The training room is an interesting place. The color scheme is black and blue, but the atmosphere is bright and surprisingly welcoming. Black rubber flooring stretched across the room, while blue accent walls and supportive beams add a lively splash of color. Cardio machines—treadmills, ellipticals, and bikes—line one side in neat rows, their digital screens glowing softly. Free weights and strength machines occupy the opposite side, arranged with the practical, accessible layout typical of community gyms. Large mirrors span the walls, making the room feel open and helping users check their form, overhead lighting is strong but warm, balancing the modern fitness-club vibe with the approachable, all-ages feel of a YMCA.

  S?urtinaui crossed her arms, unimpressed.

  Jack puffed out his chest, his confidence already miles ahead of his skill. “Whatchu mean I don’t have good Ryun control? I’ll spin this planet on my own axis!”

  “If you could do that,” S?urtinaui said dryly, “you wouldn’t still be in this tournament. Now, without relying on your natural abilities—make a Ryun sphere.”

  Jack sneered at her, flicking his wrist dramatically. “What kind of bullshit training is this?” Still, he concentrated. Blue energy sparked between his palms, sputtering into a shaky, uneven orb. He held it for half a second before it fizzled out with a pop.

  He tried again. And again. Each sphere bubbled, warped, then burst into harmless wisps. S?urtinaui watched in silence, expression unreadable—until a quiet laugh escaped her.

  “What’s so funny!”

  “Nothing that concerns you or this lesson,” she said smoothly. “Now come on. Let’s at least master the basics before the Tree. You can’t fight divine phenomena with brute force alone.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Pssh, I’m already strong enough without all this ‘technical babble.’ Besides, I—”

  “Don’t you want to surpass North and the Calmbrand?”

  That shut him up. His glare sharpened, but his hands flexed with renewed focus.

  S?urtinaui smirked. “Both of them are powerful because they worked for it. They studied the “babble” you’re so proud to ignore. To reach their height, you can’t coast off talent or bloodline. You have to earn it.”

  Jack growled lowly but turned his focus back to the energy between his palms. For the first time, the Ryun sphere began to stabilize.

  S?urtinaui raised an eyebrow as the faintly glowing sphere steadied between Jack’s palms. “There you go. What changed in your mind?”

  Jack grinned and huffed, sweat glinting on his brow. “I just wanted to prove you wrong.”

  She smiled faintly. Jack was… interesting. He could level mountains, flatten armies of Freelancers with a single swing, and probably defeat a ranker in a straight fight—and yet he struggled with something as basic as forming a stable Ryun orb.

  “Are you part of the Narloic?” she asked.

  “The Foundation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “Joined about, uh, two years ago, I think? Was kinda forced into it by the people I was with at the time.”

  That made S?urtinaui’s ears twitch. Forced? And by who? It was a curious bit of information—valuable, even. It meant Jack had connections and likely powerful allies beyond this tournament. Something worth remembering.

  “So,” she said, stepping closer, “you know about the Ryun categories and how power itself functions, correct?”

  Jack blinked. “Nope. I kinda… didn’t… hehe… listen.”

  S?urtinaui exhaled through her nose, rubbing her temple. “Outlanders,” she muttered, “you’re all such cheaters.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ll give a quick breakdown.”

  Jack nodded, looking ready to pretend he’d known all this the whole time.

  She began pacing slowly, the air shimmering faintly with her controlled Ryun. “All of Requiem power is derived from Ryun. It’s the energy of dead gods and it’s channeled through aura. The structure is as follows:

  She held up four fingers and pointed to each one as she spoke.

  “1. Animists — Basic Ryun application for physical enhancement and simple aura shields. Most common.

  2. Imaginers — Can manifest Ryun as energy projections, elemental effects, or basic reality-bending through focus and imagination.

  3. Reality Shapers — Masters who can manipulate localized reality—distorting physics, warping fate, and the like. High Rankers, gods.

  4. Domain Bearers — Users who establish personal domains; their will becomes law within that space. Only Supremes or exceptional figures achieve this. So no need to worry about that now.”

  She pointed at Jack. “You, specifically, are a really powerful Imaginer—with whatever hax your ability gives you.”

  Jack smirked. “I knew I was special.”

  “That mentality will stagnate you.”

  “I know, I know—be careful, learn from everything, smell the roses.”

  S?urtinaui gave him a flat look.

  He scratched his cheek. “I guess I should tell you my ability—if Magjesti hasn’t already.”

  “She’s been busy.”

  “I bet—with that red-haired guy? I don’t see what she sees in that lo—”

  “Focus, Jack.”

  “Right! Just saying, that’s pretty messed up she led me on…”

  “Jack.”

