The courtyard stretched before me, achingly familiar yet impossible to place—like trying to remember a song you'd only heard in passing. My mom, Jasmine, stood across from me with that broad grin I knew by heart, wearing her usual faded t-shirt and the short denim overalls she lived in during summer. She gripped a black staff in both hands, and somehow I held one too, the wood warm and smooth against my palms.

  It should have been a perfect recreation of practicing Taiji Gun, straight out of some martial arts film. Except everything felt wrong. The air pressed against my skin like thick honey, the edges of my vision wavered like heat shimmer, and the ground beneath my feet seemed to shift with each heartbeat.

  "Come on, Ben, show me what you got!" Mom called, her voice echoing strangely—like it was bouncing around inside a steel drum, reverberating through my skull.

  I lunged forward, swinging my staff in an arc I'd practiced a thousand times, but she blocked it effortlessly. The movement felt both incredibly familiar and utterly alien, like watching someone else's muscle memory play out through my limbs. We circled each other slowly, staffs clacking together in a rhythm that should have been comforting but set my nerves on edge. Sunlight caught the sweat beading on her forehead, the intense focus in her dark eyes so perfectly her that my chest tightened.

  Then her face shifted.

  Her features blurred like watercolors running in rain, twisting and reforming until—

  "What the hell, Ted? That was seriously demented," I said, stepping back and lowering my staff. My voice cracked slightly.

  Standing where my mom had been was Ted, my diminutive elf spirit guide, wearing that same shit-eating grin that meant he'd thoroughly enjoyed messing with my head. He was still dressed in her clothes—faded t-shirt and overalls that hung ridiculously loose on his small frame—which somehow made the whole thing infinitely weirder.

  Ted shrugged, completely unrepentant. "Until you got a Soul Seal, I gotta do shit to snap you out of it, kid. Can't have you wastin' dream time wandering around in fuckin' la-la land."

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to shake off the lingering disorientation that clung like cobwebs. "It's really fucking annoying that I can barely remember these dreams when I wake up."

  Ted's expression softened slightly, though that mischievous glint never left his eyes. "Nah, you remember what you need to. Should get much easier once you’ve got the Seal anchored proper."

  "You mean the thing that can apparently kill me if I screw it up?" The words came out sharper than I'd intended, edged with the anxiety that had been gnawing at me since my conversation with Belouet.

  "Not if I have anything to fuckin' say about it, kid." Ted's voice carried absolute conviction, a certainty that brooked no argument. "You'll be fine. It's my job to show you how not to suck at this."

  I tried to hold on to his words, to burn them into memory, but I could already feel the dream beginning to fray at the edges. The courtyard's details blurred like someone was erasing them with a massive brush, colors bleeding into gray nothing. Ted's voice grew thin and distant, as if he were shouting across a vast canyon.

  "Hey, stay with me, Ben. You gotta practice this shit when you're awake, or it ain't gonna stick worth a damn," he called out, his words echoing strangely as reality reasserted its grip.

  But it was no use. The dream dissolved like sugar in rain, and I felt myself being yanked back toward consciousness, Ted's smirking face and his too-large overalls fading into the familiar darkness behind my eyelids.

  I woke up feeling strangely deflated, like someone had punctured the balloon of excitement I'd been riding for days. The thrill of becoming some kind of magical superhero had evaporated overnight, leaving only harsh reality: this world, this life I was building, came with an actual chance of death.

  Over the past few days, I'd grown comfortable in La-Roc—getting to know people, feeling like myself again instead of some lost refugee from another world. Learning just how dangerous being a Runebinder actually was had put a serious damper on that progress.

  I lay in the ridiculously opulent bed, staring up at the massive chandelier that probably cost more than most people's houses, wondering if I should just... back out. Maybe I could work at Katie's bakery full-time, save up some money, and eventually figure out a safer way to explore this world. Or better yet, find a way home. I'd need a decent map first, though, to understand what my real options were.

  Weren't Cass and I supposed to meet with Cyrus today? She was probably already waiting downstairs, drumming her fingers impatiently while I wallowed in existential dread.

  Moving around the room felt easier now because I'd finally organized most of the clutter into manageable piles, and improved mana control made me feel lighter on my feet—more coordinated. I pulled on clean clothes and headed down to the common room, expecting to find Cass planning our route around the city.

  Instead, I found Erik sitting in one of the worn leather chairs, still wearing what looked suspiciously like pajamas.

  "Cassandra's taking the morning off," he said without preamble. "She's saying her farewells to Felix. Asked me to be your dance partner today."

