"Again."
Eirian's voice cut through the private training chamber, cold and precise as a surgeon's blade.
I repositioned myself, ignoring the sweat that dripped into my eyes.
We'd been at this for three hours straight—the same shadow extension drill repeated endlessly until my pathways burned with exhaustion.
"Your control wavers after the third extension," Eirian observed clinically. "The degradation is consistent and predictable."
As promised, Lady Nyshari had partially unsealed my essence that morning.
Just enough to participate in basic drills, not enough to access my full capabilities.
Not that "full capabilities" would impress anyone here.
I centered myself, focusing on the target—a silver-inlaid circle twelve feet away.
Shadow essence gathered around my fingertips, then stretched outward in three sequential tendrils.
The first two maintained proper form—dense, controlled, precisely directed.
The third wavered slightly, its edges blurring before reaching the target.
"Pathetic," Eirian muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
The heir pacing behind me was nothing like the Jirou I'd trained under for months.
Where Jirou had been harsh but instructive, Eirian was simply cold.
No explanations. No adjustments. Just endless repetition and cutting criticism.
"The Heaven-Weave requires consistent essence pressure," he continued. "Your fluctuations would destabilize the entire synchrony."
I wiped my face with the back of my arm, forcing my expression to remain neutral.
"I'm still adjusting to the partial unsealing," I replied.
Eirian's purple eyes narrowed slightly.
"A convenient excuse. One that won't serve you tomorrow when all eight heirs form the circle."
Lady Nyshari had paired us that morning—each experienced heir assigned to train one of the younger ones.
Eirian with me.
The charismatic one with the scholar.
The quiet woman with the youngest heir.
The muscular female with the aggressive young man.
We trained in two separate chambers, rotating at midday to observe different techniques.
It wasn't just training—it was assessment.
Hierarchy establishment.
And I was failing spectacularly.
"Your form mimics proper technique," Eirian noted, circling me like a predator. "But lacks fundamental understanding. As if you've memorized movements without comprehending principles."
Dangerously perceptive.
I needed to redirect his focus.
"The rehabilitation process was... unconventional," I said carefully. "My instructor focused on physical conditioning before essence work."
This much was true, at least.
Eirian seemed to consider this.
"Show me your physical baseline then," he decided. "No essence. Pure movement form."
This I could do.
I settled into the opening stance of Current Through Stone—one of the first sequences Jirou had drilled into me.
Eirian watched with narrowed eyes as I moved through the form.
Each transition flowed naturally into the next, my body remembering countless hours of brutal repetition.
When I finished, Eirian's expression had shifted subtly.
"Interesting," he said, and for the first time, there was something beyond disdain in his voice. "Your physical form exceeds your essence control significantly."
He gestured to a training post in the corner.
"Strike it. No essence enhancement."
I approached the post—similar to those I'd trained with in the Veilroot, though made of some denser material.
My fist connected with practiced precision, the impact satisfying and solid.
Eirian's eyebrows lifted fractionally.
"Again. With essence this time."
I repeated the strike, channeling shadow through my pathways as Jirou had taught me.
The post cracked slightly, shadow essence lingering around the impact point.
"Your essence integration is surprisingly efficient," Eirian observed. "Yet your projection control is amateur at best."
He was right, of course.
Jirou had focused heavily on integrating essence with physical movement—enhancing strikes, speed, perception.
Projecting essence outward—creating constructs, extensions, manipulations at a distance—had been secondary, and interrupted before mastery.
"Basic integration was emphasized during recovery," I explained, constructing truth from fragments. "To rebuild pathways gradually."
Eirian studied me for several uncomfortable seconds.
"You had an unusual instructor," he finally said. "One who favors ancient methods over modern technique."
My pulse quickened. Best to say nothing.
Eirian didn't press the point, merely gestured toward the center of the room.
"Let's assess your shadow weight application. Perhaps your affinity lies there rather than in projection."
For the next hour, we worked through shadow weight exercises—infusing objects with shadow essence to alter their physical properties.
Here, my performance improved noticeably.
I could make a feather fall like lead.
Could cause a heavy metal ball to float momentarily.
Could enhance my own movements with shadow-lightening or shadow-density.
"Your baseline instincts are inverted from standard Caelren development," Eirian noted, his tone shifting from dismissive to analytical. "Most begin with projection control, then learn integration."
He made notes on a thin crystal tablet—some kind of essence-tech device I'd never seen before.
"Mother will find this... informative."
The way he said it sent a chill down my spine.
Before I could respond, a chime echoed through the chamber.
"Midday rotation," Eirian announced, setting aside his tablet. "We join the others in the east chamber."
We walked in silence through the estate's black marble corridors.
Eirian always two precise steps ahead—neither close enough to converse nor far enough to suggest separation.
The east chamber was larger than our training room, with high ceilings and multiple practice areas.
The other four heirs were already there, finishing their morning sessions.
The scholar and the aggressive young man were paired now, working on some kind of shadow puppetry technique that created autonomous constructs.
