The morning air was dry for once—cool and still, as if the wetlands was holding its breath.
I sat on the porch steps, flask in hand. Every muscle in my body ached. Not sharply anymore, just a deep, settled soreness. The kind that felt earned.
Plor wandered past behind me, yawning so wide it looked like a cave entrance.
"No breakfast today?" I asked.
She stretched, joints popping.
"Couldn't be bothered this morning. Feel free to go out and hunt though."
She didn't even glance at me. Just kept walking.
"Yeah, thanks for the offer, but I'm good."
I pushed myself up and followed her around the house. Then outside to a clearing, it shimmered with early light—less haunted now, more honest.
Without warning, she tossed me something.
I caught it—dark cloth.
"A blindfold?" I muttered.
"Look at you, putting the pieces together."
She smirked.
"Go on. Put it on."
I hesitated.
"You wanna control your Point?" she asked. "This is how."
I tied it over my eyes. I couldn't see, there was no shape, no form. Just cool wind brushing past me, distant muffled sounds, and the smell of damp earth under my boots.
Plor took my arm and led me forward.
"I made you some presents last night! No need to thank me, hope you like it!"
She sounded oddly, mischievous.
That doesn't sound good…
Then she stopped. Letting go of me, she walked away her footsteps becoming fainter.
"There's a log in front of you," she said. "Bit slippery. One end dips into a puddle."
I felt it beneath my foot—curved, smooth, bucked under pressure.
"And I'm supposed to walk across it. Blind."
"Correct."
"And if I fall?"
"You get wet, and maybe embarrassed." She sounded proud of her creation.
I stepped forward.
The wood flexed slightly beneath me. My balance shifted, corrected. Another step, on my third, my heel slipped. Just a twitch. But it was enough.
The shimmer came—deep and sudden. A flicker across my chest, a pull like an invisible hand tugging from inside.
Then I was gone.
I reappeared, sprawled in cold water. Mud soaked my arms. My breath caught sharp.
Perfect.
Plor's voice floated over, cheerful and smug.
"There it is."
I yanked off the blindfold, glaring at her.
"That wasn't fun."
"Didn't say it was."
She sat on a log, just watching leisurely.
"Anyway, that was your instinct. Pure and dumb."
"So how do I stop it?"
"You get familiar with it. Then you learn when to guide it… and when to smack it on the head."
She stood, clapping her hands.
"Again."
I tried again, eyes open. Still slipped, still shimmered, still flickered.
Plor didn't comment, just sat with her arms crossed, head tilted like she was listening to a song only she could hear.
On the third go, I caught myself. The shimmer buzzed through me—but didn't take me.
A sharp whistle cut the air.
"Hey! Now we're getting somewhere."
A few more attempts, and she waved for me to follow. Off the trail, deeper into the wetland.
"New challenge," she said, grinning. "Gotta keep it spicy."
Ahead sat a rough wooden platform, maybe two meters high, nailed together like someone had lost a fight with carpentry. A rope dangled from the top. Plor grabbed it and hauled herself up.
She turned, peering down at me.
"Up you come."
The platform creaked under me. One plank jutted off the edge, leading to absolutely nowhere. She tossed the blindfold at me again.
I groaned.
"…Huh?"
"Don't worry! This one's fun. Took me forever to make."
She pointed at the jutting plank.
"You're gonna walk off that."
I blinked.
"Off the edge?"
"Yep."
"And what, I fall and break something?"
"Nope. You fall and learn. Maybe with a couple bruises." She crossed her arms.
"You'll instinctively teleport right before you hit the ground. That's your window. Catch it. Hold it."
I tied the blindfold, a lot less eager this time.
The ground waited below.
I stepped forward.
It came fast—tight and alive, like it had been lying in wait.
I didn't answer it.
I fell.
A split second of weightlessness—
Then pressure, like a wave crashing up my legs, spine, ribs. I hit the ground and rolled, mouth full of dirt. Pain shot through me in a dozen places.
Plor landed beside me like a leaf.
She crouched beside me.
"Hey, good job! Nice landing. I think?"
I sat up, coughing.
"Didn't teleport."
"Nope." She grinned.
"But you're getting close."
"So it's that simple? Feel the pull, and resist it?"
"It's not that deep." She stood, hands on hips.
"Instinct's just your will on autopilot. You retrain it like anything else. Do it again, and again, until the reflex starts to listen."
We kept going.
Logs. Platforms. Short drops. Blindfolds.
Every time, the shifting of space came. And every time, I caught it just a little sooner.
Not fighting—just noticing. Naming it. Refusing it.
It didn't feel like control yet. But it was close.
Closer than I'd ever been.
By late afternoon, the swamp shimmered gold. Light filtered through the treetops, breaking in ribbons across still pools. The morning haze had vanished.
Plor led me into a drier grove where roots buckled the earth and trees clustered close. She crouched and pressed her palm against a moss-covered stump.
"Here looks good."
"For what?" I asked, heart already sinking.
She stood, brushing dirt from her hands.
"Sparring."
"…Now?"
She nodded.
"You're not gonna learn control just by stopping yourself. You need direction."
She flexed her fingers, grin growing.
"Don't worry, I'll just use one percent."
That still sounds scary...
She stepped forward, dragging her fingers across a low branch. I noticed the light scuff of her touch.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Not really."
"Perfect."
She moved fast—not inhuman, just precise. A feint, a shift, a jab. I barely dodged. She followed with another strike, a spin, never losing rhythm.
Her hand brushed a fallen branch mid-step.
A second later, it flung toward me—curving in the air like it had been yanked.
I ducked. It scraped past my cheek.
"Hey!" I snapped.
She laughed.
"Just a bit of fun!"
Sticks, dirt, rocks—everything was coming at me. I dodged what I could, braced for what I couldn't. It hurt. Small aches blooming across my ribs and arms.
I realized something—everything she used, she'd touched first. A palm on the bark, a brush against the ground, fingers skimming stones. Every contact was intentional.
"You're using it," I said between breaths. "Your Point."
"Yeah, a little bit," she said, tapping a tree trunk.
"I don't need fireworks to make you dance."
A sliver of bark shot toward my leg. I stumbled. Pressure rose behind my ribs, building, rising like heat.
She noticed.
"There. Feel that?"
"Yeah."
"Then lean in."
The shimmer tugged like a wire inside me. Instinct. Subconscious will.
I let go.
Space folded. Breath skipped.
I flickered—reappearing five meters to the left.
Plor turned, eyes wide.
"There it is."
I steadied my breath.
"That felt… easier."
"You didn't overthink it. You saw the thread and followed it." She ruffled my hair before I could flinch away.
"Good work."
"How'd you do that with the stick? Just a tap and it flies?"
She wiggled her fingers.
"I can push and pull. I touch something, give it a charge. That stick? Tagged it, cranked the pull."
I sat on a thick root, legs buzzing with tension.
She plopped beside me, dragging a finger through the dirt in lazy spirals.
"You're probably the freest person in the world, you know."
"That sounds… good?"
She laughed.
"Think about it. Once you've got control, you're not chained by anything. Not even space."
She looked at me sideways.
"You need to use that freedom in a way that doesn't steal it from anyone else."
Before I could ask what that meant, she tapped a nearby stone.
It vanished with a thunderous snap.
Somewhere behind the trees, a long grey line streaked through the air. Then, a tree collapsed, its trunk splintering as it crashed to the forest floor.
I stared.
Plor smiled sweetly.
"Show-off," I muttered.
"Please," she said. "That was restrained."