Edran stood still, the morning air damp on his skin, eyes half-lidded as the jungle exhaled around him. The sounds of birds, the whisper of leaves, the far-off drip of dew against bark—it all faded beneath the echo of that faint snicker still lingering in his memory.
He didn't know who had laughed. Or what. But something had watched.
And that laugh—it hadn't been cruel. No, it was worse.
It had been *amused*.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbed a hand over his face, and sat down on a moss-slicked rock. His body was whole, but his pride… less so.
The snake hadn't injured him. It hadn't even *bruised* him. And still, the fear had been real—paralyzing. That strength in his limbs? Useless. That speed in his blood? Misfired.
"I panicked," he admitted aloud. The words sounded flat, but there was no self-pity in them. Just acknowledgment. A correction logged.
*Strength without presence is noise,* he thought. *And panic is louder than reason.*
He stayed seated for a time, letting the breeze settle his breath. When he finally rose, the embarrassment had not vanished, but it no longer ruled him. He turned it over in his thoughts like a blade in the hand—awkward now, but one day it might be sharp.
---
He began to walk.
Not aimlessly. Not fleeing.
He needed space. Somewhere to train, to stumble and fall without an audience—without serpents or laughter or shame. Ravian's memories flickered at the edges of his mind: hills with hollowed cliffs, abandoned temples beneath the roots of banyan giants. But they were flashes only. Fragments without anchors.
He moved with a wary pace, feet whispering over root and leaf. The forest was still thick here, light threading down in shafts too narrow to give comfort. Even now, he didn't fully trust this body. His balance felt correct, but his center wavered. His steps landed clean, but his instincts lagged half a beat.
He paused beside a fallen tree, pressing a hand to the bark, grounding himself. And there, beneath the hum of insects and the hush of wind, he heard it—his own breath. Steady now.
*You're not broken,* he reminded himself. *You're just behind.*
---
He reached a rise where the trees parted, revealing a stretch of rock veiled in vines. From here, he glimpsed the mountain range—distant still, jagged and silver-veined beneath a veil of drifting mist.
He studied it in silence.
Ravian's instincts stirred again. Warnings. Creatures that moved faster than arrows. Beings shaped from hunger and spirit.
Edran's fingers curled at his sides.
"I'm not ready," he whispered. "But I will be."
His voice was quiet, but his conviction had weight.
---
By dusk, he had found a hollow between two hills, sheltered on three sides by stone and overgrowth. The floor was mostly flat, layered in dry leaves and old roots. It would do.
He sat beneath the arch of an ancient fig tree, back against the bark, eyes lifted to the stars just beginning to pierce the canopy.
The shame hadn't vanished. The fear still clung.
But now, there was space beside them. Space for discipline. For resolve.
For tomorrow.
He would train here.
He would learn to make the strength his own.
Not borrowed.
Not inherited.
*Earned.*