Cale stood up from beneath the ancient oak.

  The night was cool and quiet, the moon casting long silver shadows across the clearing. He walked to the door of the shack and reached for the handle.

  It wouldn't budge.

  Cale blinked. He tried again, jiggling it lightly. Still nothing. The door had been locked.

  Tiana had shut him out.

  He let out a soft sigh and lowered his hand from the handle. With quiet resignation, he turned and walked back to the oak tree, the ancient roots now familiar beneath his feet.

  Xentar had vanished, and Archimedes was gone too. Perhaps the owl had flown off to hunt.

  Cale tilted his head toward the sky, watching the dozens of glowing wisps still floating above him. They drifted lazily in the air, like fragments of starlight caught in a gentle breeze. It should have felt peaceful, but there was an ache behind the beauty—a weight he couldn’t shake.

  He lifted his hand.

  One small wisp, glowing a soft blue, drifted downward and came to rest gently in his open palm. The moment it touched him, a wave of sensation rolled through him.

  A memory.

  Not his own.

  He saw the sky above, impossibly vast and wide. Cold air rushed against feathered wings as they beat rhythmically. Below—miles of endless forest, painted in shades of green and brown. Wind streamed past with a crisp sharpness, filled with scent and movement. Freedom. Pure and unshackled.

  The bird had soared through those skies with joy, weaving between clouds, dancing on the wind, basking in the simple ecstasy of flight. There had been no fear. Only peace. Only the air, the sky, the world.

  Cale’s breath caught in his throat as the sensations deepened. He could feel the bird’s joy, its trust in the world around it. A life lived simply but beautifully.

  Then came the shift.

  The crack of tension in the air.

  Pain.

  So sudden. So absolute.

  The blue of the sky fractured as agony tore through the bird’s chest. Its wings failed, flailing wildly, then falling limp. The world turned. Sky above. Ground rushing up to meet it.

  A rock-strewn clearing.

  A child stood there, staring.

  Grubby hands clutching a wooden slingshot, eyes wide, not with regret, but with thrill. The bird’s body lay crumpled in the grass, its wings twisted, broken. The heartbeat slowed. Slower.

  And then—stillness.

  Cale gasped, pulling his hand back as if burned. The wisp floated from his palm and drifted upward, its light now soft, flickering like the last embers of a dying flame.

  His chest ached.

  He wiped at his eyes, not even realizing when tears had begun to fall.

  That little life—so free, so beautiful—had ended in a moment of meaningless cruelty.

  He sat quietly beneath the oak, the echo of the little bird’s death still lingering in his heart like an ache that wouldn't fade. The air felt heavier now. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself again. He had to try once more.

  He reached out, this time toward a wisp glowing with a deep golden hue, almost amber. It floated toward him willingly, warm and pulsing like a heartbeat. As it settled into his palm, his eyes fluttered shut.

  Another life spilled into his mind.

  A body low and powerful to the ground. A sleek pelt brushed against tall grasses, muscles coiling with quiet, confident strength. She moved through the tall grass with purpose, the sun beating down on her back, wind whispering through dry leaves. She was not alone.

  A pride moved with her—siblings, companions, cubs tumbling at her feet. She was the matriarch. The protector. The huntress. Each day began with the sun and ended with stars, filled with the rhythm of life: the chase, the kill, the feast, the rest.

  Years passed in a blink.

  She gave life to many—litter after litter of strong, healthy cubs. She taught them how to stalk, how to wait, how to survive. She licked their wounds. She roared to scare away to one who tried to hurt them. She mourned the lost ones—those who didn’t return from the hunt, those who fell to disease or violence. Each loss carved into her, yet she remained unbroken, her spirit fierce, her love boundless.

  Time moved faster now.

  Her steps grew slower. Her muscles ached with every movement. Her vision dimmed. Her fur thinned.

  She watched her last daughter hunt with strength and grace, just as she once had. Her pride had changed. Some had gone. Some had died. The cubs she once carried now carried the legacy she had built.

  And one night, under a cold, clear sky, she lay down alone beneath a tree.