  My stomach dropped like a stone. "Did Felix—"

  Erik seemed to catch the direction of my thoughts immediately, jumping in to clarify. "He's leaving for Sylvarus, not dead. Poor choice of words on my part."

  Relief flooded through me so fast it left me dizzy. "He did it? Formed his Soul Seal?"

  Erik nodded curtly, though something that might have been approval flickered across his usually stoic expression. "Indeed. It's been quite some time since anyone managed it before graduating from Sylvarus. Almost as impressive as you, Breaker."

  "Wow." The word felt inadequate, but I wasn't sure what else to say. "I wish I knew enough to properly appreciate how big a deal that is."

  "I did promise to teach you a few things," Erik said, rising from his chair. The pajamas, I realized, were actually loose-fitting training clothes that just

  like his monogrammed pajamas. "So. You can go for your morning run around the city, or you can follow me and get your ass thoroughly kicked."

  He started walking toward the back of the common room, toward the cellars where Doreen had taken me before. I hesitated for exactly one second before following.

  "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

  "More than likely," Erik replied, and I caught what might have been the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him actually smile before. "A Soul Seal is more than just runes and magic, Ben. It's about choosing your fundamental path as a Runebinder—your core identity. Think of it like a vocation, but for your very essence. Once you and your soul agree on what path to take, only then can you take the first proper step toward power."

  I stopped mid-stride, trying to wrap my head around the concept. "So... you give your soul a job description?"

  "In a sense, yes. To grow in strength, your soul requires purpose—a framework for development." We'd reached a heavy metal door marked with unfamiliar runes. Erik swung it open, revealing a narrow stone stairwell that descended into shadow. "From what I understand, you already possess an Aura—Bravery, correct?"

  He grabbed a lantern orb from a wall bracket, its soft yellow light chasing away the darkness. I took another as he gestured, the glass warm against my palm.

  "Yeah, Bravery," I said as we started down the worn stone steps, our footsteps echoing in the confined space. "But I wouldn't exactly call it a job..."

  "That's because it's incomplete. A Soul Seal requires three runes in perfect harmony, not two." Erik's voice carried easily in the stairwell, though he kept his tone low. "Mine is Resolve, formed from my understanding of metal, my conviction, and my resilience. It's why the Brine Tyrant's mental influence couldn't affect me. Similar protection, I suspect, to what your Bravery provides."

  "Those are pretty abstract concepts," I mused aloud, counting steps as we descended. The air grew cooler with each level, carrying hints of stone dust and something that might have been old magic. "Much more philosophical than, say, Felix just throwing lightning around."

  Just as I was wondering exactly how deep these stairs went, we emerged into a large, brightly lit antechamber. Multiple doors and hallways branched off in different directions, their openings dark as hungry mouths.

  "Which brings me to my theory about your nature as a Runebinder," Erik said, setting his lantern orb into a wall bracket that flared to life automatically. "I believe you're the soul of a Guardian. Arcanists prefer complex, visible runes—they manipulate physical magic through their bracers, creating obvious displays of power. Strikers favor the practical: speed, momentum, strength, focus—concepts that enhance their physical capabilities directly."

  "And Guardians prefer more... internal concepts? Ideals?" I asked, watching as Erik selected one hallway and motioned for me to follow.

  "Spiritual magic, yes. But the soul fights back against such concepts, testing whether you truly understand them deeply enough to wield them safely." His voice carried the weight of hard-earned experience. "It's more difficult than other paths, but far more rewarding for those who can master it."

  "Hey, what's the deal with names like Ironheart? Or Stormfire, Windrider?" I asked, remembering the intensity of Lana and Elena's confrontation in the tower. "Are those just nicknames?"

  "Runebinding names—some call them paths. Something of a tradition when we reach Adept rank, though it serves a practical purpose as well—it gives us identity and helps push us toward Mastery." Erik paused at another heavy door, this one unmarked. "I am Erik in daily life, but when my soul and body work in perfect harmony, I walk the path of Ironheart."

  A door slid open with a low, grinding whisper of stone against stone, revealing a chamber that stole my breath.

  Runic lanterns hung from ornate mounts around walls of polished obsidian, their soft yellow glow casting dancing shadows across intricate carvings. Deep hieroglyphs covered every surface, their grooves filled with what looked like actual gold that caught the light and threw it back in warm, honeyed reflections. The smooth floor felt almost warm beneath my feet, and the ceiling soared so high that the lantern light couldn't quite reach it, leaving the upper reaches shrouded in mystery.

  The chamber split into three passages, and Erik led us straight ahead without hesitation, moving briskly through a series of expansive halls. Each room felt like a cathedral designed by beings who understood scale in ways humans never could. Our footsteps echoed strangely, the sound seeming to stretch and bend before it reached the distant walls.

