The air in the calligraphy room felt different. Still. Focused. A moment happen.
Lex moved quietly, rolling up his sleeves as he set the inkstone, the brushes, and the rice paper on the lacquered table. The room smelled of aged wood, faint tea, and old ink.
Noah stood near the doorway, adjusting the lighting. Silent. This was private.
Lex picked up a long, slender brush, dipped it into the rich black ink, and let his hand move with practiced ease.
The first stroke was clean. Confident.
The second, deliberate. Precise.
Lex continued, his brush gliding over the rice paper, forming characters with fluid grace.
This was the part of himself that had been buried in the first timeline. The part that had burned away with the fire.
Now?
He was reclaiming it.
The last stroke landed. The ink settled.
Lex leaned back, examining his work.
A single phrase. Bold. Clear. Unapologetic.
"山高水長"
Mountains are high, waters are long.
A reminder. Some things endure.
Noah, still watching, let out a low whistle. "Damn, Latham. You really can do everything, huh?"
Lex smirked, setting the brush down.
"Only the things that matter."
Lex exhaled, rolling his shoulders before reaching for another sheet of rice paper. The first piece had been controlled, precise—measured.
Now?
Now, he wanted something bolder.
He dipped the thicker brush into the ink, shaking off the excess with a sharp flick of his wrist. The deep black liquid gleamed under the soft lighting as he pressed the tip onto the fresh sheet.
The first stroke was fierce. Strong.
The second, unapologetic.
Noah stayed silent, the faint scratch of bristles against paper the only sound in the room.
This wasn't just calligraphy.
This was presence. This was power.
Lex moved faster now, letting his instinct guide his hand, each stroke heavier than the last. Where his first painting had been controlled, this one carried something else—momentum. Confidence. A challenge.
The last brushstroke landed with a deliberate force.
Lex leaned back, eyes flickering over the bold, unrestrained characters at the corner.
"風生水起"
The winds rise, the waters stir.
A declaration. A shift. A storm coming.
Noah finally broke the silence, his voice low. "Damn. That's different."
Lex smirked, setting the brush down. "Yeah. It is."
Lex exhaled, rolling his shoulders before reaching for another sheet of rice paper. The first piece had been controlled, precise—measured.
Now?
Now, he wanted something bolder.
He dipped the thicker brush into the ink, shaking off the excess with a sharp flick of his wrist. The deep black liquid gleamed under the soft lighting as he pressed the tip onto the fresh sheet.
The first stroke was fierce. Strong.
The second, unapologetic.
Noah didn't say a word. Just watched.
Lex's hand moved with fluid precision—each line rolling like the pull of the ocean, each curve carrying the weight of something inevitable.
The waves began to rise.
Not chaotic. Not crashing.
But powerful. Building. Unstoppable.
Lex barely noticed the ink dripping onto his fingers, lost in the rhythm of the strokes. His grandmother had taught him that painting waves was about understanding control.
Too stiff? They lost life.
Too wild? They lost meaning.
But here, now—they were balanced.
By the time the last stroke landed, the paper held a scene that felt alive. The waves weren't crashing. They were rising. Gathering strength.
Noah exhaled slowly trying to find the right word. "That's… powerful."
Lex smirked, wiping the ink from his fingers.
"So is the tide."
Lex didn't stop.
The first waves were strong—but not enough. Not yet.
He reached for another fresh sheet, dipping his brush into the deep, inky black and starting again.
Each new attempt was bolder. Sharper. The strokes became more deliberate, the movement more fluid—like he wasn't painting anymore, just letting the waves exist on paper.
Again.
And again.
The waves began to shift—they weren't just rising now. They were inevitable.
Lex rolled his wrist, adding depth, texture—power.
The final stroke landed like a thunderclap.
The paper held a scene of pure, unstoppable force.
A storm coming. A tide that couldn't be stopped.
Lex barely heard the sharp inhale behind him.
Then—a thud.
Jonathan groaned, his eyes fluttering open as he lay sprawled on the floor. He blinked up at the ceiling, completely disoriented.
"What… just happened?"
Noah snorted. "You fainted like a Victorian noblewoman."
Jonathan sat up slowly, rubbing his temple. Then his gaze snapped back to the painting—the one that had taken him out.
His breath hitched.
Lex was already cleaning his brush, unbothered. "Took you long enough."
Jonathan stared. "Lex." His voice was hoarse. "That's not just a painting. That's a goddamn masterpiece."
Lex smirked. "Good. That means I'm done."
Jonathan was still in shock. "You can't just drop something like that and act normal. That—" He gestured wildly at the storm of waves on the rice paper. "That belongs in a museum. In a palace."
Lex finally looked at the painting again.
The waves weren't just waves. They carried momentum. Purpose. Destiny.
A storm that couldn't be stopped.
Jonathan exhaled, shaking his head. "You could sell this for millions."
Lex picked up the paper, tilting it toward the light.
Then—with absolute calm—he rolled it up and set it aside.
"I'm not selling this one."
Jonathan blinked. "Why the hell not?"
Lex smirked, eyes gleaming.
"Some things are meant to stay with their creator."
Lex grabbed a sharp pencil, rolling it between his fingers before pressing the tip lightly against the rice paper.
One by one, he began writing small numbers in the corners of each painting.
Noah, watching from the side, frowned. "What are you doing?"
Lex didn't answer right away. His movements were slow, methodical—as if he were marking time itself.
The first attempt—1.
The second—2.
Every wave, every stroke, every painting, counted.
Each number was a marker in time, counting every attempt, every mistake, every refinement that led to the final masterpiece.
Jonathan, standing just behind him, watched in silence.
By the time Lex reached number 10, Jonathan took a slow step back.
By 15, his breathing hitched.
By the time Lex wrote "21" and shifted through the pile of wave paintings, his fingers lightly brushing the edges of each piece. Some carried controlled precision, others raw, untamed movement.
But only two stood out "1" and"11".
Two that captured power without losing grace but they were still a bit lacking. Without hesitation, Lex pulled them from the pile and set them aside.
"These." His voice was calm, decisive. "These you can sell."
Jonathan, still recovering from his previous fainting episode, leaned in. The moment his eyes landed on the chosen pieces, he let out a low whistle.
"You sure? These are museum-level."
Lex smirked. "That's the point."
Jonathan exhaled sharply, carefully lifting one of the paintings, running his fingers just above the textured ink.
"These will go for millions."
Noah smirked. "Don't faint again, man."
Jonathan shot him a look but said nothing. His eyes were still locked on the numbers.
Lex, unfazed, picked up the final painting—the one that mattered.
He turned the pencil over in his fingers, hesitating for just a second.
Then, in the same precise, effortless handwriting, he marked it.
"Masterpiece No. 1 / 22"
Lex stretched his shoulders, rolling the tension out of his neck as he set the last numbered piece aside. The weight of the night—the art, the revelations, the decisions—settled around them like a slow exhale.
"Alright. We're calling it. Get some sleep."
Noah grinned, already heading toward the hallway. "Dibs on the Pollock room."
Jonathan rubbed his face, still looking dazed. "There's a Pollock room?"
Lex smirked. "There's a room with a Pollock in it. Noah's spent days filming a movie here, he can show you around. Pick a room, Jonathan. Any guest room."
Jonathan hesitated, then nodded, still processing everything that had just happened.
"I think I need to lie down before my brain explodes."
Lex chuckled, turning toward the darkened hallway. "Then do that. Tomorrow's another game."
Noah called back from the stairs. "Yeah, yeah. But if I wake up in a museum by accident, I'm suing."
Lex just smirked, heading toward his own room.