The lighting in the training room remained stable, like a thin film fixed in place, evenly covering the gray floor.
The air showed no sign of movement. Even the slightest disturbance would be magnified into clarity.
Within this layer of stability, Lucian's movements unfolded slowly.
His blade was neither hurried nor hesitant. Every lift, pause, and recovery followed a path that seemed to have already existed.
There were no breaks between motions. They were naturally linked by an unseen structure.
The elder stood to one side, giving no instructions.
His presence itself was a reference—no intervention, and none required.
Time stretched.
Each repetition compressed deviation.
Each pause removed excess.
Just as the third recovery was about to end, an incomplete scream came from afar.
Short, suppressed—cut off before it could fully emerge.
It did not spread, yet within this stability, it stood out sharply.
Lucian's blade stopped midair.
It did not fall.
Nor did it continue.
His gaze shifted slightly.
No hesitation.
The blade was lowered.
He turned and left the training area.
His steps remained steady, but the distance closed rapidly.
The corridor was straight and silent. The walls were smooth, without unnecessary decoration.
Sound did not linger here.
The anomaly came from the inner section.
Not part of the training range.
The door was half-closed.
Lucian pushed it open.
The air inside carried a subtle dissonance.
Not chaos—but a slight misalignment between positions.
The first thing in sight was the floor.
A blanket lay scattered.
Not naturally fallen, but torn apart.
The edges of the fabric showed irregular breaks, fibers turned outward, as if pulled at high speed.
Fine fragments spread across the ground, forming an uneven field.
Near the bed was a short drag mark.
Not long—but clear.
Then—the person.
The maid was on the ground.
Supporting herself on one side, breathing slightly uneven.
She had not lost consciousness, but could not stand for the moment.
One hand pressed against the floor, the other held her ankle.
The angle of the ankle was slightly off.
Not broken—but forcibly twisted.
She made no sound.
Only controlled her breathing.
Her gaze was not on Lucian.
It was fixed on the other side of the room.
Lucian followed it.
Lucy stood there.
She had not moved.
As if fixed in a certain position.
Her body had not lost balance—but its structure was not fully aligned.
Her shoulders were slightly mispositioned, her center of gravity subtly leaning forward.
One arm was raised in midair, stopped at an unnatural angle.
It was not an action in progress.
More like a result that had already ended, yet had not been fully received by the body.
Fragments of torn fabric lay under her feet.
Their edges pressed against her shoes, not avoided.
She looked down at her own hand.
Said nothing.
Her breathing was slightly fast.
Fine beads of sweat covered her forehead.
Not from exertion—but from rising body temperature.
Lucian walked over.
His pace did not change.
He stopped in front of her.
Very close.
Lucy's gaze lifted slightly to him.
No emotional fluctuation.
Only confirming his presence.
She tried to raise her hand again.
The motion began.
The next instant, the position had already changed.
Her hand was higher.
The process in between had not fully appeared.
A misalignment formed at the shoulder.
The joint did not fully connect.
Her body swayed slightly.
Not from losing support—but because the following motion could not link.
Lucian extended his hand.
He did not touch her.
He simply held it extremely close to the outside of her wrist.
The distance was minimal.
The air between them lowered, as if fixed by some structure.
Lucy's movement stopped.
The displacement was suppressed.
Her shoulder line slowly returned.
The joints gradually aligned.
She did not pull away.
Nor continue.
She simply remained within that layer of stability.
Her breathing slowed.
Lucian's gaze briefly dropped to her feet.
He lightly moved his toe, pushing the fragments aside.
The motion was unobtrusive.
Lucy did not look down.
She tried again.
This time, she deliberately slowed the start.
The hand moved.
The process appeared—but not completely.
There was a slight break in the middle.
The endpoint still held.
Her hand stopped at the target position.
The angle was correct.
She paused.
As if confirming.
Then slowly lowered it.
Her breathing steadied somewhat.
Lucian withdrew his hand.
That layer of structure receded.
Lucy moved again.
No external interference.
The deviation returned.
But smaller.
She did not stop.
Continued.
In the corner of the room, the atmosphere shifted.
The maid had managed to sit up.
Her hand still pressed her ankle.
But she made no sound.
Her gaze briefly passed over Lucy.
Paused for a moment.
No clear emotion.
Just a pause.
Then moved away.
She tried to stand.
Slowly.
When her foot touched the ground, she frowned slightly.
But did not stop.
Once steady, she instinctively stepped a little toward the door.
Distance increased.
She did not leave.
Only stopped there.
