Chapter 9 - Training the System

  Sleep did not come easily. When it finally did, it was shallow and restless, filled with the weight of thoughts that refused to stay buried. Kain tossed against the pulsebark mattress, his mind circling the same unease over and over—the voice, the things it had said, the way it had sounded so certain it belonged there.

  When sleep took him fully, it dragged him backward. The dream was his old life. Not whole scenes. Not faces. Just fragments—dark corridors, the echo of footsteps, the feeling of eyes on him even when he stood alone. Violence without context. Control without purpose. He moved through it like a ghost, aware that it mattered, unable to grasp why.

  Someone stood just out of view. Close enough that Kain could feel their presence, but never close enough to see. When he woke, his breath came sharp and uneven, chest tight as if he’d been running. The room was still dark, lit only by the faint glow bleeding from the Veyra well in the center. For a moment, he lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to pull the dream back before it slipped away.

  It was already gone. All of it—faces, words, details—had dissolved the instant he opened his eyes. All except one thing. A name. It surfaced uninvited, settling into his mind with uncomfortable clarity. Daigo.

  Kain swallowed, staring into the dim light as the weight of it settled in his chest. He didn’t know how he knew it. Only that the name belonged to the voice. To the presence that had watched him in the dream the same way it had watched him in the well. The man who had killed him. And now— Something that refused to leave.

  He mustered enough will to crawl out of bed. Still Dazed from the events a day before. This wasn’t anything new for him. Fighting for his life day in and day out. Having to make moves to survive. He wondered how he was supposed to tell these people that he had no idea what a Murfken Swamp was.

  Kain adjusted the pack at his hip. It wasn’t a backpack anymore—not really. The Pulsebark had been shaped into a low-slung satchel, worn diagonally across his body so it rested against his lower back and hip. A wide strap crossed his torso, hugging close enough that it didn’t sway when he moved, thickened at the shoulder where the weight settled most.

  The bark itself had hardened after shaping, its surface dark and weathered, scarred with shallow grooves and creases that looked less crafted and more grown. It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. But it looked durable—like something meant to survive being dragged through rock, heat, and violence. The opening folded over itself instead of using any kind of clasp, the bark remembering the shape it had been pressed into. When it closed, it stayed closed. When he pulled it open, he had to wrap his hands in Veyra. It yielded just enough to let him reach inside before sealing again on its own.

  Practical. Unassuming. Hard to tear away. It looked less like a bag and more like a piece of him now—something built to move, fight, and endure rather than carry comfort. Exactly what he needed.

  Kain was halfway through pulling his tank top over his head when a knock hit the door. Before he could answer, stone scraped against stone and the door began to open anyway.

  “Yeah,” Kain said dryly, tugging the fabric down over his shoulders. “Sure. Come on in. Don’t let me slow you down.”

  Sonen stepped through the doorway like he hadn’t heard a thing, posture as rigid and composed as ever. His eyes flicked briefly over Kain—taking in the bandaged cut on his face, the way he rolled his shoulder once as if testing it—before settling back into something unreadable. “Sir Amon did not sleep,” Sonen said.

  Kain paused, one arm still half-adjusted through the sleeve. “That’s… comforting.”

  Sonen continued, unfazed. “He spent the night firing explosions into the distant scorched earth. Repeatedly.”

  Kain blinked. “Out of boredom?”

  A faint crease appeared between Sonen’s brows. “Out of excitement.”

  That got Kain’s attention.

  “He has been… energetic,” Sonen added carefully. “Almost giddy. The prospect of today’s fight appears to have affected his temperament.”

  Kain let out a slow breath and finished adjusting his shirt. “Great,” he muttered. “So I’m fighting a god with insomnia and a fireworks habit.”

  Sonen inclined his head slightly, as if that were a perfectly reasonable summary. He turned and motioned for Kain to follow.

  Kain fell in beside him, rolling his shoulder once as they started down the corridor. “So,” he said, “am I fighting right now, or do I get at least a warning scream first?”

  “No,” Sonen replied evenly. “Not yet.”

  Kain raised an eyebrow. “That sounded like a but.”

  “We are going somewhere to warm you up.”

  Kain snorted quietly. “Of course we are.”

  They moved through the stone passages at a steady pace, the distant roar of the arena fading and returning in waves as the corridors bent and twisted. Kain reached into his pack without looking, pulled free a Pulsebark fruit, and took a bite as they walked. The taste grounded him. With his other hand, hanging loose at his side, he let the Veyra move.

