Chapter 432: Training (6)
The prince looked over the crowd. "Tomorrow, we begin again. In smaller groups. Those who grasped rhythm will learn disruption. Those who lost rhythm will learn how to rebuild it."
As the soldiers dispersed, the last light of the sun fell through the canopy, scattering gold through his white hair. The forest wind brushed past him, whispering faintly, as though the World Tree itself approved.
When the others had gone, only Thalan, Nysha, and Ashwing remained.
"You’ve shaken their roots," Nysha said, half-accusation, half-respect.
"They’ll need deeper ones if the storm comes," Lindarion replied.
"Do you always speak in riddles?"
"Only when the truth feels too heavy."
Thalan exhaled, looking out toward the departing soldiers. "I’ve trained with the forest my entire life, and yet today... I felt something else. As if the trees themselves were listening differently."
"They were," Lindarion said simply.
Thalan turned to him, brow furrowed. "You mean—"
"The World Tree hears what I do through them. It watches through my mana now. Its rhythm and mine are no longer separate."
Thalan’s eyes widened. "Then when you train us..."
"It learns too," Lindarion said quietly.
A chill passed through the glade.
Even Nysha’s expression shifted slightly, her usual calm breaking for a heartbeat. "That’s not normal, is it?"
"No," Lindarion said, sheathing his blade. "But nothing about this path ever was."
The silence that followed was not fearful, but reverent.
As the stars began to bloom above the canopy, Lindarion tilted his head slightly. The hum in his chest, that faint pulse from the fragment within him, grew stronger, synchronizing with the mana of the forest.
The system flickered faintly in the corner of his mind:
[ Mana Resonance Level: Ascendant ]
[ Core Stability: Enhanced – Adaptive Flow Initiated ]
[ Notice: External entity synchronization — World Tree link verified. ]
He inhaled slowly. The link deepened, and for a moment, he could feel the pulse of every leaf, every root, every being under Lorienya’s sky.
Then he blinked, and it faded.
Ashwing tilted his head. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"You didn’t look okay."
"I’m adjusting."
Nysha’s voice broke the quiet. "Adjust slower next time. You looked like you were about to turn into light for a second."
Lindarion gave a faint, rare smile. "If I do, make sure to catch what’s left."
Thalan chuckled, weary but sincere. "Then I suppose tomorrow will be another long day."
"Yes," Lindarion said, his golden eyes lifting toward the stars now rising above the forest. "And longer ones after that."
The air shimmered faintly around him, golden, alive. The roots beneath his feet glowed as if in response. Lorienya itself seemed to listen.
The dawn of a new rhythm had begun.
—
The next morning came bright and still, the kind of silence that hung before song. Lorienya’s forest shimmered in dawnlight, each leaf veined with golden mana drawn from the World Tree’s breath. The air was cool, humming faintly with life.
By the time the first shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy, Lindarion was already standing at the edge of the training glade again, his cloak rippling faintly in the breeze.
His golden eyes reflected the shifting green light, and the faint hum of mana that always lingered within him pulsed a little stronger this morning, steadier, resonant.
Ashwing circled lazily overhead, wings half-folded, his scales reflecting hints of silver and pale blue in the morning glow. ’You’re glowing again,’ he murmured in Lindarion’s mind. ’You sure that’s not a side effect of all that world tree linking stuff?’
’Possibly,’ Lindarion replied calmly. ’But it doesn’t hurt.’
’Yet,’ Ashwing said dryly, but settled himself in the upper branches nonetheless.
Below, the Lorienyan soldiers began arriving one by one. Their movements were quieter than before, not from exhaustion, but from awareness.
They had seen what the prince could do. They had felt it. And now, curiosity outweighed fear.
Even Thalan seemed different today, focused, but eager. He greeted Lindarion with a respectful nod, staff already in hand.
"Yesterday," Lindarion said, his voice carrying over the murmuring forest, "you learned what it means to unlearn. Today, we begin to rebuild."
He paused, letting the weight of that linger. "Lorienyan mana harmonizes with nature. It moves in cycles, predictable, balanced. But the world outside Lorienya breaks cycles. It cuts them, turns them inside out. If you wish to survive what’s coming, you must learn to command both. Not just harmony, not just chaos. You must learn the Dual Flow."
The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. The term meant nothing to them, not yet.
Lindarion drew his sword. The blade flared once, bright and clean, before dimming into quiet shadow. "The Dual Flow is not about two elements," he continued. "It’s about rhythm and discord. When one world sings, the other screams. If you can hold both songs, if you can walk between them, then no force can unbalance you."
He stepped forward and gestured to a soldier. "You," he said simply.
The chosen elf, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped forward nervously.
"Channel your mana as you would for a standard Lorienyan technique," Lindarion said.
The soldier nodded and raised his hands. Soft green light gathered around him, pulsing gently in a spiral pattern. The ground beneath him trembled faintly as the roots responded, their mana aligning with his rhythm. It was graceful, serene, even.
"Now," Lindarion murmured, "watch closely."
He extended a single hand. A faint ripple spread outward, not an attack, not pressure, merely disturbance. The elf’s spiral faltered, stumbled once, and then broke entirely. The mana dispersed like mist.
Lindarion lowered his hand. "That is how easily order can be destroyed."
He raised his other hand, this one glowing faintly gold, and sent a pulse of energy forward. It was uneven, violent, chaotic. The air twisted. The trees swayed back. The same elf staggered under the sudden pressure, his mana unraveling.
"And that," Lindarion said quietly, "is how chaos consumes the unprepared."
He looked around the circle of watching elves. "But what if you could make chaos sing?"
He closed his eyes, and for a moment the entire clearing went silent. Then the air shifted.
Gold and black energy spiraled around him, light and shadow intertwined, each pulling against the other, neither overwhelming nor yielding. His hair lifted slightly in the current, and when he opened his eyes, both glowed faintly, one brighter, one darker.
The roots beneath him hummed, but not wildly. They followed.
"Two flows," he said softly. "Not in balance. In tension. The Dual Flow is not peace, it’s mastery of contradiction."