Praesul and Cire sat cross-legged, facing each other in the dim light of the forest clearing. The masked man spoke with an even, authoritative tone. "You've shown the ability to sense and see Virtus. That's not a bad start. But in this life, everything exists and behaves under certain laws. Focus, as you did before, and tell me what you see."
Cire nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating. This time, the process was quicker. A multitude of glowing particles appeared before him, swirling lazily around him.
"I see some spheres," he said cautiously.
"Be specific," Praesul instructed sharply.
"They're brown and orange. Some are floating, others… moving faster," Cire added, his voice uncertain.
"More specific," Praesul pressed, his tone now serious and unyielding.
Cire hesitated, struggling to articulate. "The orange ones move faster, and the brown ones seem heavier, slower… like they're dragging behind."
"Good. Don't lose focus." Praesul's voice softened slightly. "What you're seeing are Virtus particles in their primal state. Pure energy. But remember this: in this raw form, Virtus is chaos. Harnessing it without understanding will lead to disaster."
Cire tried to absorb the weight of Praesul's words, his mind flashing back to the strange white particles he had seen back in the cave—the ones near the pedestal. They had felt different, fewer in number, and brighter, almost pristine. He opened his mouth to ask about them, but Praesul cut him off.
"You're in this state long enough. That's good." Praesul's tone shifted slightly, signaling a change in pace. "Now we move to the next step. This will determine your talent."
Those words hit Cire like a blow. The weight of judgment in Praesul's voice was undeniable. He swallowed hard. "What do I have to do?"
"You must move one particle," Praesul explained. "Guide it into your heart. The heart is the catalyst. Once it enters, Virtus will begin to flow through your body. Start small. Focus on a single sphere."
Cire closed his eyes again and focused. Minutes turned into what felt like hours. The task was agonizingly slow. His breath grew heavy as he concentrated on one stubborn particle, willing it toward him. Finally, it trembled and began to drift closer.
As it neared, his heart started to thrum with a low vibration, steady but intense. The particle stopped in front of his chest, then shot into him, piercing through like a bolt of lightning. His heart thundered as his entire body trembled, vibrating with the rhythm of his heartbeat.
This is so strange… but it doesn't hurt, he thought. Then he felt a hand on his chest.
"Move it," came a voice, softer than Praesul's, almost melodic. "The energy is in your heart. Do not fear it. This power will reshape you… your destiny. Trust me, child."
Cire's eyes widened. That wasn't Praesul. It was her—Wish. The ethereal presence filled him with warmth and determination. Her words ignited something deep within him, a resolve sharper than before.
With renewed focus, he tried again and again to move the Virtus through his body. His heart pounded, the vibration spreading outward. Then it came—the pain.
Agony tore through him like fire, burning through every joint, muscle, and nerve. He clenched his teeth, his body screaming as Virtus carved a path through him. But he refused to give in. Slowly, the pain began to fade. The energy moved freely now, leaving behind a strange surge of power in its wake.
Exhausted, Cire opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Wish. Her star-filled eyes gazed at him, carrying a sorrowful tenderness that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
"I… I have so many questions," Cire whispered hoarsely.
Wish nodded. "I know, my child. Time is the best teacher. Your questions will find their answers if you seek them—if you wish for them." Her voice grew soft and melancholy. "Your journey is just beginning, and you have already lost so much. But trust in me. I chose you not for your power or knowledge but because you are my Wish. Remember, you are not alone."
Cire felt the weight of her words settle over him. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he began to cry—a release of grief, relief, and hope all at once. He cried for his family, for his struggles, and, strangely, for Wish. He barely knew her but felt an unshakable connection to the Guardian.
"Good work, boy," Praesul's gruff voice interrupted, pulling him back to reality. The masked man was standing over him now, arms crossed. The clearing was bathed in moonlight—it was night.
Cire blinked in confusion. "How long was I out?"
"Ten hours," Praesul replied flatly.
"Ten hours?!" Cire exclaimed. "That can't be right! I thought it was two, maybe three at most."
Praesul shrugged. "It felt longer for me too, having to watch you fumble around."
"I'm sorry, sir," Cire muttered, lowering his head. "I must have taken longer than anyone else."
"It was mediocre at best," Praesul said bluntly, then added, "but you did well."
Cire's head shot up. 'Did he just… praise me? 'He frowned suspiciously. 'A slap is probably coming. I should brace myself.'
"Congratulations," Praesul continued. "You're now officially a Key Master. Of course, you'll need to repeat this process a thousand more times before we can start the real training."
Cire groaned inwardly. 'Blast it. I hate it! This is hell!'