  It slipped between his fingertips in small arcs, hopping from finger to finger like a nervous habit—something to occupy his hands while his mind stayed elsewhere. A glow would spark, fade, reappear, never fully forming, never disappearing completely. Like grinding teeth, but easier.

  Sonen noticed. His eyes flicked to Kain’s hand for half a second before returning forward. He said nothing, but his stride tightened just slightly. Kain chewed, swallowed, and kept walking, the light dancing lazily along his fingers as if it belonged there.

  They entered a vast, open chamber carved entirely from stone. No banners. No markings. No tools. Just space.

  The ceiling stretched high above them, the walls smoothed flat and scarred in places by old impacts. The floor was wide and bare, the kind of room built for movement rather than comfort—like a gym stripped down to its most brutal purpose.

  No spectators. No exits in sight besides the one they’d come through. Sonen stopped near the center and turned to face Kain. “As you are right now,” he said plainly, “Sir Amon would thrash you in moments.”

  Kain took another bite of his fruit, unfazed. “You have a way with encouragement.”

  “I am being honest,” Sonen replied. “And honest is useful.”

  Kain swallowed and tilted his head. “Then help me understand something. Why do you want to help me beat your boss?”

  Sonen didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted briefly to the far wall, then back to Kain. “You will not beat him,” he said calmly.

  Kain blinked. “Well that’s reassuring.”

  “But,” Sonen continued, unfazed, “if the fight ends too quickly—after he has spent all night convincing himself it will be glorious—he will make our lives miserable for weeks.”

  Kain stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. “Ah.”

  Sonen’s expression didn’t change. “I would prefer to avoid that.”

  Kain exhaled through his nose. “So this is less mentorship and more… self-preservation.”

  “Precisely.”

  Kain cracked a small smile. “You know what? I respect that.”

  Sonen folded his arms. “Tell me what you know about Veyra.”

  Kain didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers once as if checking something that had already become familiar. “I know it comes from here,” he said, tapping the center of his chest. “Deep. Like it’s been sitting there longer than I have.”

  He paused, then added, “I can call it out. Shape it around my hands. Every time I do, it sticks a little longer.”

  Sonen’s eyes sharpened. “How so?”

  “It doesn’t stop at my wrists anymore,” Kain said. “Not unless I force it to.”

  He closed his eyes. This time there was no strain. No irritation. No emotional spike. He reached inward—and the response was immediate.

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  Light spilled across his palms, smooth and controlled, climbing over his fingers and knuckles like liquid flame. It didn’t hesitate at his wrists. It flowed past them, wrapping his forearms, tightening as it went. Kain opened his eyes. The Veyra kept moving. Up his arms. Over his elbows. Curling higher until it reached his shoulders, settling there like a weight he could carry without effort. The glow was dense now—solid enough that his skin beneath it was barely visible. He rolled one shoulder experimentally. The Veyra moved with him, perfectly synced, like it had already decided this was where it belonged.

  Kain exhaled slowly. “…Yeah,” he said looking at his shoulders now drenched in light. “That’s new.”

  Sonen didn’t hide his reaction this time. For the first time since Kain had met him, there was something like unease behind his eyes. Sonen looked up at him, irritation flashing openly across his face. “So,” he said flatly, “you know practically nothing at all.”

  Kain blinked once, then shrugged. “Judging by that reaction? I’m guessing that’s correct.”

  A voice slid through his thoughts immediately—sharp, amused. “You’re letting him talk to you like that? Slay him now. Make the lesson permanent.”

  Kain didn’t react. Not outwardly. Not inwardly. He kept his eyes on Sonen. “Then tell me what I’m missing.”

  Sonen let out a slow breath through his nose, as if deciding how much patience he was willing to spend. “Didn’t you notice? You’re only using a basic application of Veyra,” he said. “A bottom layer.”

  Kain frowned. “I noticed plenty during that fight,” he replied. “Mostly the part where my head almost got caved in and my shoulder nearly tore apart.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Sonen said sharply. He stepped closer, gesturing with two fingers as if drawing invisible lines in the air. “Did you see how they moved?”

  Kain hesitated. “They were… different,” he said. “Fast. Coordinated.”

  “Refined,” Sonen corrected. “Each of them was shaping their Veyra for a purpose. Speed. Impact. Precision. You, on the other hand—” his eyes flicked to Kain’s arms, “—are drowning yourself in raw output and calling it control.” Kain’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “You survived because you’re durable,” Sonen continued. “Because your instincts are sharp. Not because you understood what you were doing.” He paused, then added, quieter but more cutting, “And that won’t be enough for long.”

  Kain met his gaze. “Meaning?”

  Sonen’s expression hardened. “Those three you fought? They were already failing.”