The quiet woman and the muscular female heir practiced shadow-stealth patterns that made them nearly invisible when moving.
The youngest heir and the charismatic one were engaged in spatial distortion exercises similar to what I'd seen yesterday.
"Positioning," Eirian instructed, guiding me to an observation point along the wall.
I watched the others, trying to absorb as much as possible.
Not just techniques, but relationships. Dynamics. Hierarchies.
The scholar clearly deferred to the aggressive heir despite being older—suggesting power distinctions beyond mere age.
The quiet woman and the muscular female worked in perfect tandem, communication reduced to minimal gestures—long-term partners with established routines.
The charismatic heir treated the youngest with careful patience, something almost protective in his guidance—a true sibling relationship, perhaps.
Lady Nyshari entered, her arrival instantly noticed despite making no announcement.
Training paused as all eyes turned to her.
"Progress reports," she said simply.
One by one, the instructing heirs delivered concise assessments of their trainees.
When Eirian's turn came, I braced myself for scathing critique.
"Zen shows unusual development patterns," he stated formally. "Superior physical conditioning and essence integration, inferior projection control and construct manipulation."
Lady Nyshari's expression revealed nothing.
"Expected, given his specialized rehabilitation," she replied. "Continue assessment of affinity patterns."
Her gaze swept over all eight heirs.
"Full synchrony tomorrow. Today's afternoon session will focus on preparation."
With that, she departed as silently as she'd arrived.
"New groupings," announced the charismatic heir, stepping into the center of the room. "Projection specialists with me. Integration specialists with Mirel."
I now had names for two more heirs—the muscular woman was Mirel.
The division created two clear groups.
The scholar, the quiet woman, the aggressive heir, and the youngest went with the charismatic one.
Eirian, Mirel, and I formed the second group.
"You're with us because you can't project worth a damn," Mirel informed me bluntly, her voice surprisingly deep and rich. "But Eirian says you can hit hard. Let's see about that."
For the next three hours, I trained with the integration specialists—those who focused on enhancing physical capabilities with shadow essence rather than creating external manipulations.
Mirel specialized in weapon enhancement—infusing simple tools with shadow properties that made them deadly.
A plain staff in her hands became a flowing whip of darkness.
A simple knife extended into a sword of shadow.
Even her bare hands warped with shadow essence, fingers elongating into claws that could tear through metal.
Eirian's specialty was more defensive—creating perfect shadow barriers that attached to his body, moving with him rather than projected externally.
He could manifest armor, shields, even breathing filters—all composed of densely packed shadow.
I worked through their basic drills, finding these techniques far more aligned with what Jirou had taught me.
"He's not completely hopeless," Mirel observed to Eirian after I successfully enhanced a training blade with shadow weight. "At least he can fight."
"Barely," Eirian replied, though the absolute disdain had diminished slightly. "His technique lacks refinement."
"So does mine," Mirel countered with a sharp grin. "Not everyone needs to be an architect of shadow. Sometimes you just need to hit harder."
This earned her a disapproving look from Eirian, but no direct rebuke.
Interesting. Despite the clear hierarchy, the heirs could disagree openly.
I filed this observation away for future reference.
As the afternoon progressed, I rotated through various integration exercises with both instructors.
My performance improved steadily—still far below their level, but no longer embarrassingly inadequate.
By the session's end, I had demonstrated basic competence in shadow weight, shadow enhancement, and shadow integration techniques.
"Tomorrow's synchrony will be challenging for you," Eirian informed me as we concluded the training. "Your essence signature is... unusual."
"What does that mean?" I asked, wiping sweat from my face.
He considered his answer carefully.
"It means you will need to focus on matching your flow to the group rhythm. Any deviation could disrupt the entire pattern."
Mirel snorted.
"What he means is don't screw up and embarrass him," she translated, stretching her powerful arms above her head. "First synchrony is always rough. Just follow the strongest signature in the circle."
"Which would be Eirian's," I guessed.
"Obviously," she confirmed. "Just mirror his flow pattern and you'll survive."
Survive. An interesting choice of word.
"Is the synchrony dangerous?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.
Mirel and Eirian exchanged a brief look.
"Only if you resist it," Eirian said after a moment. "Allow your essence to align naturally with the family signature."
Again with the family signature—the blooded connection I didn't possess.
As we prepared to leave the training chamber, I noticed the other group concluding their session as well.
The youngest heir was demonstrating some kind of impressive spatial manipulation, creating shadow pockets that seemed to fold reality itself.
The charismatic one clapped appreciatively, his expression showing genuine pride.
"Look at Risa showing off again," Mirel commented, following my gaze. "Kid's got talent, I'll give her that."
Risa. The youngest heir's name.
I nodded noncommittally, adding this information to my mental catalog.
Eirian watched me watching them.
"Tomorrow you'll need to know all their signatures," he said. "We'll have a preparation session before the formal synchrony."
"Will I be ready?" I asked directly.
His response was coldly honest.
"No. But you'll participate regardless."