Morning arrived quietly at the Valcrest estate.

  The first light of the sun filtered through the tall trees that surrounded the gardens, leaving thin streaks of gold across the damp grass. Dew clung to the stone paths, and the air carried the cool freshness of early dawn. Most of the estate was still asleep, the distant sounds of servants only beginning to stir somewhere deeper within the mansion.

  Cain stepped into the garden.

  He had woken long before the rest of the house. The unfamiliar bed had been comfortable, but comfort was never something he relied on. After the chaos of the dungeon and the strange dreams that followed, remaining still for too long felt wrong.

  The garden offered silence.

  That was enough.

  A circular stone training area rested near the center of the garden, surrounded by trimmed hedges and low trees. Wooden weapon racks stood nearby, placed there for the estate guards who occasionally trained on the grounds.

  Cain ignored them.

  Today he needed control, not weapons.

  He stepped onto the stone circle and closed his eyes for a moment. His breathing slowed as he guided mana through his body. The flow began in his core, moving through the familiar pathways he had practiced since childhood.

  For a moment, everything felt normal.

  Then the delay came.

  His muscles responded first.

  Mana followed after.

  It was subtle, barely noticeable unless someone knew exactly what to look for. But Cain felt it clearly. The response lagged just enough to disturb the natural rhythm of the circulation.

  He opened his eyes.

  The sensation was the same as yesterday.

  "Soul damage," Cain murmured quietly.

  The words held no emotion. They were simply an observation.

  He moved anyway.

  His body shifted into a slow martial stance. One foot slid forward across the stone while his weight lowered slightly. His arms followed the movement with controlled precision, each motion deliberate and measured.

  This was not combat training.

  It was discipline.

  The movements continued in silence, the steady rhythm of his breathing matching the calm flow of the garden around him. The longer he moved, the more his thoughts drifted back to the dungeon.

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  The memory returned without resistance.

  The corridor.

  The demon horde.

  The moment the shadow swallowed him.

  Cain’s expression did not change, but the memory sharpened.

  After that moment, control had disappeared.

  But awareness had not.

  He remembered everything.

  The demon boss splitting apart under the strike of his blade. The overwhelming rush of demonlings charging toward him. The strange calm that had filled his mind while his body moved through them like a blade through water.

  He remembered the weapons.

  Two blades.

  One in each hand.

  Cain had never trained that way.

  Yet in the dungeon, the movements had felt natural.

  Perfect.

  He stopped.

  His gaze shifted toward the nearby weapon rack where several wooden training swords rested neatly in place. After a moment of silence, he walked over and picked one up.

  The wood was light, balanced well enough for practice.

  Cain returned to the center of the stone circle.

  He replayed the memory again.

  The stance.

  The step.

  The movement of his arm.

  The moment he had released the blade.

  Cain let the wooden sword leave his hand.

  It flew forward in a simple arc and landed harmlessly in the grass several steps away.

  Nothing happened.

  The weapon remained where it fell.

  Cain watched it for a moment before walking over to retrieve it.

  "Not yet," he said quietly.

  A faint rustling sound came from behind one of the garden pillars.

  Cain did not turn.

  He had already noticed the presence minutes earlier. The uneven rhythm of small footsteps on stone was difficult to hide in a quiet garden.

  "You can come out," he said calmly.

  Silence lingered for a few seconds.

  Then a small figure slowly stepped from behind the pillar.

  Elina.

  She looked slightly embarrassed as she approached the training circle, her hands clasped behind her back. Her dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her curious eyes moved quickly between Cain and the wooden sword he held.

  "You noticed," she said softly.

  "Yes."

  "I thought I was quiet."

  "You were trying."

  Elina blinked, unsure whether that was meant as praise or not.

  Her attention shifted to Cain’s stance instead.

  "Are you training?"

  "Recovering."

  She stepped closer, watching carefully.

  "I tried copying what you were doing."

  Cain glanced at her feet.

  "I saw."

  Elina looked down immediately.

  "I slipped."

  "The grass is wet."

  That explanation seemed to satisfy her.

  Encouraged, she stepped onto the stone circle.

  "Can you show me?"

  Cain studied her posture for a moment. Her stance was unstable. Her weight leaned too far forward, and her feet were uneven.

  He stepped closer and adjusted her position slightly.

  "Your balance is wrong."

  Elina froze as he corrected the placement of her feet.

  Then she tried the stance again.

  "Oh," she said quietly.

  The difference was immediate.

  Cain stepped back.

  "Again."

  She repeated the movement, slower this time.

  She did not fall.

  A small smile appeared on her face.

  "You're a good teacher."

  "I said one sentence."

  "It helped."

  Elina tried the stance once more before looking up at him.

  "Were you scared?"

  "Of what?"

  "The demons."

  Cain paused.

  The dungeon flashed briefly through his mind again.

  "No."

  Elina tilted her head.

  "Not even a little?"

  "The situation required action."

  She frowned slightly.

  "That's the same answer you gave yesterday."

  "It is still correct."

  High above them, Liora stood on the balcony overlooking the garden.

  She had arrived several minutes earlier and had not spoken.

  From her position she could see everything clearly. Cain’s controlled movements. The quiet way he corrected Elina’s stance without embarrassment or frustration.

  There was no arrogance in his posture.

  Only discipline.

  Elina eventually stepped away from the circle.

  "I should go before my sister notices."

  Cain nodded once.

  She ran back toward the mansion.

  The garden fell silent again.

  Cain remained where he was.

  He replayed the dungeon movement once more.

  The step.

  The turn.

  The release.

  Halfway through the motion his balance shifted incorrectly.

  He stopped immediately.

  The difference was clear.

  During Black Veil, the movement had been flawless.

  Now it felt incomplete.

  Cain lowered the wooden sword.

  "Black Veil," he said quietly.

  Night returned to the estate hours later.

  The garden darkened. The mansion lights dimmed one by one until silence settled across the grounds.

  Cain slept.

  The white space returned.

  Endless.

  Silent.

  Far away, the man sat exactly where he had before.

  Still.

  Watching.

  For a long time nothing changed.

  Then, slowly, the man’s head moved.

  Just slightly.

  But this time Cain noticed.

  And somewhere within the endless white silence, the watcher had finally begun to stir.