  Her breath came slowly. The wind rustled gently through the branches.

  She closed her eyes, not with fear, but with peace.

  Her time had come.

  And she accepted it.

  Cale’s hand trembled.

  He could feel it—the wisdom of age, the weight of love, the sting of grief, and the calm surrender of death. Not violent. Not tragic.

  Just... time.

  He opened his eyes slowly. The golden wisp drifted away, its light dim but steady, like a setting sun.

  His breath hitched. Tears clung to his lashes.

  That life—so long, so full, so fiercely lived—had touched something deep inside him.

  It wasn’t just sadness.

  It was reverence.

  He sat there, under the ancient oak, and whispered into the quiet night, "Thank you."

  The wisps swirled above him, gentle and silent, as if they, too, honored her passing.

  Despite the intense emotions they stirred within him, Cale couldn’t stop himself from peering into the memories of the spirits.

  Animal after animal, life after life, their experiences flowed through him like rivers merging into the sea. There were no human spirits but the creatures he encountered each held stories, vivid and powerful. Some had met tragic ends: swept away by floods, starved in barren winters, torn apart by larger predators or killed by others of their kind. Others lived long, quiet lives and passed peacefully, the weight of time gently guiding them into stillness.

  Cale began to feel small. Insignificant. Like a grain of sand on an infinite beach, one among countless billions. The vastness of it all pressed against his chest, not to crush him, but to awaken something deeper—a reverence for the sheer scale of existence.

  It was humbling.

  Yet, with that humility came a strange peace. A courage that came not from strength, but from understanding. Everything lives. Everything dies. And in between—there is meaning.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  As dawn broke, the soft golden light of morning painted the sky in hues of fire and rose. The door to the shack creaked open at last.

  Tiana stepped outside.

  She wore a simple slate-blue robe cinched at the waist with a black sash, her long raven, falling in soft waves down her back. Her feet were bare, and she moved with a silent grace that made her presence feel both distant and impossibly near.

  She paused on the threshold.

  Cale hadn’t noticed her yet. He sat beneath the ancient oak, legs folded, eyes half-lidded as his hand reached out to a drifting wisp. His fingers didn’t clutch or command—only offered. And the spirit responded, gliding into his palm with trust.

  He whispered something to it. Quiet. Gentle. Words meant only for the dead.

  Another wisp hovered near his shoulder. And another lingered beside his cheek. Dozens floated around him now, drawn to him not by force, but by something deeper. They shimmered like a living constellation, a rainbow of memory and light.

  Tiana’s breath caught in her throat.

  He was already communicating with them. Not just seeing—but feeling. Touching. Understanding. Perhaps even looking into their lives.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in disbelief.

  'He was telling the truth, then…' she thought. 'But how can he already do this? It’s been barely a day.'

  There were prodigies. She’d heard of them. But this—this was something else. Spirit Bending wasn’t a spell to memorize or a skill to rehearse. It was a communion, an empathy that took years, sometimes decades, to cultivate.

  Yet he sat there, calm as the earth, surrounded by spirits as if they were old friends.

  A twinge of something long buried stirred in her chest.

  Wonder.

  And fear.

  She needed to find out who this boy was, to make sure he posed no danger to her.

  Tiana walked slowly toward Cale and knelt before him, her long robe brushing the grass. Her hand, cool and steady, reached up and touched his cheek, her fingertips lingering there with surprising tenderness.

  Cale’s eyes shifted to her, and for a moment, he looked as if he’d just returned from a place far, far away. His gaze widened with surprise, caught off guard by her closeness. He met her eyes—green and intense, like a forest under moonlight.

  "Good morning, Miss Tiana," he said softly, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  "Good morning," she replied, keeping her voice as warm as she could manage. "How was your night outside?"

  Cale looked down at the earth beneath him, his fingers brushing the dirt as if searching for words buried there. How could he describe it? It felt like years had passed—lifetimes even—though the sun had only risen once. He had seen so much. Felt so deeply. Joy, pain, love, grief. The weight of so many lives pressed against his soul.