  “Okay, okay. So, my ability—listen up. It has two core functions.” He put up one finger. “Core Mechanic One: Mirrorborne Instinct-Echo Adaptation.”

  He stood taller, his confidence radiating like a solar flare. “Basically, I’ve got absolute reflect-and-adapt capabilities. Any attack, skill, or spell I survive gets stored in this hidden Echo Buffer. Within seconds, I can reflect it with, like, fifteen percent more efficiency, ten percent more power, and I can tweak it—turn fire into ice, kinetic into gravitational, whatever fits. Every reflected ability gets stored permanently—upgradable, summonable, like an item.”

  His smile beamed. “And bonus: if I understand the attack’s emotion or intent, the counter inherits a new passive. Like, if you stabbed me out of fear, my version triggers Fear status. Cool, right?”

  S?urtinaui raised an eyebrow, both impressed and slightly disturbed. “What’s the second core?”

  “Oh, and Core Mechanic Two: Infinite Inventory — Authority Class. I can store literally anything: weapons, Ryun, memories, even concepts to an extent. Nothing ages or changes inside unless I say so. I can merge and evolve stuff too—like reflect fireball, store it, merge it with bone sword, and boom! Sword of Incinerated Bone.”

  S?urtinaui just stared at him for a moment, completely still.

  “What?” Jack asked, grinning.

  “That’s… incredibly powerful.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Hmmm…”

  “So you see why I don’t really need—”

  “If anything, this proves you need refinement more than ever,” she cut him off.

  Jack smirked, tossing the Ryun sphere in his hand. “So what’s next, Teach?”

  The next few hours were filled with focused, exhausting work. Jack trained like a man possessed—or more accurately, like someone trying to prove the universe wrong. Without using his Dimensional Echo Authority, every strike, every surge of Ryun had to come from his own effort, not the safety net of reflection. His energy flared and dimmed in uneven bursts at first, chaotic and wild. But slowly, as S?urtinaui guided him, the rough edges began to smooth out.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  He learned to breathe with his aura—steady, rhythmic, letting it flow instead of forcing it. Small Ryun spheres appeared and vanished around him, each one holding longer than the last. Sweat covered his forehead, but his concentration stayed razor-sharp. He even started to weave the Ryun into faint shapes—rings, spears, flickers of light—all from raw imagination and control instead of borrowed power.

  S?urtinaui watched quietly, taking mental notes. His energy flow was uneven but instinctive. The boy had frightening potential if he could just discipline it. His adaptability bordered on absurd—his mind grasped structure faster than most Outlanders she’d met, though he still tripped over his own ego more than his footing. She could sense the rhythm of someone used to being the most special in the room finally learning humility.

  After several hours, she clapped her hands once. “That’s enough for now. Take a break before you burn yourself out.”

  Jack exhaled, collapsing backward onto the training mat with a grin. “You sure? I was just getting into it.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, grabbing two chilled bottles of water from a small fridge. She tossed him one before sitting beside him. Her movements were precise, yet her expression softened slightly as she looked at him.

  Jack sat up, breathing hard, and cracked his bottle open. “So… how’d I do?”

  S?urtinaui took a sip, considering her words carefully. “Better than I expected,” she admitted. “Once you stopped treating it like a competition.”

  Jack smirked, tilting his head. “So, what you’re saying is… I’m a genius.”

  “I’m saying,” she replied with a faint smile, “you might actually survive long enough to prove it.”

  Jack smirked and leaned back on his elbows. “So tell me about ya self, teach. Or are you more the secretive sensei type?”

  S?urtinaui chuckled softly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. “Not much to say. I used to be of Varics, a trained operative under the Narloic Foundation. I specialized in assessing or, when necessary, eliminating Outlanders.” She glanced sideways at him. “At least, that’s what my particular branch did.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “So, if you were part of the Narloic Foundation, why are you here? Oh—E-gasp! You came to kill me, didn’t you?” He laughed, clutching his chest dramatically.

  “Not funny,” she said flatly, though a smile tugged at her lips. “And no. I left. I want to be a Ranker to prove I can. Nothing more.”

  “That’s… simple,” he said, almost surprised.

  “Does it have to be complex?”

  “I guess not,” he admitted, grinning again. “Well, my story’s pretty interesting, so strap in, teach.”

  S?urtinaui leaned back, amused. “Alright then,” she said, voice light but curious. “Let’s hear it.”

  Jack smirked, drumming his fingers on his knee. “West Philadelphia, born and raised—”

  S?urtinaui blinked. “Where?”

  He laughed. “Okay, okay, I was actually born in a place called Pottstown.”