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  We descended steadily deeper into these ancient pathways, and as we moved, the hieroglyphs gave way to something far more elaborate. Vast murals covered the walls—not painted, but somehow carved and colored with perfect precision. They seemed to shimmer, as if a thin layer of water covered the stone, creating an almost living quality to the artwork.

  These weren't flat paintings. The walls had genuine depth, with figures and landscapes sculpted in perfect bas-relief that seemed ready to step out of the stone. Huge alien creatures dominated entire chambers, each painted in colors so vibrant they seemed to glow with their own inner light. Mountain peaks stretched impossibly high, their summits crowned by beings that defied simple description.

  Some of the creatures looked oddly familiar—a scaled horse with branching antlers that reminded me of something from a half-remembered dream, a massive white lion covered in intricate blue runes, and what could only be described as a turtle having a terrible hair day, its shell covered in flowing tendrils that might have been seaweed or might have been something else entirely.

  Room after room passed in a blur of impossible artistry, each more elaborate than the last. The air grew cooler as we descended, carrying hints of stone dust and a surprising amount of mana.

  Pure gold adorned the final circular chamber—sheets of the precious metal worked into every surface. The walls had been carved into a breathtaking bamboo grove, each stalk rendered with such precision I could see individual leaves, their surfaces accented with runes made from metals I couldn't identify. Lotus blossoms emerged from the bamboo in impossible profusion, carved so intricately they seemed to float in three-dimensional space, petals so delicate they looked ready to flutter in a breeze that didn't exist.

  But none of that magnificence could hold my attention.

  My eyes locked onto the small orange fox sitting atop a carved stone outcropping in the center-left of the chamber. It was sculpted from the same strange orange metal as my Acolyte pin, the same material that had formed Winchester's mysterious orb.

  But it was the tails that made my heart skip—or rather, the nine perfect, flowing tails that spread behind it like a metallic fan, each one curved in a different elegant arc.

  A nine-tailed fox. Here, in ruins that were clearly ancient beyond measure.

  "Huli Jing?" I whispered, and something shifted inside me—not the familiar warmth of Bravery activating, but something deeper, like a tuning fork struck in the center of my chest.

  "You know her?" Erik asked, genuine surprise coloring his voice.

  I nodded, unable to look away from those nine perfectly sculpted tails. "Then we have a captive audience. Here will do."

  "For what?" I turned from the fox to find Erik pulling his shirt over his head, revealing an absolutely inhuman amount of muscle definition. The man looked like he'd been carved from the same stone as these walls.

  Then I blinked, and the chamber wasn't a chamber anymore.

  The stone walls had melted away, replaced by living bamboo that swayed in a breeze I could actually feel against my skin. The sweet fragrance of lotus blossoms filled my lungs, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the gentle crackling of bamboo stalks moving in the wind. Soft earth replaced the polished floor beneath my feet, and overhead, dappled sunlight filtered through an endless canopy of green.

  "Are you fucking serious?" I laughed, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. "Training in a bamboo forest? Some kind of spirit realm? This is incredible."

  Erik's mouth twitched—the ghost of a smile he immediately suppressed, but I caught it.

  "A dueling room," he explained, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. "Most prefer to train in the tower since there's more ambient mana to draw from. But I've always valued good scenery over unearned advantages." He glanced down at my feet. "Is there a particular reason you're not wearing shoes?"

  I looked down at my bare feet, now planted in soft, dark soil, and shrugged. "Why the hell does this keep happening to me?"

  "So we're going to fight?" I asked, eyeing his considerable frame with growing apprehension. Erik was easily six inches taller and probably had sixty pounds on me, all of it muscle. I was confident that my years of martial arts with Aapo wouldn't count for much against someone who looked like he bench-pressed boulders for fun.

  "Hardly. We're going to experiment," Erik corrected, beginning to walk toward the large rock where the fox statue waited. "A soul trial is deeply personal—some leap across mountain peaks or navigate impossible mazes. But Guardians?" He glanced back with something that might have been sympathy. "We get our asses kicked. Every time, in increasingly creative ways."

  “Soul-trial. That’s what Felix was doing for three days?” I asked.

  “It is.”

  Erik nodded, and stopped before the fox statue and bowed deeply, hands crossed over his navel in what was clearly a formal gesture. I approached more slowly, noticing details I'd missed from a distance. Up close, the creature looked less like the delicate foxes from artwork and folklore—its snout was broader, more wolf-like, with ears that seemed almost too large for its head. The metallic surface seemed to shimmer with its own inner light.

