The academy official led them through a corridor connecting two buildings. Large windows gave a view of open inner courtyards. Aren noticed more specialized training areas than he’d seen from the front. Weighted dummies stood scarred from practice strikes, sections of wall were reinforced for impact training, and strange metallic contraptions hummed faintly. It resembled a serious, dedicated gymnasium designed specifically for honing Ether abilities.

  They walked slowly, accommodating Aren’s pace. Despite the impressive metal cast supporting his leg, each step sent a dull, insistent ache up from his shin. The initial relief of being mobile was fading, replaced by the grinding reality of his injury. He gritted his teeth against the rising discomfort, focusing on the goal ahead.

  After ascending a single flight of wide stone stairs, they stopped before a heavy door. The official knocked firmly. A moment later, a calm voice called from within, "Enter."

  "Director Lyros, you have a visitor, Sir Aren Stillbrook," the official announced, opening the door and stepping aside.

  The director’s office was spacious but functional, dominated by a large wooden desk and shelves filled with scrolls and leather-bound volumes. The man was standing by the tall window, looking down at the students training below. He appeared to be in his sixties, with keen, observant eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His robes were simple, practical, the same deep red-brown worn by the students, perhaps just a shade richer in color. He turned as they entered, his gaze sweeping over them briefly before settling on Aren.

  "Please, come in. Have a seat." He gestured towards two sturdy chairs facing his desk. "Aren Stillbrook? Sounds familiar..."

  As Aren eased himself into one chair, Theron taking the other, the academy official stepped close to the director's desk. He leaned in, whispering something too low for Aren to catch, then straightened, gave a respectful nod to both the director and Aren, and quietly departed, closing the door behind him.

  Director Lyros settled into his own padded velvet chair with a soft thud. He regarded Aren thoughtfully for a moment.

  "The rumors travel quickly, Sir Aren," Lyros said, his voice low. "I admit, I was expecting you, though perhaps not quite so soon."

  "Expecting me?" Aren felt a prickle of unease. What kind of rumors? How true were they? "I'm not sure I understand, Director."

  A hint of amusement crinkled the corners of Lyros's sharp eyes, though his thick grey mustache and beard hid any smile. "A tale reached us recently. A promising new warrior emerges. Rises from the quiet life of a librarian to noble status overnight, all credited to his unique fighting style demonstrated under duress. Am I misinformed?"

  Aren felt his guard go up instinctively. The director's casual tone felt like a probe, testing his reaction. "Sounds about right," Aren conceded carefully, feeling like any elaboration could reveal more than he intended.

  "Good," Lyros nodded slowly. "Then tell me, what brings you to my academy, Sir Aren? Beyond simple curiosity."

  This was the moment. Aren took a breath, choosing his words deliberately. "I was recently tested with Veridian devices about my Ether potential. The results were... unusual. They showed my body seems to radiate Ether, push it outwards, instead of absorbing it like most people apparently do. I find it hard to consciously draw in external Ether and direct it properly." He recalled the goblin fight. "It feels like I can only really access it in extreme situations, under intense stress. And when I do, it's volatile, difficult to control." He met the director's gaze directly. "I hoped the training methods here might offer some insight, help me understand it better and learn to control it."

  Lyros leaned back, stroking his beard gently, his eyes distant as if accessing a vast internal library of knowledge. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint sounds of training filtering up from the courtyard below. Finally, he spoke.

  "Radiating Ether… yes, that is indeed uncommon," he mused. "Given your physical condition," he glanced at Aren's cast, "official enrollment and the standard rigorous training are impossible right now. However, if you merely seek an evaluation, a consultation with one of our instructors… that could likely be arranged."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Lyros leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes fixing on Aren again, the casual air replaced by sudden intensity. "But first, answer me this, Sir Aren. Many come through these doors, noble and commoner alike, seeking power. They view Ether as the ultimate means to an end – a tool to shape events, command respect, ensure their enemies fall. They wish to exert their will upon the world." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Tell me, what is the first requirement, the absolute foundation, for effectively wielding such potential influence over the external world?"