  “Are the natives there made of pots? Or perhaps the region was—”

  He burst out laughing, cutting her off. “What? No! It’s near Philly.”

  “Near Fhilly?”

  “Philly. Philadelphia. The Liberty Bell? Let Freedom Ring?”

  She continued to stare at him blankly.

  “Right,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, I was a normal kid—or, I guess I’m an adult now. But I was twelve, hanging with friends, doing well in school. Wasn’t bullied or anything. Had my issues, but I made life fun. Then Dad got that bonus he’d been bragging about for months, and we decided to go to Mexico for vacation. So me and my parents got on the plane and headed for—”

  His voice faltered.

  S?urtinaui raised an eyebrow, her expression softening slightly.

  “We got hit by lightning,” he said quietly. “The plane went down.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.” He gave a faint smile. “But I never actually hit the ground. Or at least… I don’t remember it. I appeared in this white room. Or space. Not sure. It was weird.”

  She tilted her head. “A void transition?”

  “Yeah, Teach, I was surprised too! I’m there like, what the hell is going on?!” He laughed again, though the sound carried a small ache underneath. “Next thing I know, this voice—like, straight-up Siri mixed with God—starts telling me about destiny, power, rebirth, all that nonsense.”

  “What?”

  Jack’s voice dropped low, eyes distant as if he were trying to reassemble a dream. “Yeah. But then the voice… changed. I don’t even know how to describe it. It was familiar—like something I’d heard my whole life, whispering in the background but never speaking directly to me. Then this man appeared.”

  The image flashed in his mind: a figure standing in that blank, endless void. He wore a gray Roman-style robe, the fabric faintly glowing with inscriptions that bent light around him. His skin looked carved from oak, his locs long and white, and his eyes—those impossible blue eyes—cut through the emptiness.

  “Did he say anything?” S?urtinaui asked, quietly.

  Jack swallowed. “First he called himself V. And then he said… he ‘accidentally’ gave me a powerful ability. Called it a simple god-tier administrative mistake during reincarnation. The main character—the one I was supposed to be—was supposed to get something basic. [Item Box (Tier I)]. But I got [Dimensional Echo Authority (Origin-Class)] instead.”

  Her brow furrowed. “An Origin-Class?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a half-smile. “He just laughed and said, ‘Yup, that’s the story I’m going with.’ Told me I was special. That I could be the main character.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack admitted, staring at the floor. “The whole thing felt like an out-of-body trip. I think I asked questions, but I don’t remember what. Everything blurred after he looked at me. The last thing he said was… ‘You Already Won.’”

  S?urtinaui’s expression shifted.

  “When I woke up, the plane was destroyed and empty. I was in this weird frozen swamp,” Jack said, his voice quieter now. “But then…” He smiled faintly. “She saved me. Pulled me out and set me up to succeed.”

  S?urtinaui tilted her head. “She must be very important to you.”

  “Well duh! Of course,” he said simply. “She saved me and… well, one day I want to repay that. She gave me so much.”

  Her frown deepened. Whoever this woman was, she had to be powerful. Yet the warmth in Jack’s tone made it clear this wasn’t just about strength.

  S?urtinaui’s curiosity sharpened. The story of this Outlander was turning into something deeper than she’d expected. Who was the man who gave him his ability? A god… no this was beyond that. A Supreme or King?… and who was this woman who shaped the aftermath?

  Jack noticed her look and chuckled. “That’s an interesting face you’re making, Teach.”

  She smiled, eyes softening.

  ————

  “So… you’re not mad?”

  Mekiea leaned back in the chair, the wind brushing over his red hair as he smiled faintly. “No. I was a bit taken aback, but I’m not mad.”

  “I won’t do anything like that again… it’s just. Ugh.”

  They sat outside on a balcony, the soft hum of the ship filling the air. The sky was a bruised purple. Both had their feet kicked up in the same fluffy lawn chairs. Caroline sighed, tugging on her hoodie.

  “When I talked to North,” she said, “he told me to forget about my past and move forward—and then boom, you bring it up and want details. And it’s just… ugh.”

  “Ugh,” Mekiea echoed. “I see a very “ugh” situation.”

  “Don’t make fun of me!”

  He chuckled, a warm sound that carried easily over the hum of the ship. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize I set off trauma. I’m sorr—”

  “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. Besides, I’m an adult. I should’ve handled it better. So… I’m sorry.”

  He turned toward her and extended his hand. “Let us both be sorry and move forward, then?”

  She grinned and shook it. “Agreed.”

  They both laughed, the tension melting away.

  “Well,” he said after a moment, “since I made you uncomfortable with your past, I’ll tell you about mine.”