  Tiana watched him silently, recognizing the far-off look in his eyes. He wasn’t ready to answer. She stood and gently gestured toward the wooden bench nearby. "Come," she said.

  They sat together in silence for a few moments. The morning air was crisp and still. Dew clung to the grass, and the spirits had faded into the daylight, leaving only the faintest shimmer in the corners of Cale’s vision.

  "Did you speak with them?" she asked, her voice calm.

  Cale nodded. "I saw their memories. Their lives... their ends."

  His voice was distant. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but at something only he could see.

  Then he turned to her again, something raw and searching in his gaze. "What do you think the purpose of life is?"

  Tiana arched a brow. She was ready to deflect, to mock him lightly—but she stopped. There was no naivety in his question. Just sincerity.

  She exhaled and looked toward the horizon. "To learn as much as possible," she said simply. "That’s the only thing we can do. Everything else comes and goes."

  Cale looked away, his eyes tracing the blue sky stretching overhead. He was too lost in thought, too sunken into the weight of what he’d experienced.

  Tiana narrowed her eyes slightly.

  Enough of that.

  It was time to shift his focus.

  "I think this is the perfect time to teach you about spirit bending," she said.

  Immediately, Cale snapped to attention, his eyes lighting up with anticipation.

  Tiana smirked.

  This boy is so simple-minded. It should be a breeze to play him like a lute, she thought, pleased with herself.

  Her tone shifted into one of instruction, measured and clear.

  She took a breath, her voice steady, edged with quiet authority.

  "Spirit bending isn’t a spell you memorize—it’s a language of the soul. There are four main principles I’ve come to understand. Not laws, just... truths we work with."

  She held up a single finger.

  "First, the Art of Resonance. You don’t control spirits like a summoner would. You align with them. Imagine tuning an instrument—you match your soul’s frequency to theirs. Their grief, their purpose, their pain. You feel them, and in turn, they feel you. That’s when they begin to trust. That’s when you become their anchor."

  A second finger joined the first.

  "Next, Spiritual Echoes. Every spirit leaves behind fragments—memories, emotions, sometimes raw energy. These echoes are everywhere. In abandoned homes, on battlefields, even in forests. They cling to places and objects. Spirit Benders can read them... or reshape them. Use them to soothe unrest, dismantle curses, or take pieces of a spirit’s memory into themselves. But be careful. Echoes are sometimes powerful—and unstable."

  She lifted a third finger.

  "Binding versus Freeing. Spirit Benders can bind souls—to blades, to totems, constructs, even to their own bodies. But it’s dangerous. Spirits forced into bondage often resist. They scream. They fight. They fracture. But if a spirit chooses to be bound... that’s different. Some seek purpose after death. Others crave vengeance. Binding can give them that. On the other hand, some only want peace. And it is just as powerful to free them."

  Finally, her hand opened, palm facing upward.

  "And the last—Memory Walking. The most advanced skill. You don’t just witness memories. You step inside them. You feel what they felt. You relive their triumphs, their regrets, their final breath. It’s dangerous. You can lose yourself in another’s emotions. Forget who you are. But if done right, it can show you truths no living soul could ever speak."

  She lowered her hand and let the silence settle between them.

  "Is there an order one must learn them in?" Cale asked.

  "More or less," she said with a slight nod.

  Cale remained quiet for a few moments, his eyes distant.

  "All night I peered into those spirits' memories. And it felt so real... like I was them and they were me. Is that what Memory Walking feels like?"

  Tiana looked at him, trying to piece together what he had just said.

  She remembered her first time attempting Memory Walking. It had wrecked her for over a month. Her skin had felt alien, her mind untethered. She had wandered through her own thoughts as if in a dream. And yet this boy sat before her—calm, composed.

  "How many did you do this with?" she asked, her voice tighter now.

  Cale glanced down, thinking. "Dozens," he answered honestly.

  Tiana felt a laugh bubble in her throat. It was absurd. Ridiculous. It felt like a bad joke... but she could see it. The spirits had swirled around him like moths to a flame.

