The heavy snows arrived the night before King Seon-jo reached the Eastern Temple. What had begun as scattered flurries intensified into blinding sheets that transformed the mountain path into treacherous terrain. The royal party was forced to take shelter in a wayside shrine, a humble structure typically used by pilgrims during seasonal journeys to the temple. Within its weathered wooden walls, the king of Gyeongseong found himself stripped of ceremonial trappings, huddled near a small fire alongside his guards and guides—royal authority rendered temporary and conditional by nature's indifferent power.
Min-jung observed this equalization with quiet interest, noting how Seon-jo adapted to the circumstance without apparent discomfort. Unlike many rulers whose identity became inseparable from their position, he seemed capable of setting aside the weight of kingship when necessity required—a flexibility she had always considered one of his greatest strengths, though court ministers often mistook it for indecision.
"The snow speaks of unusual patterns," she remarked, joining him at the shrine's single window where he watched white darkness engulf the mountain. "Too early, too heavy for this season."
Seon-jo's expression remained thoughtful rather than concerned. "Natural variation or something more significant?"
The shaman considered before answering, her sensitivity to supernatural currents heightened in this liminal space between civilization and wilderness. "There are... disturbances in elemental balances. Water manifesting with unusual intensity, as though responding to competing influences."
"Lady Soo-yeon's divination perhaps," Seon-jo suggested, his breath fogging the cold glass. "Or Mu-hyeon's training affecting wider patterns."
"Or both in counterpoint," Min-jung added. "River and sea currents creating weather where they intersect."
The king turned from the window, firelight catching the new strands of silver that had appeared at his temples in recent months. "You believe their abilities could manifest effects of this scale? My son is still learning, and Lady Soo-yeon's powers, while clearly substantial, remain largely concealed."
Min-jung arranged her ceremonial robes more comfortably as she seated herself near the fire. "Individual intention may matter less than inherent resonance. Water responds to those connected to it whether they deliberately invoke its power or not—particularly when strong emotions are involved." She glanced meaningfully at Seon-jo. "A father's concern for his son. A potential queen's ambition for influence. These create ripples beyond conscious direction."
This perspective shifted something in Seon-jo's understanding of both his son's heritage and the complexities of the potential alliance with the Han clan. If mere emotional states could manifest in elemental responses without deliberate invocation, the implications extended far beyond individual abilities into the realm of natural balances and perhaps even kingdom stability.
"All the more reason to reach the Eastern Temple with haste," he said, turning his attention to the mountain guides who had accompanied their party. "What are our prospects for continuing at first light?"
The older guide, a weathered man named Jae-sung whose family had served as temple guides for generations, considered the question with the careful attention of one whose miscalculations could prove fatal in mountain terrain.
"The snow will lighten before dawn," he predicted with the confidence of long experience. "But it has already transformed the upper path. We will need to take the gorge route—longer but more sheltered." His expression revealed appropriate concern without panic. "It will add half a day to our journey, Your Majesty."
Seon-jo nodded acceptance of this assessment. "Then we rest now and depart at first light. The Eastern Temple awaits, whatever path we must take to reach it."
---
Mu-hyeon woke well before the morning bell, roused by an awareness that had nothing to do with ordinary senses. In the days since beginning his training with Master Sook, his connection to water had deepened substantially, extending his perception beyond immediate surroundings to the wider patterns of moisture throughout the temple grounds and surrounding mountains.
This morning, those patterns carried unmistakable significance—familiar presences approaching through the heavy snow, one in particular resonating with his own essence in ways that could not be coincidence or imagination.
"Father," he whispered into the pre-dawn darkness, certainty settling within him like stone dropping into still water.
Moving quietly to avoid disturbing neighboring novices, he dressed and slipped from his quarters, following moonlit paths through the snow-covered temple grounds. The main gates remained closed at this hour, but Mu-hyeon found himself drawn to the eastern meditation platform that overlooked the gorge approach—the alternate route travelers might take when heavy snow made the main path impassable.
There, to his mild surprise, he found Grandmaster Hyun already seated in meditation posture despite the cold and early hour. The old master did not open his eyes as Mu-hyeon approached, but his slight nod acknowledged the boy's presence.
"You sense them," the Grandmaster observed, his breath forming gentle clouds in the frigid air.
