Soon, the group stood at the base of the central tower. Morning mist still clung to the jungle canopy beyond the camp. A few figures milled around, but none from their earlier flight. Near the tower's base, several youths lounged in the grass, chatting.
Lars broke into a sprint. "Solomon! Our roommates want to join your tour. Are you free?"
One of the lounging men lifted a straw hat off his face. Beneath it was a wide, infectious grin. He rose slowly—so tall that even Bast looked short beside him. Light green hair peeked out from under the hat, and his deep voice rumbled as he stretched.
"Sure. I can show them around."
Nemo felt a strange calm just standing near him. Despite the man's towering frame and presence, there was something disarmingly warm about him. Mature, yes—but with a glimmer of youthful curiosity behind his eyes.
Solomon turned to Lars. "Anywhere you'd like to start?"
Lars grinned. "Mess hall first. Bast needs water. I don't want him drying out like last time."
Solomon's smile widened. Bast scowled but said nothing.
Without another word, Solomon led the way, meandering out of the camp and into the jungle, taking a different path from the one they had arrived on. The others followed quickly.
"The island's a survival zone," Solomon explained as they walked. "The first six months are all about the basics—understanding your powers, the land, and your limits. The second half of the year is for specialization. Once you've chosen a path, you start getting trained for real work."
He turned back with a wink. "Do any of you already know what you want to do? Besides my brilliant pupil Lars, who'll grow the best tomatoes Atlantis has ever seen?"
Lars laughed. "I want to grow more than just tomatoes."
"No need," Solomon said, waving a hand. "Tomatoes are perfect. Versatile. Delicious. But we'll talk about that later."
He turned to the others. "What about the rest of you?"
Bast shrugged with a theatrical expression of being lost. Nemo copied it, pointing at Bast for emphasis.
Holt ignored both. "I'll be an Edgerunner," he declared proudly. "I'll guard Atlantis from the greatest threats. From the sea to the sky, I'll stand at the front."
As he lifted his fist triumphantly, something strange happened.
Nemo blinked. Holt wasn't just posturing—he was rising. Lifted off the ground. Slowly, steadily.
"What the...?" Bast muttered.
Nemo's eyes dropped to Holt's feet. A plant had grown from the ground, thick and powerful, curling upward like a living platform. Holt, surprised at first, laughed in sheer delight.
"I'll be the best Edgerunner Atlantis has ever seen!"
Solomon clapped, and Lars giggled, clearly amused. Nemo could feel the energy flowing from Solomon—calm, nurturing, and vibrant. He was feeding the plant, sustaining its unnatural growth.
But then the plant began to steam. Vapor hissed off its leaves as it started to wither. Solomon's eyes narrowed. Before the structure could collapse, the massive leaf wrapped around Holt and gently lowered him back to the ground. The moment his feet touched dirt, the entire thing burst into flames and crumbled into ash.
"A fascinating aspect," Solomon mused. "Something with heat… or steam? But fire should be impossible. And that performance—storytelling? Hm. You're not a Feltahs… Too expressive."
Holt stood, dusting himself off. "That was incredible. Was that your plant? It felt like I could see my dream coming true."
"It was," Solomon said. "And your aspects?"
"Heat and storytelling," Holt replied proudly.
Solomon's eyes sparkled. "Interesting. Very interesting. You said you want to become the best Edgerunner?"
Holt nodded enthusiastically.
"Well, I am one. Some say I'm one of the best. I'm looking to fill one more spot on my team. If you want, I'll mentor you. If you're good enough, you'll join me when the time comes."
Nemo's eyes widened. Arbil had said you'd know when you met an Edgerunner. But Solomon… he didn't _feel_ like a legendary fighter. He was kind. Casual. Gentle.
And yet… everyone felt it now. The way others had bowed slightly when he passed. The respectful hush. The power behind the smile.
Holt stared, stunned—but recovered fast. His hand shot out, and for the first time, Nemo saw him serious.
"Yes, sir. I'd be honored."
Solomon grasped Holt's hand. They shook on it.
But Holt didn't let go.
"There are two things I want to ask."
Solomon raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
"I have a rival," Holt said. "If I take this head start alone, I'll leave her behind. Mentor her too—until the academy ends. After that, she can find her own path."
Solomon's grin returned, brighter than ever. "And the second?"
"I want him to come too." Holt pointed at Nemo. "You need rivals to push you. Friends to support you. He's my friend—even if we just met. If I run too far ahead, I want someone I trust nearby."
Solomon turned to Nemo. "Well?"
Nemo hesitated.
Becoming an Edgerunner had never crossed his mind seriously. It sounded reckless. Suicidal even. But… hadn't he dreamed of it? Sitting by the harbor after long shifts, staring out at the ocean, wondering what lay beyond?
He'd never had a reason to act on it. Until now.
Slowly, he nodded. "Yes. I'd like that."
Solomon nodded back. "Then we just need to ask your rival."
They continued toward the mess hall. As they entered, the volume dipped. Heads turned. Even faculty gave subtle nods of respect as Solomon passed. Nemo began to understand what Arbil had meant.
But his thoughts were pulled away by the scent of food. Without waiting, he grabbed the largest plate he could find and started piling it with everything in reach.
"You didn't have breakfast?" Solomon asked, amused.
"No," Holt answered for him. "Long story."
"Then let's eat. I can share a few things while we do."
Lars and Bast excused themselves—they'd already taken the tour. And what had just happened would make for prime gossip.
At the table, as they ate, Solomon leaned in.
"In about an hour, everyone will know you're mentoring under me. That's just how people are."
Holt beamed. Nemo just nodded between bites.
Then, Holt stood suddenly and dashed off.
Minutes later, he returned, dragging a familiar figure—Giada. She looked annoyed at first, but when she saw Nemo sitting next to Solomon, her eyes widened. The irritation faded.
Standing before them, Solomon gave her his usual calm smile. "Are you willing?"
Giada paused—then nodded.
"Good. Grab some food and join us."
Soon, they sat together. Nemo had already filled another plate. Giada picked at hers cautiously.
Solomon smiled. "Quite the batch of saplings I've found."
After the meal, Solomon led them on a tour of the island. The academy grounds stretched far—open-air classrooms, aspect training zones, martial arts pits, and meditation groves. Almost everything happened outdoors.
Solomon explained each area, pointing out key landmarks and teachers. Students passed by in various forms of training, some mid-sparring, others practicing control over their aspects.
Eventually, the path curved back into the jungle—dense, humid, and alive. Vines curled across the ground. Branches rustled overhead.
Nemo felt the vegetation shifting unnaturally. More than once, he turned—certain something was watching. But there was only green.
Then, without warning, the group was gone.
He turned around. Nothing but trees.
And standing inches in front of him—rising out of the earth—was a massive tree that hadn't been there a heartbeat ago.
Leaves whispered above.
And the rustling grew louder.