A memory painted in White

"You did well, but it's still too early to celebrate. What did you learn?" Sapphire asked, crossing her legs as she sat on a tree trunk that seemed to have been torn from reality, cut with such precision that there wasn't a single ripple in the cut.

A simple, flat cut, like a sheet of paper on a smooth table. A perfect cut.

"Nothing much. Just what was already inside," he murmured, looking at his hand, which felt heavier...

"I still don't fully understand the essence of negativity, but... something this simple is enough for now, don't you think?" Vergil asked as he sat on the ground, surrounded by a perfectly smooth field, just like the tree stump where Sapphire was sitting.

"You tell me. How strong do you think you've become?" she questioned again, continuing to push him. After all, she didn't have to explain. A good master guides their disciple based on what they understand about themselves.