Mu-hyeon settled beside him, adopting a similar meditation posture as he had been taught. "My father comes. With the royal shaman and others."
"Unusual timing for such a journey," Hyun noted, his tone neutral yet somehow suggesting deeper awareness of the visit's significance. "The mountain snow arrived weeks earlier than traditional patterns would predict."
The implication hung between them—that forces beyond ordinary weather might be influencing these conditions. During his studies of elemental principles with Master Chen, Mu-hyeon had begun to understand how supernatural influences could manifest through natural phenomena, particularly when multiple sources of power existed in counterpoint.
"Could my training be affecting the weather?" he asked, the possibility both concerning and strangely empowering.
Grandmaster Hyun considered this question with characteristic thoroughness before responding. "Your developing connection to water certainly contributes to local patterns. But these conditions suggest more complex interactions—currents meeting counter-currents, creating disturbance where they intersect."
Something in this description triggered an intuitive leap in Mu-hyeon's understanding. "Another water practitioner," he concluded. "Someone else with abilities like mine—or at least, connected to water in similar ways."
The Grandmaster's expression revealed nothing, yet Mu-hyeon sensed approval of this insight. "The Eastern Temple has long served as neutral ground where different elemental traditions might find balance rather than conflict. River currents, mountain springs, coastal tides—all water, yet each with distinct qualities and traditions."
This casual mention of distinct water traditions triggered connections in Mu-hyeon's studies with Master Chen—references to ancient divisions among water practitioners based on their primary connections to different manifestations of the element. His mother Gaya represented river traditions, with their emphasis on flow, adaptation, and finding path through obstacles. But there were others—sea traditions focusing on depth, cycle, and tidal force; mountain spring practitioners cultivating clarity, persistence, and hidden connection.
Before he could explore these insights further, a distant flicker of torchlight appeared in the gorge below—travelers approaching through the pre-dawn darkness, their progress slow but steady through the snow-filled passage.
"They will reach the lower gate by mid-morning," Grandmaster Hyun observed, rising with fluid grace despite his advanced age. "I suggest you continue your scheduled training. Master Sook expects particular progress today in your understanding of water memory."
Mu-hyeon hesitated, torn between anticipation of reunion with his father and commitment to the disciplined routine that had structured his days at the temple. "Should I not prepare for their arrival?"
The Grandmaster's smile carried gentle wisdom. "What better preparation than deepening your understanding of the very heritage that brings your father to our gates?" He placed a weathered hand briefly on Mu-hyeon's shoulder. "Trust that proper timing will bring all elements into alignment."
Recognizing both the practical wisdom and deeper philosophical truth in this counsel, Mu-hyeon bowed respect before returning to the temple proper. The familiar rhythm of morning routine—meditation, simple breakfast, scholarly study—provided structure that contained his growing anticipation, like riverbanks guiding powerful currents that might otherwise overflow without direction.
By mid-morning, as Grandmaster Hyun had predicted, word spread throughout the temple of distinguished visitors approaching the lower gate. Mu-hyeon maintained his focus on water-work with Master Sook, though his awareness continually reached toward the approaching party, sensing his father's presence drawing nearer with each passing hour.
"Your concentration wanders downstream before it has fully engaged with what lies before you," Master Sook observed sharply as Mu-hyeon attempted to maintain a complex water pattern between his palms. The delicate structure—a spiraling column that should have remained stable—collapsed into ordinary droplets, splashing onto the stone practice area.
"Forgive me, Master," he said, bowing apology. "My father approaches the temple."
Master Sook's expression softened slightly, her usual stern demeanor tempered by unexpected empathy. "Anticipation creates turbulence in internal waters. Understandable, yet still requiring management." She gestured toward the spilled droplets. "Collect them—not with hands, but with intention. Show me whether your awareness can maintain dual focus."
The exercise was more challenging than it appeared. Gathering scattered droplets required both precise concentration on each individual bead of water and broader awareness of the collective pattern they might form. Mu-hyeon had attempted similar practices before with limited success, his attention typically narrowing to one focus at the expense of the other.
Today, however, his dual awareness—focused on immediate practice while simultaneously sensing his father's approach—created unexpected resonance with the exercise. As he extended his perception toward the scattered droplets, they responded not to command but to recognition, tiny beads rising from stone to form a hovering constellation that reflected his divided attention.
