The Essence Flow-Chapter 113 (S2 Start): Toward the Next Storm

The Essence Flow-Chapter 113 (S2 Start): Toward the Next Storm

One Year Later
The mountain breathed beneath his feet.
Towan stood shirtless in the clearing outside Eryndar’s dojo, steam rising from his skin into the frigid dawn air. The grass crunched with frost beneath each barefoot step, but he barely noticed it anymore.
His breath came slow and steady—four seconds in, two second hold, six seconds out.
The breathing method Rheon taught him had become second nature. Now, it wasn’t just about pulling in Essentia.
It was about pulling in everything.
The way the air flowed. The pressure on his toes. The subtle hum of life in the stone beneath.
And still—his punch wasn’t perfect.
CRACK.
His fist slammed into the trunk of a reinforced training pillar, lined with dull metal bands.
The pillar groaned. The frost shattered. Bark exploded from the impact.
But it didn’t break.
Not yet.
“Again,” came Eryndar’s voice.
Always quiet. Always unrelenting.
Towan exhaled, his shoulder already sore—but he obeyed.
This had been his life for the past year.
Waking up before dawn.
Filling his channels with controlled flow.
Striking until his arms burned.
Holding stances until his legs shook.
Falling. Bleeding. Growing.
When he wasn’t fighting, he was meditating.
When he wasn’t meditating, he was repairing the roof, chopping firewood, or reciting Essentia theory until his throat went dry.
But slowly—inch by inch—he’d changed.
He could feel it in the way his feet no longer slipped on wet stone.
In the way his punches carved air like blades.
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In the way his ring no longer pulsed in warning, but in approval.
And now…
Now it was time.
Inside the Dojo – Later That Day
The sun had risen fully by the time Towan packed his travel bag. Clean tunics. Training scrolls. A small lunch. The map Selene had given him, now wrinkled at the corners.
He slung it over his shoulder and walked to the main hall.
Eryndar was waiting.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes scanning his student from head to toe. Not judging. Weighing.
“You’re ready,” he said at last.
Towan nodded. “I feel ready.”
Eryndar handed him a small scroll, bound in golden thread. “That’s your entry token. The Academy won’t take you without it. It carries my signature—and my reputation.”
A pause.
“Don’t waste it.”
Towan took it, clutching it with care. “I won’t.”
Then, softer—without the usual sternness:
“You’ve come far. Remember what we taught you—Essentia is flow. If you try to force it, you’ll only break. Let it guide you.”
Towan smiled. “I’ll try not to punch anyone on the first day.”
Eryndar didn’t smile—but his eyes glinted. “If you do, make it count.”
That Night – On the Trail
Towan stood at the ridge above the valley, the wind tugging gently at his cloak. Below, the road to the capital stretched through fields and river crossings, eventually reaching the gates of Lockeheart—and beyond that, the place he’d been preparing for all year.
The Grand Academy of Essentia.
He took one last look at the dojo behind him, its roof still missing a few shingles.
He thought of Elliot. Of Sylra. Of Leon. Of Lytharos. Of Herb, Cassia, and Rellie too. Of the ring on his hand.
Of Len’s fan snapping shut.
Of Ser Varras nodding in silent approval.
Of fire.
Of sigils.
“Time to see who I really am,” he whispered to himself.
And then—he walked forward.
Toward the Academy.
Toward the truth.
Toward the next storm.
The Academy wasn’t a building.
It was a living argument carved into stone.
From a distance, it resembled a cathedral fused with a fortress—spires of white marble clawing at the sky, their peaks sheathed in gold leaf that burned like captive sunlight. But up close, the grandeur cracked.
The marble? Just a mask.
The true foundation was black basalt veined with silver, cold to the touch, its surface etched with runes that shimmered when brushed.
Some scholars claimed they were prayers.
The kitchen staff swore they were
warnings
.
Towan stood before it, wind tugging at his cloak, jaw slightly slack as he took it in.
“I finally got here,” he muttered.
He’d gotten lost twice along the way. Maybe three times. Still didn’t know if the detour through that singing forest had been intentional or a test.
Then—
A flicker behind him.
Fast.
Instinct took over.
He pivoted, channeling flow into his arms just as a fist lashed out toward his face. Towan caught it—clean—his hand closing tight around a familiar wrist.
Silence.
Recognition.
“How’ve you been, Towan?”
Elliot grinned like he hadn’t just tried to deck him. “You took your time.”
Towan blinked once. Then twice.
Then laughed—short and surprised, like the mountain air had finally knocked the tension loose from his ribs.
“You asshole.” He said with a smile
And just like that, the weight of the year lifted for a moment. Not gone. But lighter.
Because here they were.
Back together.
At the edge of something bigger

Chapter 113 (S2 Start): Toward the Next Storm