Luma ran.
Her bare feet kissed the sun-warmed stones of the old road leading out of Quanta, the only home she had ever known. The wind tugged at her scarf like a playful spirit, and the trees on either side blurred into streaks of green and gold.
She wasn't running from danger.
She was running because of it.
That morning, just after sunrise, she had seen him again—the cloaked traveler. The one who moved like a shadow yet somehow seemed to stir the world around him. His staff whispered when it struck the earth. The symbols on his cloak shimmered faintly, like they were remembering something.
But this time, he had left something behind.
A scroll.
Wax-sealed, tucked carefully where she could find it. As if… meant for her.
Now, breathless and wide-eyed, Luma slowed in a quiet clearing just past the old river bend. She slipped the scroll from her satchel, her fingers trembling as she broke the seal.
Inside, in bold, looping script, it read:
> "To understand the world, watch how it moves."
She blinked at the words, puzzled.
"What does that mean?" she murmured.
And then—he was there.
The traveler stood at the edge of the clearing, as if he'd stepped from the wind itself. His presence didn't startle her. It was more like the world had paused, waiting for what came next.
"You move quickly," he said, voice calm and clear like still water. "Tell me—how did you know you were running fast?"
"I… I guess because I got here quickly?" she offered, uncertain.
He nodded, his eyes warm. "Speed is distance over time. If you know how far you've gone, and how long it took… you know your speed. That's the first secret of motion."
Luma tilted her head. "That's it? That's speed?"
"Simple truths often shape the deepest forces," he said with a faint smile.
He pointed to a single leaf falling from a tree.
"Watch."
The leaf danced slowly at first, then caught a gust and spun faster toward the ground.
"Motion changes when forces act," he said. "Gravity pulls it down. The wind pushes back. That change—whether speeding up, slowing down, or turning—is called acceleration."
"Acceleration…" she repeated, the word new but electric on her tongue. "So motion doesn't stay the same?"
"No," he said. "And neither will you."
Luma looked up at him, startled.
"Tomorrow," he continued, "we chase the wind itself. There is much more to feel, to question… to understand."
She nodded slowly. A quiet thrum rose in her chest—not fear, not yet wonder. But something in between.
Like the beginning of something vast.