Vale glanced up at Korin for a moment, then stepped toward the garden door. The frame gleamed with soft lines of silver laid over smooth white wood. It wasn’t extravagant, but it had a quiet, confident charm, like a doorway that knew exactly what it was meant to do and needed no ornament to prove it.

He pushed it open. Just like the door to the library, it needed almost no effort. The hinges moved with a whisper, and the whole structure felt strangely weightless under his hand.

Beyond it stretched the “garden.”

Calling it a garden felt too small. The space unfurled like a tamed meadow, broad and meticulously trimmed paths looping between open patches of earth and clusters of lanterns that stood like patient sentries. There were trees spaced neatly along the edges, and further out the ground blurred into a soft horizon. It was less a garden and more a sanctuary wearing a garden’s name.

Vale drew in a lungful of crisp, cold air. It hit him with a clarity he didn’t expect, clean in a way that felt ancient and untouched. No smoke, no haze, no trace of poison in the breath.

'How would I know that?'
The thought sliced in suddenly. The familiarity didn’t make sense. He couldn’t recall ever thinking consciously about “fresh” or “polluted” air before, yet here he was, distinguishing it instantly.

Before the thought could unravel further, Korin’s voice nudged him gently back to the present.

“So. Do you like the garden?” Korin asked, his tone as flat and steady as riverstone.

Vale turned toward him with a small smile. “Yeah. It’s lovely.”

He looked around again, and then frowned slightly. Not a soul in sight. For such a serene place, the emptiness felt peculiar.

“Hey… why isn’t anyone else here?” Vale asked.

Korin blinked, then shrugged a mountain-sized shoulder. “Most people still have classes right now.”

“Still? But isn’t it already late?”

Korin let out a brief chuckle. “For normal schools, yeah. But we start in the afternoon here.”

Vale nodded slowly. That explained the quiet, at least.

Korin hesitated, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Should I… introduce you to one of my friends?”

Vale raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure.”

A faint, almost shy smile flickered across Korin’s face. He then walked a few meters away, leaving Vale standing where he was instinctively still, as though sensing Korin would call if he wanted him closer.

Korin lifted both hands to his mouth and released a deep whistle, low, resonant, and drawn out. It vibrated through the open space like a signal meant for something far beyond ordinary hearing.

Silence followed. A long, waiting silence.

Vale finally opened his mouth, voice tentative. “So… when will your friend,”

“Right about now,” Korin said.

A heartbeat later, a blast of wind tore through the garden, whipping soil and flecks of dirt into the air. Vale shielded his face, squinting through the sudden turbulence.

When the gust settled, he slowly lowered his arms and froze.

Korin’s outstretched arm was no longer empty.

A massive brown eagle perched on it, talons gripping the thick sleeve with practiced ease. The bird was half Vale’s height, likely even larger if it spread its wings. Its feathers shimmered with layered shades of chestnut and bronze, like polished wood catching sunlight. The creature let out a brief chirp, sharp yet oddly melodic.

Korin’s expression softened as he lifted his free hand and gently stroked the eagle’s feathered head.

“This is Tachyon,” Korin said. “He’s like us. He has powers too.”

He paused, glancing briefly at the bird. “And don’t underestimate him. He isn’t human, but he’s just as intelligent.”

A slow, delighted grin crawled onto Vale’s face, something between awe and a child’s wonder. The creature felt mythic in presence, like an guardian awaiting a story to inhabit.

After a few minutes of silent observation, Vale finally spoke.

“Tachyon, huh? Strange name. But he looks incredible.”

Korin nodded quietly.

“If I may ask,” Vale continued, “what kind of powers does he have?”

Korin looked faintly startled by how quickly Vale jumped to the question, but he recovered smoothly. “Simplest explanation? Super speed. And the durability required to survive it.”

Vale’s eyes widened. He had suspected wind or swiftness, but hearing it confirmed still stirred something in him. “So animals can have powers as well…?”

His voice drifted almost into a whisper.

Korin gave him a puzzled look. “Of course. Animals have just as much chance of awakening as people.”

Vale blinked. “What do you mean?”

Korin sighed and lowered his arm. Tachyon took off, wings slicing through the air with controlled force, and landed on a bench a short distance away, perching with an elegance that didn’t match his size.

