That name lingered for three days—like the scent of tea that never quite disappears, or like an ink stain that has seeped into the wood fibers of a table.

  Iris.

  Kieran touched the tip of his pen to the paper, beginning a sentence for the fifth time in one hour. The ink pooled, forming a dark blue stain that resembled a miniature storm eye. He realized his hand had not moved for two minutes, fixed on a single point where memory and reality collided with a force that only one person in the entire world could feel.

  He put down his pen.

  "[Mind Cleansing: Filtering of Emotional Disturbance]," he murmured, Tier 3. His willpower flowed like cold water through the channels of his mind, freezing the agitation that should not have existed in a twenty-two-year-old body. But the magic only worked like a bandage on a deep wound—covering, not healing.

  In the original timeline, Iris Valmont died on Floor 89.

  Not heroically. Not dramatically. Only a leak in the shield she herself had designed, a calculation that fell short by one hundredth of a percent due to fatigue that had accumulated over seventy nonstop hours. Kieran saw her body—gaunter than it should have been, her gray eyes that were usually full of light now empty—lying among runes that still pulsed with energy that no longer had a purpose. He remembered how his hands, which were usually steady when writing the most complex equations, shook when he closed Iris's eyes. He remembered the weight of an unspoken promise: I will make sure this was not in vain.

  And now her name appeared in a letter from a traveling scholar, in a context so ordinary that it was almost an insult.

  "Kieran?"

  Mira stood at the threshold of the work room, hand tapping on the door frame. Her face showed a mixture of curiosity and caution—she had learned to read Kieran's moods quite well over the past few months.

  "We need to discuss the reply letter to Cassian," she said, her voice gentle. "Rhen said he will go to the village tomorrow morning."

  Kieran nodded, drawing a deep breath. The air in the room felt denser than it should, as though the [Mana Blur] shroud around the warehouse had seeped inside. "[Environmental Analysis: Mana Density Scan]," he murmured, Tier 2.5. Numbers appeared in his mind—normal. It was only his own perception.

  "The letter is already finished," he said, picking up a sheet of paper from the pile. He had written it this morning, in a cold and measured academic style. Its contents discussed the "discovery" of the inscribed stone and blue moss, inquiring about the "echoes without sound" in the tone of a scholar who was curious but unhurried. No traces of panic. No hint that the name Iris meant anything more than an ordinary reference.

  Mira drew closer, her eyes sweeping the paper. "You didn't mention her name. Iris."

  "No need. Cassian is the one who brought it. If we ask directly, it will show unusual interest." Kieran folded the letter, sealing it with ordinary wax. "We will act like scholars interested in phenomena, not in a particular person."

  "But you know her." Not a question. Mira sat in the chair across the desk, hands folded in her lap. "From... before."

  He had never explicitly spoken about the original timeline, but Mira had been assembling the pieces—flashes of knowledge that were impossible, the depth of experience that contradicted his physical age. She did not chase, did not press. Only observed.

  "Yes," said Kieran, one word that felt like a stone dropped into a very deep well. "She was one of the best researchers who ever worked with us. Her theories about spatial distortion... revolutionized how we understood troop movement in the Tower."

  "And she died."

  "Many died." Kieran stared at the wax still dripping on the letter's seal. "But her death was one of the most devastating. Because it was a preventable mistake. Because she worked herself to death to save others, and no one paid enough attention to stop her."

  Silence filled the room, occupied only by the soft hiss of Starlight Bloom in the corner. Its blue light pulsed slowly, like the beat of a patient heart.

  "So why don't we contact her now?" asked Mira at last. "If she is that important..."

  "Because that very importance is why we must wait." Kieran stood, walking to the window. Outside, morning was beginning to break with the color of pale gold. "Iris Valmont in the original timeline became great not because of early guidance. She became great because she struggled alone. Because her theories were rejected, because she was considered strange, because she had to prove every inch of the space she claimed. That struggle was what sharpened her mind, what gave her the resilience to endure on Floor 89."

  He turned to Mira. "If we approach her now, giving her answers before she has asked the right questions... we could damage her potential. We could make her dependent. Or worse, we could draw the enemy's attention to her before she is ready."

  Mira nodded, slowly. "So we let her suffer."

  "We let her grow." Kieran's correction sounded harsh, even to his own ears. "That is an important distinction. And it is one of the hardest lessons I had to learn—when to intervene, and when to step back."

  Rhen appeared at the door, his face fresh from the morning air. "Is the letter ready?"

  Kieran extended it. "Deliver this to Cassian. Don't rush. Don't ask about Iris. If he offers further information, accept it politely but without excessive enthusiasm."