  Kain frowned. “Failing?”

  “They were late,” Sonen said. “Late to learn how to use their Veyra properly. Late to stop what was happening to them.” He gestured vaguely to his own gray skin. “If they had mastered control before their transformation set in,” Sonen said, “they would have ended you in seconds. No contest. No spectacle.”

  The room felt colder. “You’re fighting opponents who have lost pieces of themselves,” Sonen went on. “And even then, you barely kept up.”

  Kain was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, evenly, “So what you’re telling me is… I won by accident.”

  Sonen didn’t correct him. He folded his arms and took a step back. “Envelop your entire body,” he said. “A thin layer. Nothing more.”

  Kain blinked. “My entire body?”

  “Yes,” Sonen replied flatly. “That should have been step one—long before you ever shaped Veyra into something solid.”

  Kain exhaled through his nose. Figures.

  Sonen continued, tone clipped but precise. “You reinforce yourself first. Every muscle. Every joint. Your skin, your breath, your balance. Only after that do you project it outward.”

  He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “If you don’t, the Veyra has nowhere stable to return to.” Kain felt a faint tightening in his chest as the words landed. “It collapses inward,” Sonen finished. “Then ignites. Light. Heat. A violent release.”

  Kain didn’t need the explanation. The memory hit him immediately. The cave. The unstable sphere hovering in front of his hands.The sudden, blinding flash that swallowed everything.

  His jaw tightened. “…Yeah,” Kain muttered. “I figured that one out the hard way.”

  Sonen glanced at him. “You attempted projection without a full internal sheath?”

  Kain nodded once. “Didn’t end great.”

  A faint flicker of something—approval, maybe—crossed Sonen’s face before it vanished. “That you survived at all tells me your Veyra density is abnormally high.”

  Kain closed his eyes and focused inward. This time, he didn’t reach for his hands. He went wider. The pressure stirred in his chest, spreading outward instead of forward. It flowed along his shoulders, down his spine, across his ribs. A thin, almost imperceptible weight settled over him, hugging close to his skin like a second breath.

  Kain opened his eyes slowly. He didn’t feel stronger. He felt… contained.

  Sonen nodded once. “Good,” he said. “That’s the foundation. Everything else builds on that.” Sonen folded his arms as Kain stood there, eyes closed, focus turned inward. “Do it again, but don’t build it. Let it out steadily, and shape the result.”

  Kain inhaled slowly. He didn’t reach for the Veyra like he usually did. He let it rise on its own, spreading thin and deliberate, like a second breath settling over his body.

  The pressure came first. Then the light. It flowed across his skin in a uniform layer, not gathering, not hardening—just present. A faint glow traced along his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest and back, wrapping him completely without weight or resistance.

  Kain opened his eyes. The Veyra didn’t stop at his elbows this time. It rested naturally along his shoulders, seamless and controlled, like it had always belonged there.

  The system spoke.

  ?[Veyra Manifestation Update]Designation: Veyra Sheath

  Coverage: Full Body

  Status: Stable?

  Kain let out a slow breath.

  Before he could say anything, Sonen shook his head, irritation creeping into his voice. “I genuinely don’t understand how you survived your journey without that,” he said. “The sun alone should’ve cooked you halfway through the plains.”

  Kain blinked. Then he noticed it. The heat—still there, still harsh—didn’t touch him. His skin felt… normal. Comfortable even. Like the environment had stopped being a factor altogether.

  Kain flexed his fingers, then rolled his shoulders once, the Veyra moving with him effortlessly. “…That,” he said flatly, “would’ve been extremely useful to know.”

  Sonen let out a quiet, humorless breath. “Step one,” he muttered.

  Kain glanced down at himself again, a small shake of disbelief in his head. “Yeah,” he added. “Would’ve saved me a lot of sweating.”

  Sonen turned and took a few steps back, giving Kain space. “Now,” he said, voice flattening into something instructional, “manifest your weapon.”

  Kain looked at him sideways. “My what?”

  Sonen sighed. “I figured.” He gestured vaguely toward Kain’s arms. “I’ll explain it once. Pay attention. Anything you can do with Veyra was decided the moment you first manifested it. You don’t copy techniques. You don’t borrow projections. You don’t see someone else do something clever and decide you want that too.” He tapped two fingers against his own chest. “It’s fixed. From the start.”

  Kain frowned. “So you’re saying—”

  “I’m saying,” Sonen cut in, “that your expression of Veyra is yours alone. Shape, behavior, affinity, growth path. All of it locked in the instant you touched it for the first time.” That landed heavier than Kain expected.