“To be honest,” Korin said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’m guessing you don’t know anything about how powers actually form. Do you?”

Vale nodded, sheepish. “Not really.”

Korin sighed again, he seemed to be doing that a lot today, but this one felt less heavy, more resigned.

“Well,” he said, “how about I give you the short version?”

Vale’s eyes lit up with unmistakable excitement. “Sounds good.”

He nodded so enthusiastically that Korin almost laughed.

Korin drew in a slow breath, the kind a person takes before lifting something heavy, except what he was lifting now was explanation, not weight. Vale fixed his attention on the giant, watching the slight rise of his shoulders as he prepared himself.

“So,” Korin began, “you know about the planes, right?”

Vale nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Korin shifted his stance a little, as if settling into the role of reluctant lecturer. “A plane is basically the embodiment of the force it represents. It houses that force. All of it. For example, Umbrath, the realm of shadows Miss Evelyn is connected to, holds every shadow ever cast. Pyrean, the plane of fire contains every flame that has burned, from candles to stars.”

He paused to catch his breath, though Vale suspected it wasn’t physical exertion so much as sorting his own thoughts.

“But to borrow power from these planes,” Korin continued, “we need a connection. And that connection forms through the visora organ.”

Vale tilted his head, leaning unconsciously a little closer. “The visora organ…?”

“It forms early in life,” Korin explained, tapping lightly at the base of his sternum as if gesturing to its unseen location. “It acts as a transmitter between our world and whichever plane we resonate with. But to access a plane for real, to use its strength you must take trials. You prove yourself. You show the plane that you can handle what it gives.”

His gaze drifted toward Tachyon, who still perched on the bench, preening a wing with sharp precision.

“The first trial,” Korin said more quietly, “is easy for humans because of our intelligence. For animals, it’s harder.”

“How so?” Vale asked.

Korin met his eyes, somber now. “Because the first trial is… acceptance. Accepting that you belong there. Humans can reason through something unfamiliar, they adapt. But animals? For them, entering a plane is like stepping into a strange, possibly hostile world. Most fail simply out of instinctive fear.”

Vale nodded, but the explanation only deepened his curiosity. “And what happens if you fail a trial?”

Korin exhaled heavily, the kind of breath that carried a gravity of truth behind it.

“They cease to exist,” he said. “They’re devoured by the plane, adding to its power.”

Vale’s breath caught. His mind stumbled over the thought. If he, if anyone failed, they simply… wouldn’t be anymore? It was brutal, but in a twisted way, he could understand it. Something as vast as a plane needed fuel. And lives were the currency.

As he was reeling with that realization, Korin spoke again. “There’s something else you should know.”

Vale snapped back to attention instantly.

“Enigmas,” Korin said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

Vale nodded slowly.

“They’re the rulers of the planes. Their anchor. An enigma has to exist to keep the plane stable, without one, things spiral. They turn wild. Uncontrolled. Like mine.”

There was a note in his voice, almost shame, or weary acceptance.

“There are generally two kinds of enigmas,” Korin continued. “Normal ones… and Primordials.”

Vale’s curiosity sparked again. “Primordials?”

Korin nodded. “Normal enigmas belong to ordinary planes. Primordials belong to the ones anomalies are usually connected to. Because those planes are too powerful for most people. Too raw. Too close to the origin. Primordials are like… the architects of the first planes, the ones all others eventually branched from.”

He paused, then added, “Caesar is an example. He’s connected to the Plane of the primordial of Progress. That’s why his intelligence is… well, you’ve seen it.”

Korin’s voice drifted off, and silence settled between them.

Vale stared down at the grass and closed his eyes, trying to process it all, the planes, trials, failure, enigmas, Primordials. The information wove through his thoughts like threads that refused to lie still. He tried to gather them, to form some shape out of the swarm,

but once again, his thoughts were interrupted.

A voice, feminine, confident, and carrying a hint of playful challenge called across the garden.

“Hey, Korin! You didn’t tell me you made another friend. Who’s this guy?”

Vale’s eyes flew open, frustration flickering in them. He sighed, heavy with the quiet tragedy of a man denied his thinking time for the third time today.

He turned toward the source of the voice, and his breath caught. His eyes widened, a rush of recognition or surprise surging through him as he stared at the figure approaching.