They move in silence through the overgrowth.

  She walks like a whisper.

  He walks like a warning.

  And still — she lets him follow.

  Not too close. Not too far.

  Just enough to annoy her.

  [THOUGHTS]

  She ain’t told me to leave.

  So I’m not gone yet.

  Selena doesn't turn around, but she definitely hears his steps.

  "Your boots still loud," she mutters.

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Boots strong. No sneak. Not like you.”

  She huffs.

  "You're not wrong. But you sound like you’re tracking me with a parade."

  [SPEAKS]

  “You… never stop talk?”

  That gets a half-laugh out of her — short, dry.

  ---

  They stop at a clearing. She drops her pack, stretches slightly.

  He watches her.

  She watches him watching her.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "Alright," she says. "You’ve been trailing me for days. Let’s settle something."

  She turns, planting her staff.

  "What’s your Discipline?"

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Discipline?”

  "Magic. Your path. You clearly cast, but I’ve never seen you use a sigil or anchor."

  Rell blinks.

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Can do… magic.”

  She squints.

  "That doesn’t answer the question."

  He steps forward, lifts a hand.

  Flickers of flame rise — and with it, adamant shards orbit his wrist.

  Selena’s eyes widen.

  No chant. No sigils. No incantation. Just will.

  The flame flares. Then fades.

  She stares at him.

  "...You just threw it out."

  [SPEAKS]

  “…That bad?”

  "It's… unreal," she mutters. "You didn’t use a sigil, didn’t align to any school… Just raw spell output."

  ---

  She lifts her staff.

  "Let me show you the difference."

  She flows through a practiced stance — her breath syncing with her arm movements.

  From her staff:

  - A controlled arcane bolt cracks through a boulder.

  - A phantom dagger materializes briefly in the air beside her hand.

  - A thin layer of shimmering self-enhancement field wraps around her limbs.

  She lowers the staff slowly.

  "Magic here is divided into Seven Disciplines," she says, counting them out on her fingers.

  "Casting, Conjuring, Enhancements, Enchantments, Alchemy, Summoning, and Invocation."

  She taps her staff to the ground.

  "Most mages only master one or two. I’ve mastered two: Casting and Enhancements. I’m proficient in two more: Conjuring and Enchantments."

  Rell doesn’t speak — just squints.

  [SPEAKS]

  “…You young. Still learn.”

  She pauses.

  “…I’m twenty.”

  [SPEAKS]

  “…No. You… small.”

  Her expression shifts — not angry. Just distant.

  “This place…”

  She gestures at the jungle around them.

  “It stops you from aging. But it doesn’t stop time.”

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Trapped… jungle?.”

  She nods once. Quiet.

  “Some people lose track. Some lose everything.”

  [THOUGHTS]

  That don’t sound like nature.

  That sound like a prison.

  He doesn’t say it out loud.

  But she studies his silence.

  “You’re not just a jungle runt, are you?”

  [SPEAKS]

  “…Me? Just… walk. Fight. Live.”

  She hums.

  “Right.”

  She doesn’t believe him.

  Not fully.

  But she doesn’t walk away either.