"Interesting," Master Sook murmured, studying both the water pattern and Mu-hyeon's expression. "You've inadvertently discovered an important principle. Divided consciousness need not mean weakened focus—it can create harmonics where different awareness patterns actually strengthen each other."
Before she could elaborate further, a temple attendant appeared at the practice area entrance, bowing respectfully. "Grandmaster Hyun requests Prince Mu-hyeon's presence in the reception hall," the young monk announced. "The king has arrived."
Master Sook dismissed him with a wave, turning back to Mu-hyeon with unexpected gentleness. "Water remembers connection, young prince. The bonds between father and son create currents that flow beyond physical proximity." She gestured toward the hovering water droplets, still maintaining their complex pattern. "Release them mindfully, then go to your father."
Mu-hyeon bowed gratitude for both the lesson and understanding, then carefully guided the water droplets back to the small pool at the practice area's center. As they rejoined the larger body, he felt a subtle shift in his own awareness—a reintegration of focused attention and broader perception that seemed to carry forward as he made his way toward the reception hall.
---
King Seon-jo stood in the Eastern Temple's reception hall, the journey's weariness evident in the shadows beneath his eyes yet his posture maintaining royal dignity without conscious effort. Snow melted slowly from his traveling cloak, forming a small pool at his feet—water completing its transformation from one state to another, a process Mu-hyeon now recognized as significant beyond mere physical change.
When their eyes met across the hall, the barriers of formal protocol momentarily dissolved. Before either royal guards or temple attendants could announce his presence, Mu-hyeon moved forward, and his father met him halfway. Their embrace, though brief, carried emotions too complex for simple categorization—relief, pride, concern, and beneath these, currents of shared understanding that had deepened during their separation.
"You've changed," Seon-jo observed as they drew apart, his gaze taking in subtle differences in his son's bearing and expression.
"The Eastern Temple changes all who study here," Grandmaster Hyun noted from where he stood nearby, his tone suggesting this transformation represented natural development rather than fundamental alteration. "Though Prince Mu-hyeon brings unique perspective to traditional teachings."
The formalities of welcome proceeded with appropriate respect for both royal status and temple protocols. Min-jung exchanged subtle greetings with temple officials that suggested previous acquaintance, while the royal guards maintained watchful presence without disrupting the sacred atmosphere. Through these necessary rituals, Mu-hyeon observed his father with new awareness, noting tensions carried in his posture that spoke of concerns beyond the obvious difficulties of mountain travel.
When the formal reception concluded, Grandmaster Hyun suggested father and son might appreciate private conversation in the Moon Viewing Pavilion—the same location where Mu-hyeon had received his first meaningful guidance from the temple master. As they walked the snow-covered paths together, temple attendants discreetly remaining at appropriate distance, Seon-jo finally spoke of what had brought him to the Eastern Temple despite hazardous conditions.
"The Han clan seeks marriage alliance," he said without preamble, trusting his son's maturity to engage with kingdom matters directly. "Lady Soo-yeon has been presented as potential queen, with her brother Commander Han offering military alliance along the northern borders."
Mu-hyeon absorbed this information thoughtfully. In the palace, such political arrangements would have proceeded according to established patterns, with his opinions—if sought at all—considered secondary to strategic advantage. That his father had undertaken dangerous journey to consult him suggested complexities beyond ordinary alliance considerations.
"You have concerns about this arrangement," he observed as they reached the pavilion, its open sides now screened with oiled paper against winter weather while leaving the mountain vista visible beyond.
Seon-jo nodded, moving to the pavilion's edge where melting icicles created a crystalline boundary between sheltered warmth and external cold. "Lady Soo-yeon possesses unusual connection to water—different from yours, yet significant in its own right. Min-jung believes she follows eastern sea traditions rather than river currents."
This revelation clarified resonances Mu-hyeon had sensed in the unusual weather patterns. "Two water practitioners of different traditions creating disturbance where their influences intersect," he murmured, echoing Grandmaster Hyun's earlier observation.
His father turned with surprise. "You've perceived this already?"
"Not specifically," Mu-hyeon admitted. "But the temple masters have taught me to recognize patterns in elemental disturbances. The early snow, its unusual intensity—these suggest competing influences rather than natural variation."
Seon-jo studied his son with new appreciation, noting how the boy's explanations reflected not merely repeated wisdom but genuine understanding. "Your mother warned of my second marriage," he said after a moment. "Of someone 'not what she appears' entering the royal line."