Lucian looked at her.
"Go to the infirmary."
His voice was calm.
The maid nodded.
She said nothing more.
Only turned and left.
As the door closed, her gaze lingered once more.
Still not on Lucian.
But on Lucy.
Extremely brief.
As if confirming a fact.
Then gone.
The room returned to silence.
Lucy sat down.
She did not speak.
Nor explain.
Her hands rested on her legs.
Her fingertips still trembled slightly.
Lucian stood beside her.
Did not leave.
Time moved slowly.
Lucy continued.
Again and again.
The starting point stabilized.
The process lengthened.
The gaps shortened.
But still existed.
She was not impatient.
Only correcting.
After some time, the door was lightly knocked.
Lucian opened it.
The maid stood outside.
Her ankle had been simply treated.
Bandaged neatly.
Her stance was stable again.
"Sorry," she said softly.
No explanation.
Only acknowledging her failure.
Lucian looked at her.
"It's not your problem."
His tone was calm.
She did not respond.
Her fingers tightened slightly at her sleeve.
As if holding something back.
Lucian paused.
"You don't need to come here anymore."
"Arrange external placement."
"Subsidy follows long-term standard."
She froze slightly.
Then lowered her head.
"Yes."
She did not look at Lucy again.
Turned and left.
Her footsteps were nearly soundless.
The door closed.
Lucian returned.
Lucy was still practicing.
Her movements still unstable.
But becoming continuous.
She raised her hand again.
This time, the process was more complete.
The break shorter.
The endpoint held.
No displacement.
She paused.
Then lowered it.
Her breathing steadied.
Her temperature was still high—but the tremor had weakened.
Lucian stood beside her.
Did not touch.
Only existed.
That invisible layer of stability appeared when needed, and receded when not.
Lucy no longer failed as noticeably.
Her movements were gradually received by herself.
The room was quiet.
No one disturbed them.
The corridor outside was silent.
Time continued.
When the final motion no longer showed a break, she stopped.
No emotion.
Just sat quietly.
Looking at her hand.
Lucian glanced once.
Said nothing.
He turned and left.
The door closed softly.
The corridor returned to normal.
No trace remained.
Training would continue.
Only the order had changed.
After the door closed, the room was sealed again.
Sound stayed outside.
The air returned to its original stability.
Lucy did not stop immediately.
She remained seated.
Hands on her legs.
The tremor in her fingertips was faint—but not gone.
She looked down at her hand.
No trace of thought.
Only confirmation.
She slowly raised her hand.
The motion began.
This time, she deliberately slowed the start.
Very small amplitude.
The process appeared.
Complete.
No obvious break.
But in the middle—
A moment of blankness.
Not a pause.
A "missing."
Her hand was already near the endpoint.
But the connection was incomplete.
Her shoulder structure shifted slightly.
Her center of gravity leaned forward.
If she continued—
There would be displacement again.
She did not stop.
The hand continued.
The endpoint held.
But in that instant, stability weakened.
Her foot slid slightly.
Not much.
But enough to disturb the structure.
A small object on the table trembled lightly.
It did not fall.
But changed position.
Lucy stopped.
No panic.
Her breathing quickened for a moment.
Then was suppressed.
She did not withdraw her hand.
She held it there.
Letting her body adjust.
Her shoulder line slowly corrected.
Her center returned.
Her footing stabilized.
That missing segment—
Was not restored.
But the result—
Was stabilized.
She slowly lowered her hand.
Did not look at the displaced object.
Did not check the deviation.
She raised her hand again.
Slower than before.
The start appeared.
The process lengthened.
That moment of blankness—
Shortened slightly.
Not gone.
But compressed.
The endpoint held.
This time, her body did not visibly shift.
She stopped.
A few seconds.
Then lowered it.
Her breathing stabilized.
Her temperature was still elevated.
But no longer interfered.
The room was silent.
No one entered.
No one observed.
Lucy did not continue.
Her hands rested on her legs again.
Neither clenched nor relaxed.
Just there.
As if waiting for the next start.
No sound outside.
No footsteps in the corridor.
This layer of space was completely isolated.
That near-loss-of-control fluctuation left no trace.
But it had been recorded.
Not externally.
Within her movements.
Lucy lifted her head.
No expression.
She did not try again.
Just sat there.
Breathing steady.
Her body no longer misaligned.
That skipped segment still existed as a blank.
But it was no longer out of control.
Time continued.
No interruption.
No intervention.
Her ability had not stopped.
It was simply being taken in—
piece by piece.