The visit was over.
It vanished the same way it came:
like a trail of flames in the air.
Leaving behind only the echo of his presence — something beyond duty, beyond authority.
And once again, between the two of them...
That feeling.
A certain respect. A certain admiration. A certain... trust.
Learning was their shared fate.
One tried to understand the other like someone reading a medicine label; while the other struggled to understand himself, with the confidence of someone assembling furniture without a manual — and swearing they know what they're doing.
"Try!"
He tried.
Something.
Anything.
But nothing came out.
His chest thumped — emptiness and silence were the only response.
Not even a sigh stirred in his aura — such was the serenity… or total cluelessness about what was happening.
"Try!"
Again.
Hand suspended mid-air, trying to impose direction… but it was like pushing the wind.
Nothing obeyed. Nothing appeared, except his own shame — majestic, parading through the void like it thought it was slaying.
"Nothing..."
He collapsed like an old, shriveled fruit left forgotten in a drawer.
"Come on, try again!"
He took longer. Focused harder.
And once more, failure slapped him across the face like a clown mocking him on an empty stage.
"Shit... Are you sure this is it? 'Feel capable and it happens'? That sounds more like a self-help quote than an actual technique!"
"It's easier to lie to yourself than admit even your courage went on vacation," he replied, punctual and sharp, like only the half-tired wise know how to be.
"Err... But I did get that aura, right?"
"It only makes you capable... the moment confidence takes over. But the expression? That's certainty. The kind that sees what comes next before even getting there. Got it? It's like choosing who to share your life with... Or... do you not know what that is?"
That last line cut through him.
Cold. Intimate. And terrifyingly true.
A shiver crawled up his spine.
"Psychologist talk again?"
There was the core of the mess. For the aura to even consider manifesting, the person needed to be sure — worse, convinced — of what they wanted. A reason, any reason: revenge, love, some crooked emotional tie. Anything to take ownership of one's actions. But cowardice? That scared away intent like cockroaches from the light.
"Yeah. Have you ever trusted someone? Really handed over everything? Or are you even emptier than I thought?"
"I'm kinda empty…"
Saying it felt like punching himself in the gut.
"Shit... well, that's what you get. It's not like I just hand over everything... what if it goes south, right?"
"Still with that miserable cowardice..." he snapped, spitting the words like stones.
"And you've got the nerve to admit it? You join a cause without soul and think you'll accomplish anything? Pathetic. Coward!"
His honesty cracked through the air like a whip — fast, painful, impossible to ignore.
The word coward had been repeated so much, it might as well be a nickname.
"Huh?" — more out of reflex than any actual thought process.
"You're afraid to lose!"
"And you lose before even trying, you fucking failure! Is that what you want to be called? World champion of giving up?"
"Stop..."
"Harsh truth, pep talk, or advice? Pick one, because you're getting it either way!"
"Hey, hey!" he shot back, jumping up like a startled cat.
"Bug, existential glitch, I'll take it… but fucking failure!? Dude, watch your mouth!"
His nerves were fried — skin tingling, chest burning. And that's when the other one burst into laughter, like the whole disaster was the most obvious joke in the world.
"What?"
"I'm messing with you, duh!" he said, still laughing, leaning forward, chin in hand, studying the scene like he'd found a rare animal.
"Where's your sense of humor, champ?"
The laughter deflated slowly, like a punctured balloon, leaving only a sigh heavy with something neither wanted to name.
"But seriously... why not try?" he insisted, his voice growing deeper.
"This anger you feel... it's real. Maybe, just maybe... it's not anger. Maybe it's frustration."
"Why? I'm already a disaster when I'm calm... imagine pissed off?"
"Because, my friend, frustration is still a valid feeling! It's not epic love or earth-shattering rage... but look on the bright side: it's a start! Every wildfire begins with a spark, doesn't it?"
"Yeah..." he muttered, suspicious.
He sighed.
He's messing with me. For sure.
The thought ignited in his mind like a glowing ember — and deep inside, something primal stirred.
Bastard...
Irritated, he raised his hand — a gesture as instinctive as breathing, as natural as the urge to survive.
And then, everything changed.
His expression.
His eyes.
Everything.
It was overwhelming. Terrifying.
"What the—?!"
If he hadn't been faster — simply better at everything — he might've already been face down on the floor, not even conscious enough to process it.
His legs sprang with a crack, sending up a curtain of dust as he narrowly dodged something.
Something that came.
Suddenly.
The air warped, heavy. A nearly imperceptible wave of heat slid across his skin.
A strike — so fast, so subtle — it could barely be called an expression.
After all, what was it expressing?
There was no trace... no sound... just silence.
Good thing he dodged.
Cold sweat slithered down his neck, while his heartbeat pounded like war drums in his ears.
But in front of him, the young man stood unbothered — like absolutely nothing had happened.
"What the hell was that?!"
His expression looked more confused than proud.
And honestly, for him, that was the case.
He didn't even bother to look around...