  Caroline gulped. “Oh, boy.”

  “As you noticed, my eyes are shut.”

  “Nope. Not in the slightest,” she said flatly.

  He laughed again, patient. “Where I lived—a few realms away from here—long before I joined the Occulted Moon, things were… different. Back then, it wasn’t even called that.”

  “What was it called?”

  “It was known as The BloodMoons Oath Eaters.”

  Caroline tilted her head. “Oh. That sounds… cozy.”

  He smiled wryly. “They were a more vicious gathering back then.”

  “How old are you?!”

  “Seventy-nine Tri-Sun cycles.”

  “Oh my GOD!”

  He blinked. “Is that old?”

  “Yes and no, but please—don’t derail this, continue before I start counting in dog years.”

  He nodded. “In my village—the Devention of Zumera—we all had beautiful eyes. Streaks of green, purple, and orange. Each one different. Our eyes were considered sacred… living art. But one day, a princess of King Nebuchadnezzar came through. We thought it was an honor. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. But she wasn’t there to witness us or even passing through—she came for our eyes.”

  Caroline froze, her mouth falling open.

  “She took them?”

  He nodded. “Every single one. From newborns to elders.”

  “Why?!”

  “Maybe for her collection. We never even got a reason.”

  Caroline shot to her feet, fists clenched. “What—what kind of monster—?! That’s insane! Who does that?! Shit, that’s so—” Her aura flared. “Why aren’t you more upset?!”

  Mekiea smiled faintly. “Please don’t strain yourself, Magjesti. I was angry for many years. It’s why I joined this faction. I wanted to destroy something—anything. But it didn’t make me happy. And really, what can anyone do to a Royal Family? All that was left… was to live with it.”

  She stared at him, shaking her head. “That’s awful.”

  “It was,” he said softly. “But then Captain Ozzy joined us. And somehow, that chaos of a man managed to help me heal.”

  Her anger softened. “Of course he did. That guy probably hugs people mid-battle.”

  Mekiea chuckled.

  Caroline smiled and hugged him. He hugged her back, steady and warm, and she sat on his lap facing him, blocking his view of the sky if he’d been looking. The air between them felt still, almost fragile, but comforting.

  She began talking—quietly at first—about her life on Earth. The loneliness. The weight of it. The feeling that every day was a loop with no reward. How even when she smiled, it didn’t always reach her heart. Mekiea didn’t interrupt. He just listened, the same way he always did—with a kind of patience that made her feel seen.

  When she finally stopped, he nodded once. “Both of our stories are in the past,” he said gently. “Moving forward is the only way to leave them there. And love”—he brushed a strand of her hair aside—“is a very powerful force to push that momentum.”

  Caroline blushed, eyes flickering down.

  “I’m glad I met you, Magjesti,” he said softly.

  She smiled. “Caroline.”

  “Caroline?”

  “My real name,” she said, voice lighter now. “And I’m glad I met you too.”

  The two sat there quietly for a long moment, the sky reflected in the faint glow of the glass walls, warmth pooling between them as the ship drifted through the clouds.

  Caroline’s heart was still thumping with joy. She couldn’t shake the smile tugging at her lips. A proper romance, finally. After everything. Maybe anime had overcomplicated things — sure, love could be messy, but it wasn’t supposed to feel impossible. She laughed to herself; finding it in the middle of a death match was another matter, but she’d take what she could get.

  She was settling into her avatar more and more, leaving that fragile, bedridden version of herself further behind. She felt lighter — freer — and even if the world around her was still dangerous, she had even more reasons to move forward now.

  Still, she hadn’t forgotten to check on Tinsurnae. Jack and S?urtinaui were still training—longer than expected, which probably meant they’d found some new breakthrough or Jack was overexerting himself. With that handled, her next stop was clear.

  The closer she got to Tinsurnae’s room, though, the air changed. The easy warmth that had been buzzing in her chest cooled, replaced by a dull, gnawing dread. Her steps quickened. The hum of the ship’s engines blurred into the background as she broke into a run, sneakers slamming against the metal floors. She darted past crewmates and winding corridors, her breath catching as panic started to rise in her throat.

  She turned the corner and reached the door.

  “Tinny?” she called, knocking once. No response.

  A bad feeling twisted deep in her gut. She hit the access code—thank god it wasn’t locked—and the door slid open.

  “Tinny, are you—”

  The words died in her throat. The air inside the room was thick and wrong. Caroline’s eyes went wide. She rushed inside, dropping to her knees beside the bed. “Tinsurnae!”

  Her voice cracked. “What the hell happened?!”

  Her hands shook as she fumbled for a potion, instinct taking over while her mind screamed.