  "As usual." Rhen took the letter, storing it inside his robe. "And about today's training? You said we would try something new."

  "Yes." Kieran looked at Mira. "Today we will begin with the basics of [Spatial Doors]. Not for travel—only to understand the concept of connecting space."

  Mira sat up straight, her wide eyes widening further. "Portals? Like the one you made in Sunken Grove?"

  "Much, much smaller." Kieran raised his hands, his fingers forming a simple pattern in the air. "[Visual Projection: Effect Simulation]." Tier 2. Between his hands, a three-dimensional image formed—two points in space, connected by a transparent tube. "This is the most basic concept of Spatial Grammar. We do not move an object from point A to point B. We make point A and point B become the same."

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  Rhen furrowed his brow. "That sounds... strange."

  "Because it is strange. But that is how reality works—only most people do not realize it." Kieran dispersed the projection. "For the first exercise, we will try making a [Door] the size of a mouse. Only enough to pass a pea or small pebble through."

  Mira exhaled nervously. "What are the risks?"

  "Very minimal if we do it correctly." Kieran walked to the center of the room, clearing an area. "[Space Preparation: Local Mana Stabilization]." Tier 3. The air around them became calmer, denser, as though the room itself were holding its breath. "We will work inside this stabilization field. If there is an error, the door will collapse safely without damaging anything."

  He took two pieces of chalk from the table, drawing two circles on the wooden floor, about one meter apart. "These are visual anchors. Mira, your task is to imagine the space inside the first circle connected to the space inside the second circle. Not moving air, not making a hole—only making both points... overlap."

  Mira stood between the two circles, staring at them with concentration that was almost visibly tangible. "[Spatial Perception: Sensitivity Enhancement]." Tier 2. Her willpower crept outward, touching the boundaries of the chalk circles. Kieran could feel her effort—like someone trying to feel the shape of an object in the dark with a rod that was too long.

  "Don't force it," he whispered. "Space is not a wall that must be pushed. It is more like cloth that can be folded. Feel the fold, not the tension."

  Mira closed her eyes. Her hands rose, her fingers moving slowly, as if feeling something invisible. The air between the two circles began to vibrate—not physically, but in mana perception. Like heat waves above a road in summer.

  "Good," said Kieran. "Now, try to imagine a point at the center of the left circle... and pull that point toward the right circle. But don't move the point—bring the right circle to that point."

  Mira furrowed her brow, sweat beginning to dampen her temples. "That... doesn't make sense."

  "It doesn't have to make sense. It has to be felt." Kieran observed carefully. In his magical perception, he could see Mira's effort—a small distortion beginning to form, like a bubble on the surface of water. But the bubble was unstable, vibrating wildly.

  "[Assistance Stabilization: Temporary Anchor]," murmured Kieran, Tier 3. He sent a thread of his own willpower, not to take over, but to support. The bubble became slightly calmer.

  "Release," he whispered. "Not pulling, but... allowing."

  Mira drew a deep breath—and the bubble collapsed with a soft hiss. The air returned to normal. She opened her eyes, her face disappointed.

  "Failed."

  "Of course it failed." Kieran smiled faintly—a rare expression that made Mira jolt slightly. "This is the first exercise. If you had succeeded on the first attempt, it would mean you are a prodigy that would make the Archmages of the original timeline weep with envy. Try again."

  Mira tried again. And again. The fifth attempt, seventh, twelfth. Each time, the distortion formed briefly then collapsed. Each time, Kieran gave a small correction: "Don't concentrate on the space in between, but on the space itself." "Imagine the two circles are mirrors reflecting each other." "Space is already connected—you only need to notice the connection."

  On the eighteenth attempt, something different happened.

  The distortion did not collapse. It vibrated, like a soap bubble supported by a gentle wind, and at its center—for a brief moment—a silvery circle of light the size of a coin formed. Inside the circle, the wooden floor from the second circle was visible, as if seen through a very short tunnel.

  The circle held.

  One second.

  Two seconds.

  Three seconds.

  Then it collapsed with a sound like very fine breaking glass.

  Mira fell backward, breathless, but her eyes shone with a light Kieran had never seen before. "I... did I succeed?"

  "You succeeded," confirmed Kieran, and in his voice there was a note of genuine satisfaction. "Three seconds. That is more than enough for a first exercise."

  Rhen, who had been watching in silence from the edge of the room, clapped slowly. "Amazing! That was like... like a hole in the air!"