Mu-hyeon considered this warning alongside what he had learned of water traditions. "Sea and river have existed in tension since ancient times," he observed. "Not necessarily malevolence, but fundamental differences in nature and approach." He paused, organizing insights from Master Chen's teachings. "River flows forward, adapting to circumstances while maintaining essential direction. Sea embraces cycle—advance and retreat, depth concealing then revealing."
This nuanced perspective—neither dismissing concerns nor amplifying them into certain threat—reflected integration of his temple learning with practical court awareness. Seon-jo recognized this balance with quiet pride, though his expression remained troubled.
"The political advantages of Han alliance are substantial," he acknowledged. "Yet I find myself questioning Lady Soo-yeon's true objectives. Her interest in water lore seems too specific, too focused on concepts directly relevant to your heritage, to be mere scholarly curiosity."
Something in his father's tone suggested personal encounter rather than reported observation. "You've discussed water lore with her directly?" Mu-hyeon asked.
"She raised the subject during formal reception," Seon-jo confirmed. "Specifically mentioning water's memory—the very concept Master Sook has been teaching you, according to temple correspondence."
This coincidence disturbed Mu-hyeon more than general awareness of water traditions might have. Water memory represented specialized knowledge even among practitioners—his own understanding of the concept remained elementary despite focused study. That Lady Soo-yeon would reference this specific aspect suggested either remarkable scholarly depth or more concerning intentionality.
"What do you sense about her?" he asked his father, curious whether the king's extensive experience with both court manipulation and supernatural influences might have yielded insights beyond obvious observation.
Seon-jo's response was measured, reflecting careful consideration rather than immediate reaction. "Remarkable self-containment. Perfect court manners that reveal precisely what she intends and nothing more. Intellectual capacity beyond typical noble education." He paused, adding with reluctant admiration, "And genuine strategic vision aligned with her brother's military expertise."
"But not evil," Mu-hyeon suggested, intuiting the distinction his father seemed to be drawing.
"Not evil," Seon-jo agreed. "Rather... purposeful. Advancing interests that may not align with Gyeongseong's traditional power structures." He turned back to the pavilion's edge, watching snow continue its steady descent upon the temple grounds. "The question becomes whether those interests can coexist with ours—whether river and sea might find balance rather than opposition."
This framing reflected sophisticated understanding of elemental interactions that aligned with Mu-hyeon's temple education. The boy felt unexpected pride in his father's capacity to conceptualize supernatural influences in their proper context rather than resorting to superstitious fear or dismissive skepticism.
"The Eastern Temple maintains records of historical interactions between different water traditions," he offered. "Master Chen mentioned ancient agreements that established boundaries and protocols for cooperation when necessary."
Seon-jo nodded thoughtfully. "Such precedents might provide guidance for modern arrangement—if Lady Soo-yeon proves willing to acknowledge her true nature and objectives."
"And if she does not?" Mu-hyeon asked, recognizing the implicit concern beneath his father's measured analysis.
The king's expression hardened slightly. "Then alliance becomes considerably more dangerous. Concealed power poses greater threat than acknowledged strength."
As they continued their discussion of political implications and potential approaches, snow gradually ceased falling outside the pavilion. Watery sunlight emerged between dispersing clouds, transforming the temple grounds into a glittering landscape where each surface captured and reflected light in unique patterns. This atmospheric shift seemed to mirror their conversation—initial obscurity giving way to clearer perspective without eliminating complexity entirely.
Eventually, their discussion turned to Mu-hyeon's experiences at the Eastern Temple—his training with Master Sook, scholarly studies with Master Chen, physical discipline with Master Jeong, and perhaps most significantly, his friendships with other young practitioners who possessed unusual abilities.
"You've found community here," Seon-jo observed, noting how his son's descriptions of temple companions carried genuine warmth rather than the careful assessment that had characterized his interactions with court children.
"Different kinds of difference," Mu-hyeon acknowledged with unexpected insight. "In the palace, my... uniqueness created separation. Here, individual variations create connection through shared experience of being unlike others."
This observation revealed maturation beyond mere accumulation of knowledge or skill—a deeper understanding of human connection that would serve him well regardless of supernatural heritage. Seon-jo recognized with quiet satisfaction that the Eastern Temple was providing not just mystical training but fundamental wisdom about navigating between worlds.