  Tiana’s expression shifted—calmness folding into something sterner, colder. Her lips thinned, and her green eyes gleamed with calculation as she tried to process the truth. The boy was progressing too fast. Far too fast. She had intended to keep him obedient, to remain the wise master in his eyes. But if she let this pace continue unchecked, that fragile hierarchy could shatter.

  I need to show him the difference, she thought. He needs to remember I’m still the master here.

  "Let me show you how spirit binding is done," she said, her voice smooth but firm. She raised her hand, and a small wisp fluttered free from the air around Cale, drifting toward her open palm.

  "Follow me."

  Cale stood, curiosity sparking in his eyes, and followed her into the shack. They moved into the study. Tiana crossed to her desk and opened a drawer, drawing out a stone statue no larger than her hand. It was carved in the rough shape of a rat.

  She extended her hand toward the statue, and the wisp obediently slipped from her palm into the carved figure. They waited in silence.

  Tiana seemed to concentrate as she stared at the statue.

  A moment later, the stone rat stirred.

  Its limbs twitched, then flexed. Slowly, it rose to its feet. Pebbled eyes blinked. It turned and looked at them—alive, or something close to it.

  "This is spirit binding," Tiana said, her tone instructive again. "Different objects yield different properties. A sword might strike faster. A dagger could become silent. An armor might heighten your senses or grant agility. And if you bind a spirit to your body... you gain its talents. Of course, the stronger the spirit, the greater the boon."

  She waved her hand, and the stone rat went still. The spirit left it like a fading breath and hovered silently nearby.

  Tiana turned back to Cale. "Let’s go outside. I’ll teach you how to do this yourself."

  They stepped out beneath the shade of the ancient oak, where the soft morning breeze rustled through the leaves. The earth still held the coolness of night.

  Tiana handed him a small, silvery metal cube.

  "As a metal mage, this should be more practical than stone. Try shaping it into a rat."

  She didn’t mention that construct-binding was one of the most difficult types. She did it to slow him down. To humble him. Maybe even frustrate him. Just enough to remind him that mastery was still far away.

  Cale took the cube in his hand and glanced at her.

  How does she know I’m a metal mage? he wondered. Then he remembered Xentar—chatty, smug, always floating nearby.

  He sighed softly and turned his focus to the cube.

  Tiana watched closely, arms crossed, ready to step in with correction.

  The metal shifted in his hand—slowly, deliberately. It stretched and compressed, forming tiny legs, a tapered snout, delicate ears. Within moments, it stood fully formed in his palm.

  A perfect metallic rat.

  So lifelike, so detailed, that it looked ready to scurry away at the slightest breath.

  Tiana opened her mouth to begin explaining the binding process—how he’d need to focus, direct his intent, coax the spirit in like one might calm a wild animal and how it may take even hours to do it for the first time.

  But the spirit didn’t wait.

  It slipped from her side and dove straight into the construct.

  The rat stirred.

  Its silver eyes blinked. It sniffed the air. Then it looked up at Cale, alert and watchful, as if waiting for its first command.

  Tiana stared.

  Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

  Not anger. Not fear. Not even irritation.

  Just silence—and calculation.

  She folded her arms across her chest, trying to mask the flood of thoughts racing through her mind.

  "I see," she murmured.

  Cale glanced up, uncertain. "Did I do something wrong?"

  "No," she said slowly, almost distracted. "Not wrong. Just... unexpected."

  There was no wide-eyed awe. No theatrical gasp. But something in her tone had shifted. A subtle undercurrent of tension, like a wire pulled too tight.

  She didn’t ask him how he did it. She didn’t need to.

  Because deep down, she knew he didn’t know himself.

  And that was the most unsettling part.

  Tiana looked at the construct again—still animated, still watching Cale with near-animal awareness.

  It had responded to him instantly. Just instinct. As if the boundary between spirit and matter meant nothing to him.

  This wasn’t luck, she thought. This wasn’t even talent.

  This was something deeper.

  She turned back to Cale, her expression now unreadable.