  Okay, definitely a test. He's not just asking about theory; he's asking about my philosophy, my intent. What does he want to hear? What's the 'right' answer in this situation? What are my real intentions anyway? The question forced a moment of uncomfortable self-reflection. Was he seeking power just to survive? To complete Chronos Labs' mission? Strength for its own sake? Redemption? He pushed the deeper questions aside. The answer Lyros sought was likely more fundamental, a core principle of wielding any kind of power, magical or mundane. It was a principle he understood intimately from decades of martial arts, however ironic it was, given his internal struggle.

  He met the director’s piercing gaze steadily. "One cannot shape the world with chaotic energy or an undisciplined mind. If you wish to control others, you must first control yourself. Internal mastery is the bedrock upon which all external power must be built."

  The director’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but unmistakably in a smile hidden beneath his thick facial hair. The intensity in his gaze softened, replaced by genuine approval. "Wise words, Sir Aren. Refreshingly direct, and fundamentally true. Especially," he added with a knowing look, "for one who has apparently experienced the consequences of lacking such control." He nodded decisively. "Very well. Come back tomorrow morning. Instructor Rhea will be informed. She will have time set aside for your evaluation and consultation. You won't undergo the stressful physical trials our initiates face. However," his expression turned serious again, "even a simple evaluation requires focus and reserves. I strongly suggest you spend the remainder of today resting and focusing on your recovery. Preserve your strength."

  Relief washed over Aren, coupled with a sense of accomplishment. He had passed the test, whatever it was. "Thank you, Director Lyros. I appreciate the opportunity."

  "We shall see if it proves fruitful," Lyros replied simply. "Good day, Sir Aren."

  Aren pushed himself up from the chair, the ache in his leg now a dull throb he could manage. Theron rose smoothly beside him. They gave polite nods and left the director's office. The same efficient official was waiting patiently in the corridor outside. He silently escorted them back through the academy halls and out the main entrance.

  Stepping back into the bustling Silon streets, Aren felt a shift in his priorities. Getting back to the Black Market in time was impossible now anyway. Lycas probably set that deadline knowing I'd fail, Aren suspected. Gives him leverage, another way to keep me under his thumb. Fine. He would complete the mission, but on a timeline dictated by necessity, not by Lycas's arbitrary demands. The pressure of Lycas's deadline eased, replaced by a clearer objective.

  They still had most of the afternoon ahead of them. They walked back towards the Sovereign's Rest, immersing themselves once more in the city's vibrant pulse.

  Back at the inn, they enjoyed a hearty lunch in the common room – thick slices of roasted meat, crusty bread, and sharp local cheese, washed down with cool ale. Afterwards, they retreated to their room. Following Director Lyros’s advice, and the healer’s suggestion, he settled onto his bed to meditate. Theron remained nearby, quietly observing.

  Aren tried to focus his intent on his injured leg, picturing the fractured bone knitting together, the damaged tissues repairing themselves. It was slow, difficult work. His Ether felt sluggish, resistant, wanting to pool aimlessly rather than flow towards the injury.

  After a while, Theron spoke quietly from across the room. "Sir Aren, if I may?" At Aren's nod, Theron activated his Observer abilities. "Focus closer to the middle of the bone," Theron instructed softly. "I can perceive your internal Ether… it's pooling slightly higher, near the joint, rather than directly at the primary fracture site."

  With Theron acting as an external guide, perceiving the subtle energy flows Aren couldn't yet feel accurately himself, the process became slightly easier.

  They continued this for hours, taking breaks only when Aren felt completely drained. By the time evening settled over Silon, Aren didn't feel miraculously healed. The deep ache remained. However, the sharp, jarring pain he’d felt earlier while walking had subsided significantly. It was a small improvement, but a tangible one.

  After sharing another substantial dinner brought to their room, exhaustion claimed Aren quickly. He fell asleep almost instantly, his mind blessedly quiet for once. Tomorrow held the promise of answers at the Ether Academy. The Golden Ursai, and the manipulative Lycas, could wait. For now, the path lay in understanding himself and recovery.