  Instead of bowing, I reached out to touch the statue, running my fingers over its cool, metallic head and ears. The moment my skin made contact, a profound sense of calm washed over me, like sinking into a warm bath after a long day. The sensation matched the tranquil atmosphere of the bamboo forest perfectly.

  The statue remained perfectly still under my touch, showing no reaction whatsoever.

  "What's this metal?" I asked, reluctant to break contact. "I've never seen that color before."

  "No? It's Orichalcum," Erik said, as if that should mean something to me. "Most call it Spirit Steel. Valuable in its raw form, but once it’s worked with purpose, it takes on that darker orange hue and becomes infused with spirit energy." He paused, observing my face. "Spiritually speaking, what you're touching is a real Huli Jing."

  I jerked my hand back instinctively, then felt foolish for the reaction. The statue hadn't moved, but somehow that knowledge made the moment feel more significant.

  "So you want to kick my ass because you think I'm a Guardian?" I asked, stepping back toward the center of the clearing. "I'm not even sure I want to do this whole Runebinder thing."

  Erik's expression softened noticeably, the stern instructor mask slipping to reveal something more genuine underneath. "Hunter or not, Ben, I think you've figured out how we solve disagreements around here by now. We fight monsters with our weapons, but we settle things with each other using our fists." His voice carried a protective steel edge. "Breaker or not, if you keep stepping in front of my sister, you'd better be able to take a hit. Even from her."

  That tracked, I supposed. The people on this island seemed to love a good scrap, and with healing potions and pills readily available, the consequences were probably a lot less permanent than back home.

  "It sounds like you're trying really hard to justify wanting to hit me," I said with a grin. "What happens if I hit you?"

  "Then I'd be genuinely impressed," Erik replied, taking his place in the center of the clearing. With fluid precision, he bowed again. "I won't use my superior mana reserves."

  "Oh, it's superior, is it?" I laughed, the whole situation feeling surreal. It was like something straight out of an old kung fu movie—next he'd be telling me his technique was stronger than mine.

  Thinking back, the guy survived the crab equivalent of being hit by a semi-truck, so it probably was.

  The clearing fell into expectant silence, bamboo swaying gently overhead while soft earth cushioned our feet. I could sense tension building in the air, like the moment before a thunderstorm. Erik's gaze bored into me as we faced each other, his stance wide and perfectly balanced. I matched his bow, feeling my heart rate spike as the Bravery rune flared to life in my mind's eye. This was the first time I'd used it against an actual human opponent instead of some nightmarish monster.

  Erik's first move came swiftly and controlled—a lunge forward with an open palm aimed at my shoulder. But he was moving much slower than I'd expected, and with the rune active, everything felt like it was happening underwater. I twisted aside, redirecting his attack with a sweeping motion that used an uncomfortable amount of mana. Erik's momentum carried him completely off balance, sending him crashing into a stand of bamboo with enough force to snap several stalks.

  Damn, he was heavy.

  He recovered almost instantly, springing to his feet and brushing dirt from his shoulders with casual grace. His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was definitely the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  "Have you been maintaining that rune all morning?"

  "It's become a habit," I admitted with a shrug. "Diana says I do it in my sleep, too."

  "I see," Erik said, taking a step forward. His expression shifted to something far more focused and predatory. "Show me what you've really learned about it."

  Move!

  This time he came in faster—much faster. I dodged on pure instinct, the rune pushing my reflexes to their absolute limit. I ducked under a punch that would have taken my head off, feeling the wind from his fist ruffle my hair, then twisted around to strike at his exposed ribs.

  But Erik was already gone, his movements so fluid and precise they seemed almost supernatural. No matter how quickly I moved, no matter how much the rune sped up my reactions, I couldn't land a single hit. He flowed over the soft earth like water, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground.

  Then, without warning, his fist connected with my side.

  The impact sent shockwaves through the Bravery rune, making it shudder and flicker like a candle in strong wind. For the first time, I realized it had very real limits—there were things it simply couldn't compensate for, and Erik's raw speed was apparently one of them. The hit launched me sideways, sending me sprawling painfully among the broken bamboo shoots, lungs emptying in a single, agonized wheeze.

  "Fucking ow," I gasped, struggling to push myself upright while spots danced across my vision.

  "What happened to not using your 'superior mana'?" I wheezed, tasting copper where I'd bitten my tongue.

  Erik actually grinned this time—a genuine, full smile that transformed his entire face. "Now you know how that throw felt," he said, unmistakable amusement coloring his voice.