  Sonen continued, pacing slowly now. “Most of us never get past internal manifestation. Control, reinforcement, minor shaping. That’s it. Because most of us”—his eyes flicked briefly to his own hands—“start too late.” Kain caught the hesitation. “Scarabs,” Sonen said plainly. “Or close enough.”

  He stopped in front of Kain again. “You,” he went on, “started before your transformation could manifest. That matters. It means you can project Veyra outside your body without tearing yourself apart.”

  Kain’s jaw tightened slightly. Sonen’s expression sharpened. “That’s the dividing line. People like me? Like Logess? We adapt what we have and survive with it. But people like you—” His gaze lifted, steady and unblinking. “—and Sir Amon?” He paused, letting the name hang. “You have access to an entirely different tier of abilities. Ones we can’t imitate. Ones we can’t even conceptualize properly.”

  Kain felt something stir beneath the sheath, subtle but alert, like it was listening too. Sonen folded his arms again. “So don’t try to invent something. Don’t reach for what you’ve seen.” He nodded once toward Kain’s hands. “Let it come out the way it’s always meant to.”

  Sonen tilted his head slightly. “Now reach inside,” he said, “and project your Veyra outward. Same way you did before. Don’t force it. Just… let it leave you.”

  Kain reached inward and pushed. A thin filament of Veyra slid out from his chest, stretching forward through the air. It stopped a few feet away and began to gather, light folding in on itself until it condensed into a small, solid sphere. The pressure in his chest tightened as the shape stabilized. He glanced at Sonen.“What now?”

  Sonen lifted a shoulder. “They’re your abilities. Feel it.”

  Kain closed his eyes. For a split second, his breath caught. His heart skipped, like the world had missed a step. Then everything snapped back into place. Kain opened his eyes to find the arena floor closer than it should have been. The sphere of Veyra hovered behind him—exactly where he had been standing. Attached by a thin rope of Veyra. He turned slowly. The sphere pulsed once, steady and obedient.

  The system’s voice cut in, clear and precise.

  ?Ability Registered: Veyra Blink

  Status: Active?

  Sonen stared at the empty space Kain had occupied, then back at him.“…So that’s yours.”

  Kain flexed his fingers, pulse still thudding in his ears. He hadn’t moved through space. He had traded places with it.

  The next few hours blurred together. Kain moved. Stopped. Reached. Vanished. At first, every Blink felt like stepping off a ledge he couldn’t see. The timing was clumsy—his body lagging half a heartbeat behind his intent, the exchange leaving his balance off just enough to be dangerous. Sonen didn’t interrupt. He only watched, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Kain adjusted. He planted the Anchor. Took two steps. Blinked. Again.

  He started counting under his breath—not numbers, but rhythm. Breath in. Breath out. Move. Switch. The world snapped, space folding cleanly instead of dragging him through it. The disorientation dulled. Half a second. That’s what it became. Not instant—but close enough that his body stopped panicking when it happened. Close enough that his muscles began to trust the transition instead of bracing for it.

  He pushed harder. Started mixing in punches mid blink. Realizing that his momentum carried through the tethers like he taking a running start. Blink. Pivot. Blink again. Sweat beaded along his neck, but his skin stayed comfortable beneath the Veyra Sheath, the sun’s heat failing to bite. His heart hammered less with each exchange. The fear drained out, replaced by something sharper. Understanding. This wasn’t movement. It was replacement, and the more he used it, the less space mattered.

  The delay shrank—not because the technique changed, but because he did. His intent sharpened, the Anchor responding faster, cleaner. The moment between deciding and arriving thinned until it was barely there at all. Kain came to a stop, chest rising and falling steadily. “That’s… not half a second anymore,” he murmured.

  Sonen didn’t disagree. Before he could test it again, the familiar pressure surfaced behind Kain’s eyes.

  The system spoke.

  ?Veyra Authority UpdateAnchor Capacity IncreasedTotal Anchors: 2?

  Kain froze. “…Two?”

  The space beside him shimmered faintly as a second Anchor stabilized—smaller than the first, but unmistakably real. It was tethered to the first anchor instead of himself. He looked between them, pulse ticking faster, not from strain this time, but possibility. Two positions. Two exits. Two ways to not be where the danger was. He flexed his fingers, feeling the Veyra settle without resistance.

  Sonen finally spoke.“…You’re adapting faster than you should.”

  Kain didn’t answer. He was already imagining the arena. Already measuring distance. Already smiling—just a little. Whatever waited for him tomorrow, it wasn’t getting a tired challenger.

  And it definitely wasn’t getting a stationary one.