As afternoon light began to fade toward evening, Grandmaster Hyun rejoined them, accompanied by Min-jung. The two spiritual advisors had evidently engaged in their own significant discussions while king and prince conferred privately.
"We have consulted temple records regarding historical interactions between river and sea traditions," the Grandmaster informed them, confirming the relevance of the approach Mu-hyeon had suggested. "There exist precedents for cooperative arrangement—protocols established during the reign of your ancestor, King Baek Won-sik, when coastal territories were formally incorporated into Gyeongseong."
Min-jung elaborated on these findings. "The agreement required transparency regarding abilities, limitations on usage within shared territories, and mutual consultation when elemental workings might affect common resources." Her expression suggested tentative optimism. "These principles could form foundation for modern understanding between royal line and Han clan, should Lady Soo-yeon prove amenable to such formalization."
The practical application of historical precedent to current circumstances demonstrated the value of the Eastern Temple's comprehensive archives—knowledge preserved not merely for scholarly interest but for practical guidance when similar situations recurred across generations.
"And should she refuse such transparency?" Seon-jo asked, voicing the concern that remained central to his deliberations.
Grandmaster Hyun's response carried the weight of centuries of mystical wisdom balanced with practical governance experience. "Then you must consider carefully whether advantages of alliance outweigh inherent risks of binding your bloodline to one who maintains concealed connection to elemental powers." He glanced at Mu-hyeon briefly before continuing. "Particularly given your son's heritage and its significance for kingdom stability."
This oblique reference to Mu-hyeon's role in maintaining balance between mortal and divine influences reminded all present that current decisions would shape not just immediate political circumstances but fundamental relationships between realms whose interactions determined natural harmony throughout the kingdom.
As twilight deepened around them, temple attendants appeared with lanterns to guide them back to the main complex, where the royal party would be housed during their visit. Walking beside his father along the illuminated path, Mu-hyeon felt simultaneous connection to seemingly contradictory aspects of his existence—prince and novice, mortal and divine, individual and representative of larger traditions. Rather than creating internal conflict, these dualities now seemed complementary facets of a more complete identity gradually taking form through experience and understanding.
The evening meditation, which Seon-jo joined with appropriate respect for temple protocols, provided opportunity for reflection on the day's revelations. As they knelt in the hall alongside monks and students of various ranks, the collective silence created space for individual integration of external information with internal understanding.
For Mu-hyeon, this integration manifested as increasing clarity regarding his own development and its potential significance beyond personal accomplishment. The counterpoint between his river heritage and Lady Soo-yeon's apparent sea connection represented not merely individual abilities but broader patterns of power whose harmony or discord might influence kingdom stability at fundamental levels.
For Seon-jo, meditation offered perspective on immediate political concerns, revealing connections between present circumstances and historical patterns documented in temple archives. The cyclical nature of such challenges—different manifestations of recurring tensions between power sources—suggested approaches that might transcend apparent opposition to achieve more sophisticated balance.
After evening rituals concluded, Mu-hyeon guided his father to the guest quarters prepared for the royal party. The simple yet comfortable accommodations reflected the Eastern Temple's general philosophy—acknowledging status without excessive deference, providing necessary comfort without indulgence.
"There is something more you should know," Mu-hyeon said as they reached the threshold of Seon-jo's assigned room. "Something I've discovered about myself during training here."
His father's attentive silence encouraged continuation.
"Master Sook believes my connection to water extends beyond manipulation of the physical element," he explained, carefully articulating concepts still forming in his own understanding. "That in time, with proper development, I might be able to perceive and potentially influence events across distances where water creates connection."
Seon-jo absorbed this information with appropriate seriousness. "Similar to Lady Soo-yeon's apparent divination capabilities?"
"Similar but distinct," Mu-hyeon clarified. "Her approach seems to utilize water as medium for vision—observing distant events through elemental connection. What Master Sook describes would be more... interactive. Presence extended through water's network rather than merely observation through its reflection."
The implications of such capability—both strategic and personal—required no elaboration between them. If developed fully, such ability would transform not only Mu-hyeon's relationship to his divine heritage but potentially his role within kingdom governance and security.
"How soon might such ability manifest?" Seon-jo asked, his tone suggesting not eagerness to utilize this power but concern for his son's readiness to manage it responsibly.