  I pushed myself upright, my hand brushing against one of the broken bamboo shoots scattered around me. The piece was thin but surprisingly sturdy, almost perfectly weighted like a staff. My fingers wrapped around it instinctively, muscle memory from countless hours with Aapo flooding back. I remembered swinging Winchester like an idiot—more baseball bat than weapon—but this felt different. After days of mana training, I was in the best shape of my life.

  Maybe this time I could do better. Either way, I was definitely still going to get my ass kicked. Guess I was going to be using some of those healing pills I had bought.

  Wait—did I actually know Taiji gun well enough to use it in an actual fight?

  I settled into what felt like a natural low stance, bamboo held horizontally in front of me. Erik watched with growing interest, his posture shifting as he prepared for an attack. I flowed into Rooster Stand, balancing on one leg with the staff poised to strike, and was surprised by how steady I felt. When had this become so natural?

  As Erik moved, I noticed something strange—mana had spread throughout my body like warm honey, but it was pooling in my feet as if waiting for direction. He came in low with a sweeping kick, and I responded without thinking, kicking his foot aside while spinning the staff in a fluid arc. The moment of impact sent mana rebounding through my legs and up into my arms, somehow channeling directly into the bamboo itself like an elastic band snapping forward.

  I stepped forward, spinning the staff overhead before bringing it down in a powerful strike as I returned to low form. When the bamboo connected with the earth, a deep thud echoed through the clearing, sending a spray of dark soil flying in all directions.

  Erik's eyes widened—genuine surprise replacing his confident expression.

  "Well done!" he said, backing away with his grin stretching even wider. Then he was moving again, faster this time, the pressure building like an approaching storm.

  I spun the staff again, stepping forward to thrust it like a spear directly at his chest. But Erik didn't dodge or deflect—he planted his feet in a perfect horse stance and took the strike head-on. The bamboo exploded against his chest with a sharp crack, splinters flying in every direction. Without missing a beat, his hand shot out like a striking snake and grabbed what remained of the staff.

  I barely had time to blink before he yanked me forward into his rising knee. The impact with my ribs felt like getting hit by a sledgehammer, driving every molecule of air from my lungs as I flew across the clearing. I hit the suddenly solid ground hard—we were back in the carved stone chamber—with pain radiating from my side in burning waves.

  How the hell had I moved like that? Even when I was practicing twice a week with Aapo, I'd never been that fluid, that instinctive.

  Groaning, I rolled onto my back, fighting to drag air into my protesting lungs. Erik stood over me, his grin now fully formed and his eyes bright with something that looked suspiciously like excitement.

  "Consider me genuinely impressed," he said, tossing me a small vial containing a single white pill.

  "Great," I coughed, which sent fresh spikes of pain through my ribs. Really needed to stop breaking bones every few days—it was becoming an embarrassing pattern.

  I dry-swallowed the pill and lay there panting while Erik seemed to come down from his adrenaline high, rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers.

  "Where did you learn to move like that?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. "It reminds me of Vildar combat forms."

  "My grandmother taught us," I laughed, which was a mistake that sent fresh pain shooting through my side. "She once put a guy twice her size on the ground with just a wrist-lock when he got handsy at a bar."

  "Hmm, I'd like to meet her," Erik said with obvious approval.

  The healing pill was working now, warmth spreading through my chest and the sharp edge of pain beginning to dull. It was an intense sensation—like my body was fast-forwarding through weeks of natural healing in seconds. Was the first pill this fast? It definitely felt fast.

  "Somehow, I think she'd enjoy that," I replied, managing a less painful chuckle. "Fair warning though—she'd probably try to teach you a few things."

  LORD OF THE SEAS

  by RYU

  The sea does not bow… it judges.

  "Dying in the ring was supposed to be his grand exit. A warrior’s death. But instead, it became his second chance."

  Julien Fronterra, had everything—fame, legacy, and a shot at immortality in the world of combat sports. But in his moment of triumph, his body betrayed him. As his vision faded and regret swallowed him whole, he made one final plea—to live again, to find his own people, to carve out a life worth more than just titles.

  The gods listened.

  Now reborn in Hireath, a world of magic, war, and gods, he is no longer just a man—he is Lukas Drakos, a Dragon, one of the last descendants of a nearly extinct race. He sets out on a journey not for revenge, but for freedom—to break the chains binding his kin and challenge the very god who seeks to control this world.

  This is not just a battle for survival. This is a fight for his people, his future, and his soul.

  He will not let this second chance go to waste.

  “A saga with mythic depth and tidal stakes.”

  Chapters being posted 7 days a week, Monday to Sunday (For the Time Being)

  ?? Read the Lord of the Seas now!