  "Not a hole," Kieran corrected, but this time in a gentler tone. "But yes. That is a beginning." He helped Mira stand. "Your body will feel tired. That is normal. Making a [Door] requires a great deal of willpower, even for a small size."

  Mira nodded, her hands trembling slightly. "How long before I can make it larger?"

  "Months. Perhaps years." Kieran picked up a bottle of water, handing it to Mira. "But size is not what matters. What matters is understanding the principle. Now you know how it feels—how space 'feels' when folded. That is more valuable than being able to make a large portal but not understanding why it works."

  He turned to Rhen. "Now it is your turn."

  Rhen furrowed his brow. "Me? But I have no spatial affinity."

  "No. But you have the ability to feel patterns and details." Kieran picked up a small stone from the shelf. "[Mana Sense Teaching: Basic Training]." Tier 2. He placed the stone in the center of the room. "Your task today is to learn to feel the difference in mana concentration in this room. Without looking. Without touching. Only feeling."

  Rhen appeared uncertain. "How?"

  "Close your eyes." Kieran raised his hands. "[Sensory Isolation: Vision and Hearing Restriction]." Tier 2.5. A thin shroud formed around Rhen, cutting him off from visual and auditory input. "Now, try to feel the stone. Not as an object, but as... a cold point in a pool of warm water."

  Rhen stood still, his face creased in concentration. Kieran observed—he did not expect Rhen to actually feel mana on the first attempt. But the process itself was important: learning to notice things that were usually ignored.

  Five minutes passed. Ten minutes.

  Then Rhen said, his voice sounding strange inside the sensory isolation: "There is something... to my left. More... dense?"

  Kieran dispersed the shroud. "Good. That is the bookshelf. The wood absorbs slightly more mana than the air around it." He pointed to the stone on the floor. "Now try again, but focus on the stone."

  They spent the rest of the morning with alternating exercises. Mira worked to maintain the small [Door] for four seconds, then five. Rhen learned to distinguish between the mana concentration near Starlight Bloom (high, alive) and near the fireplace (low, static). Kieran watched, giving corrections occasionally, and at certain moments, felt something that was almost like... peace.

  This is what must be done, he thought, watching Mira who smiled proudly after managing to maintain the portal for six seconds. Not hunting future heroes. But cultivating present heroes.

  But that peace was fragile. Every time his mind returned to the name "Iris," there was something inside him that tightened like barbed wire. He knew he was making the right decision—but knowing something logically did not remove the guilt that gnawed.

  Lunch was a simple soup and bread, eaten at the work desk among books and herbal tools. Rhen spoke of rumors in the village: a child had seen a green light in the forest the night before (most likely fireflies), a merchant from the south had brought stories about a small earthquake in the mountains (not dangerous, but interesting).

  "Cassian is still at the inn," added Rhen while slurping his soup. "He said he will stay another week. Collecting stories."

  "Did he ask about us again?" asked Mira.

  "Not directly. But he asked whether we had ever heard of a 'rumbling from underground'—a strange sound sometimes heard at night in several villages." Rhen shrugged. "I said no."

  Kieran nodded. "[Data Analysis: Local Phenomenon Correlation]." Tier 3. His mind worked, assembling pieces of information: blue light, echoes without sound, underground rumbling. All could be explained by geological activity or ordinary natural phenomena. But in a world beginning to be exposed to temporal leakage, nothing was truly "ordinary."

  "We will continue to monitor," he said. "But do not engage more deeply. Cassian is a scholar—he will pursue every clue. The more we interact, the more questions he will have."

  In the afternoon, after a brief rest, Kieran decided to introduce a new exercise.

  "You both have learned the basics of control," he said, standing before them in the main room. "Now we will learn something more practical: basic defensive and offensive magic."

  Mira and Rhen exchanged glances, both tense.

  "I thought we were avoiding conspicuous magic," said Rhen.

  "We avoid magic that draws attention. But the ability to defend oneself is the foundation of survival." Kieran raised his right hand. "[Energy Projection: Stable Mana Orb]." Tier 2. A ball of blue light the size of a fist formed above his palm, rotating slowly. "This is a [Mana Orb]. The most basic version of a magic attack. Not elegant, not creative. But effective if used correctly."

  He threw the ball at the stone wall across the room. It struck the stone with a sound like a punch to a sandbag, leaving a small black mark before disappearing.

  "The cost is low. Difficulty level low. But it requires precise control to avoid wasting mana or injuring oneself." Kieran made another orb. "Mira, you will try to make one. Rhen, you will learn to feel the mana concentration inside the orb—and how to avoid it."?