"Master Sook believes foundations must be established gradually," Mu-hyeon replied, appreciating his father's implicit prioritization of his wellbeing over strategic advantage. "Years of preparation before attempting even limited extension. The consequences of premature effort could be... significant."
This measured timeline actually seemed to reassure Seon-jo rather than disappoint him—evidence that temple masters approached supernatural development with appropriate caution rather than ambitious acceleration.
"Trust their guidance in this," he advised, placing a hand briefly on his son's shoulder. "Power without understanding serves neither wielder nor kingdom."
This wisdom—simultaneously paternal counsel and royal perspective—reminded Mu-hyeon that his father navigated similar dualities of identity, balancing personal connection with governance responsibility, individual judgment with ancestral tradition.
"I will, Father," he promised. "Master Sook tolerates neither recklessness nor arrogance in her students—particularly those with natural advantage."
A hint of smile touched Seon-jo's features at this characterization. "I look forward to meeting this formidable teacher tomorrow. Min-jung speaks of her with remarkable respect—unusual given the shaman's general skepticism toward those outside our traditional mystical lineages."
They parted with formal bows that contained genuine affection beneath ceremonial gesture—father and son, king and prince, each recognizing how their separate journeys had enhanced rather than diminished their connection.
As Mu-hyeon returned to his novice quarters through snow-covered temple grounds, he sensed subtle shifts in water patterns throughout the mountain—weather systems responding to emotional and mystical currents generated by the day's interactions. The competing influences that had manifested as unseasonable snow seemed temporarily harmonized, creating unexpected clarity in night skies usually obscured during winter months.
Stars emerged above the Eastern Temple with unusual brilliance, their light reflected in crystalline snow below until boundary between heaven and earth blurred in mutual illumination. This convergence of above and below, celestial and terrestrial, seemed appropriate metaphor for broader integrations gradually occurring—between his mortal and divine natures, between his royal responsibilities and spiritual development, between river heritage and potential sea alliance.
In his small room, Mu-hyeon settled into evening meditation, extending his awareness through water's pervasive network throughout the temple complex. He sensed his father's steady presence in the guest quarters, Min-jung's more dynamic energy as she conducted private divination rituals, the collective consciousness of monks and students gradually settling into sleep rhythms.
Beyond these familiar patterns, at the very edge of perception, he briefly detected another awareness moving through water's memory—distant yet intentional, observing rather than merely existing within elemental flow. The contact lasted only moments before disappearing, but its quality confirmed what temple masters and his father had suggested: another practitioner, connected to water yet following different currents than his own river affinity, had extended perception toward the Eastern Temple.
Rather than responding directly to this contact—an interaction beyond his current training—Mu-hyeon simply noted its characteristics for later discussion with Master Sook. The sensation carried neither immediate threat nor particular benevolence—merely focused curiosity and assessment, much like his own tentative explorations of water's connective properties.
As sleep approached, carrying his consciousness toward dreams that increasingly contained insights relevant to waking development, Mu-hyeon found himself contemplating not abstract mystical concepts but practical human questions: what motivated Lady Soo-yeon's interest in river traditions? What objectives guided Han clan strategy regarding royal alliance? How might different elemental affinities find cooperation rather than conflict when their representatives possessed both supernatural connection and ordinary human ambition?
These questions followed him into dreams where water flowed between states and forms—river becoming ocean, ocean returning to river through rain and tributary, cycle and direction somehow unified rather than opposed. Whether these dream patterns represented mere processing of waking concerns or deeper insights from his developing connection to water remained unclear, but their integration of seemingly contradictory elements suggested possibilities beyond simple opposition or domination.
Perhaps river and sea might indeed find balanced relationship, their different natures creating dynamic stability rather than inevitable conflict. Perhaps the warnings about his father's second marriage indicated necessary challenge rather than fundamental threat. Perhaps his own development required engagement with different traditions to achieve complete understanding of his unique heritage.
These possibilities accompanied Mu-hyeon into deeper sleep, where ordinary consciousness merged with water's memory of ancient patterns repeated across centuries—cycles of tension and resolution, separation and integration, opposition transformed through understanding into complementary balance.
Outside his window, snow began falling once more, gentle rather than fierce, each unique crystalline form containing perfect structure within apparent randomness—order and variation united in temporary manifestation of water's endless capacity for transformation.