59th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

I think I've got it. Newt stood after spending days in meditation, considering what the Valley of the Lost was doing, and how to counter it. In the end, he decided that resisting it was not the way. Defying a natural phenomenon potent enough to overpower and confuse mageknights at the ninth realm was possible only if you were at the tenth.

Newt's original idea was influenced by his unyielding element, earth. He wished to withstand the pressure and find his own path regardless of the obstacles, like lava rolling downhill, consuming everything in its path. Had Newt followed the path of air or water, he would have found the solution much sooner. What he needed to do was act like a fish in the rapids, let the current surround him, and slip past him while he navigated the river of danger.

He took a breath and sensed the world around him.

There. He took a step towards the center of the dangerous area. The Valley of the Lost pressed against his will, but instead of resisting, Newt bent and let it slide past him.

There's still some discomfort, but it's not bad. I can probably improve my technique over time.

New smiled. Fighting the bewildering effect alone was next to impossible for him. The Valley of the Lost would destroy his sense of direction, even if he could orient himself in the impenetrable fog. Fortunately, the tool it used to make the trap even more perfect could be used to escape.

Probably. The books we read clearly stated that the exit is three yards wide. Stepping a foot left or right is no different from walking past it a mile away; you remain lost either way.

Newt took another step, then another. With each step, his confidence grew. The only problem was that a stubborn part of him wanted to oppose the pressure, to be the rock jutting out in the rapids.

Bend. He drew another breath. The earth is unyielding, but lava flows. It goes around that which it cannot consume.

With every step, Newt felt lighter. There was no encouragement to move straight towards the center of what he sensed as danger, no merit either, and the only reason he headed in that specific direction was because he believed the Valley of the Lost did not want him going there.

There's no way the exit is this way, though. If my guess is right, I'm just going away from the center, and towards the outside, not towards the exit. Maybe the formation loses its hold over me if I have danger sense as an anchor?

Newt mulled over that question and quickly discarded his idea as optimistic fantasy. If that was all it took, then compasses would just point out, and you could leave wherever.

I have beaten just a portion of this giant trapping formation. I shouldn't assume I'm free. Far from it.

Newt walked through sparse shrubs, avoiding their thorns and focusing on his danger sense.

I'm glad Master started teaching me about mana sense; awakening something beyond normal senses had made gaining basic proficiency over danger sense much easier.

Newt knew he was a long way from real mastery. If one drew a parallel with sight, Newt's newfound sense allowed him to perceive light and absence of light, the most fundamental ability of vision.

The first step was achieving that minor success and moving in any direction he chose. The next was getting a vague outline, followed by details, then minor details. Newt hoped the step-by-step approach was possible.

I can't be the first person doing this. Is there something like a step-by-step guide in the library?

Only a handful of weeks had passed, but Newt had moved from an aversion towards books to reliance, finding great merit in reading about his predecessors' ideas and innovations.

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Even if there are, Master won't let me read them.

Newt recalled his assignment about threading. He had found seven out of five merits to tracing, but Lady Alabaster only acknowledged three. And she even forbade him from searching for the correct answer until he reached the fourth realm, insisting he should think about it some more instead.

Newt sighed. This is definitely something more complex than tracing. Wait? Does Master even have danger sense? It would be so funny if I came out of the Valley of the Lost with a fully developed ability she's still learning.

That thought put a grin on his face, and he strode deeper into the mists, trying to reduce the lingering resistance to the pressure of heading the wrong way.

After half an hour, a new safe direction appeared left of Newt.

Let's see what we have here. Newt turned, and as he headed towards what he assumed was the next manabeast, the safe direction moved rightwards.

It's walking, and I'll appear from its flank.

Newt wanted to see whether his guess was correct in the swiftest manner, but stopped himself. He could test it by arranging himself to appear behind his prey. It was a safer, smarter option, and one that would end without a real battle, but with an assassination, a single stab in the beast's vulnerable spot.

Several minutes later, a helmhead appeared before Newt. Even the regular specimens of the human-sized bipedal saurian boasted great speed and agility. The thick bone helmet covering its head wasn't smooth as the rest of its kind, but covered in small spikes, like a crown, and given the grayish color of its scales, it was either air or earth attributed.

Damned mist. Is there a way to pierce it with your mindcore? Newt lost count of how many times he had cursed that specific aspect of the dense fog emanating water and air, clouding his vision. Worse, there were no records of helmheads in the outermost zone. The beast before him had unknown abilities.

If it's earth-aligned, it will be tougher and its head-butts will pack a greater punch. If it's air-aligned, it will be faster and more agile, its head-butts once again more powerful due to momentum and even harder to evade.

Newt would have preferred an earth-attributed enemy, but as things stood, he considered leaving the beast alone.

Its scales would have leaned more towards brown if it were earth-aligned, maybe black. Given the color, it's probably air-attributed.

Newt considered how he would fare against fast and agile opponents good at dodging, what they might do, and what kind of abilities they might have, and Newt liked his chances. He stalked forward, and the helmhead froze. It glared dead ahead, digging at the ground with its left foot. As Newt drew even closer, the saurian lowered its head, its thick, bony crown pointed at the illusory enemy.

Then, the helmhead shot forward like an arrow and swiftly disappeared from Newt's perception.

Newt watched in silence, then burst into laughter. The helmhead was air-attributed, and it was so fast, Newt had no chance of catching up. Worse, its battle style was such that it ran towards the danger, head-first.

I'll never catch this one, but at least my theory works.

***

Gatemaster Greenthorn still sat on his porch, his eyes closed for days. The majority of his attention was focused inward, making simulations and assumptions about the final pieces he should place in his mostly empty tenth realm. A sliver of his attention still lingered on the Valley of the Lost, monitoring the anomaly's progress.

The old man opened his eyes.

That's five. All hunted down in the Valley of the Lost from several hundred yards away, all from the back. That can't be a coincidence.

He rose from his seat and went into his humble abode. His residence was humble because he didn't need much, a bed was long forgotten, even chairs were there because of habit, both he and the majority of his guests could float in the air around a table, and they hardly needed the table either.

No, the cottage was a reminder, an empty shell reminding him of his own mortality, of where he started from. Of yet another shell made spirit incarnate.

He approached the central firepit, fashioned in a style unused by other humans for at least several millennia, and lit a fire with flint. The spark caught on the first attempt, igniting kindling, and soon growing into a dancing little flame.

Greenthorn retrieved a kettle full of dew outer students had collected from mana-infused herbs as a mission and placed it on a hook above the flame. Some things needed to be done properly, slowly, following a ceremony, if you wanted to get a result worth a damn. And considering how rarely Greenthorn enjoyed his tea, he was willing to set aside a day or two to make it right, if that was what it took.

A sliver of his perception focused on the water, another guided the fire to burn just right, flames licking around the kettle, and then the living fossil turned to observe his latest experiment and investment. Newstar, or whoever it really was in that young body, was searching for a core in the carcass he had killed. He would not find one, but the act of searching was good for tempering patience and will.

So, you remember how to use precognition? Or did you just follow an old memory to develop it from scratch?

Gatemaster Greenthorn cracked his knuckles, the first sign of tension he had shown in centuries.

Awaken and grow. Hopefully, we can become friends and exchange insights as Explorer's Gate's guardians.

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