The next day, Garlan stood beneath the waterfall.

  The water fell endlessly, heavy, cold, brutal. Each impact on his skull, shoulders, and chest was a hammer. He had to remain still, meditate, endure.

  But his mind drifted.

  Virellia had been clear: “You wish to share your breath with her? Then stop being a wall.”

  Easier said than done.

  Below, Marenna sat at the basin’s edge. She did not look up at him. She meditated. Deeply. Palms open to the sky, wet hair clinging to her neck, a soft aura emanating from her body. She glowed faintly. Virellia stood at a distance, silent, watchful.

  Garlan tried a first opening. He felt a breeze of Marenna’s mana brush against him. Calm. Steady. He tried to answer, to let his own flow outward… but a searing pain cut his breath. The water forced one knee down. One of Virellia’s children struck his flank with a magical staff.

  He groaned. Growled. But did not retaliate.

  A second attempt. He forced himself to inhale. To quiet the fire inside. To listen to the wind. To stretch a line toward her.

  He felt her. She responded. Just a little.

  But he wasn’t ready. The link trembled. Then broke.

  The waterfall redoubled. A second strike to his ribs.

  He fell to both knees. Breath shallow. Forehead pressed to wet stone.

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  Below, Marenna opened her eyes. She said nothing. But her hands closed. She adjusted her breathing. Then began again. Slowly. She widened her flow. She steadied it. Not to help him—but to invite him.

  The current grew more stable. Broader. Garlan raised his head. He felt her mana again. Clearer. Warmer. She no longer waited. She pulled him forward.

  This time, he didn’t resist. He let himself be carried. Like a current sweeping him downstream. He followed.

  And at last… the link formed.

  Not perfect. Not symmetrical. But real.

  Their mana flowed both ways. He did not control it. She did.

  In the distance, Virellia watched in silence. But her gaze was no longer merely attentive—it was intrigued.

  She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing Marenna’s aura. Something had shifted. The flow was no longer fragile. It was wider. Denser. Steadier.

  A low vibration ran through the glade. The exchange between them formed a loop, where Garlan’s vast mana pressed gently against Marenna’s. And she held. More than that—she absorbed. Her body rejected nothing. It adapted. It condensed. It widened.

  Virellia crossed her arms, thoughtful.

  — She does not grow by awakening, she murmured. She grows because she endures.

  She moved closer to Brenuss, eyes never leaving the scene.

  — If she continues this way, her vessel will change shape. Not today. But soon.

  The little dragonet gave a soft growl in echo.

  And Marenna, still motionless, breathed with a new ease. No fire. No shock. Just… organic growth. Slow. Inevitable.

  That evening, exhausted from the day, Garlan collapsed beside Marenna. Nestled in a vegetal alcove woven by the sanctuary’s vines, they finally shared a moment of calm.

  Without even thinking, Garlan offered quietly:

  — Turn over… I’ll give you a back rub.

  Marenna smiled softly and obeyed, lying on her stomach, arms folded beneath her head. He placed his hands on her shoulder blades and began slow, precise pressure, just as he’d once seen Virellia use on wounded trees.

  What he didn’t know was that by touching her this way, he was unintentionally awakening deep mana receptors beneath her skin, along her natural meridians. The mana flowed faster. Denser.

  Marenna felt only warmth and tenderness. Garlan said not a single word throughout. He simply focused, sincerely, quietly.

  She closed her eyes, deeply at peace.

  He endures all this for me… and still finds the strength to think of my comfort.

  Her chest rose with a slow, silent sigh.

  I’m proud of him… and maybe even more than that.