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as if the night itself refused to offer him solace.
“Even if most professors are really strong,” he continued, his voice gaining a bitter edge, “I think only Rheon and the headmaster are at the level of Eryndar. And even he was cornered against them…” The memory of Eryndar’s struggle, the way the cult members had pushed him to his limits, sent a shiver down Towan’s spine. His chest tightened as the weight of their situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket. “What if more come out this time?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if speaking the words aloud might summon the very threat he feared.
The room felt colder now, the shadows deeper. Towan’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the stakes they faced. He glanced at Elliot, still asleep, and for a moment, he envied the peace that eluded him. But even as doubt clawed at the edges of his mind, a spark of determination flickered within him. He clenched his fist again, tighter this time, and took a deep breath. Whatever came next, he would face it—not because he was unafraid, but because he had no other choice.