I steady my breath and correct my stance.

  Koln stays relaxed, perched on the stump, waiting for me to make the first move.

  I’m stronger now. The fifth dream is complete, my mana almost fully refined, and I’ve drilled a proper technique into every motion.

  The sword dance is no dance at all but a martial art called Dreamer’s Curse. I suspect its origin ties back to Aspiration’s Folly—the two share the same philosophy: wield a body saturated with mana and command every nature.

  Dreamer’s Curse is fast and fluid, its power drawn from precise mana control. It breaks into five distinct forms: the Attack, the Deflect, the Absorb, the Retreat, and the Finisher—the ultimate strike. Koln never bothered naming them, so I did.

  I ready the first form. Lightning ripples across my skin, clinging instead of bleeding off—controlled, concentrated, ruthless. My focus can now pinpoint any part of my body at will.

  The mana sphere balloons outward, thirty meters in every direction, potency peaking near my core. My perception climbs with it.

  My brain—the cornerstone of this house now built of bricks, not cards—fires faster and sharper, saturated with enriched mana.

  My vision sharpens as well; weaknesses glow in vivid detail. Yet Koln still reveals none. I’ll have to carve an opening.

  I sink into my initiating stance, lightning flaring as I prime the strike—refined, not feral.

  I launch. The ground buckles, and I blur forward at a pace I’ve never reached. In an eye-blink I’m at Koln’s front, blade-hand aimed for a direct assault.

  Our collision rings out in a flash and a shockwave. He blocks and tries to hurl me away. I flow into the second form—the Deflect—pivoting to counter. My sharpened hand carves through empty air, blood-hungry for his flesh.

  He meets me again, countering with a downward slam. I spin, guard with my leg, and invoke the third form—the Absorb—redirecting the force back at him. He slips it, shoulder-rolling past the blow, but the impact fractures the barrier behind him, spider-webbing cracks through the translucent veil and making its light flicker.

  He readies another strike. I slip into the fourth form—the Retreat. Nothing flashy, just escape. His blow scythes by, detonating the air with raw pressure and shattering the ground beneath us.

  I pivot for another strike, but Koln finally leaves the stump and raises the stakes. He rockets forward, wind mana swirling around his fist. I meet him with the third form—the Absorb. The blow lands like a hurricane smashing a coastline; my heels gouge trenches through the dirt. Most of the force siphons into my core, yet too much slips through, leaving every bone in my arms ringing.

  I roll the power I did capture into a forward flip and axe-kick at his shoulder. He blocks with a forearm, and for the first time I feel the hit resonate through him—progress, but no time to gloat. He clamps onto my leg, winding up to use me as a living hammer.

  Just before I meet the earth, I chain the second form into the fourth—Deflect into Retreat—wriggling free and landing clean. Arms still buzzing, we circle, each hunting for a sliver of advantage. I notice he isn’t conjuring a shield at all—still holding back. ’Fine. Let’s see how long that lasts.’

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A blink of weakness flashes across his stance. Before the thought even finishes, my body is already moving. I spear forward, lightning condensing into a solid blade along my forearm. The fifth form—the Finisher.

  Air can’t keep up; thunder cracks only after I’ve passed. My blade targets the right side I stunned earlier—non-fatal, but decisive enough to finish the mission.

  Too late I realize it’s a trap. Koln’s fist, wrapped in a cyclone of wind mana, slams down like a hammer on a spear. The ground craters before my body even hits it. Pain explodes through my ribs.

  ‘Fuck.’

  I refuse to fold. The moment his blow lands, I trigger Absorb again, channeling the excess force into my battered frame. My body howls at the overload, tendons near tearing, but the stolen momentum propels me. I flip, blade screaming brighter, and drive onward.

  The slash cleaves through air, rattling the clearing with quakes and white flashes. I slam shoulder-first into the barrier, nearly buckling the cracked veil.

  Everything fades. In the heartbeat before blackness, I glimpse a thin scratch etched across Koln’s side—and his radiant, satisfied smile.

  ***

  I wake, feeling fine.

  Koln healed me—thank goodness.

  Speaking of the weirdo, he sits nearby, staring at me from beside the bed.

  I’ve got a scratch—I think that was enough. Can’t believe I fell for a trick.

  But I notice Koln is faintly smiling.

  He opens his mouth as soon as he sees I’m awake.

  “You did it. I’ll tell you about the promise—what I can.”

  I stay silent; I’m deadly curious, especially after the effort I put in.

  He continues,

  “Kaizer—you are my brother’s child. It was promised you would come—we’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

  He pauses so I can process, eyes drifting as if reminiscing.

  “You are to be trained to fulfill the promise, and I am to help.”

  He falls quiet, waiting for me.

  A thousand thoughts run wild.

  ’He’s my supposed uncle—been waiting forever.’

  “You’re my uncle?”

  “Yes,” he answers succinctly.

  ’So is that why my hair is white and gold? I don’t know.’

  “What’s the promise, then?”

  “I don’t know. Only your father—and a being called Swart.”

  ’Swart’s promise is the same as Koln’s.’

  “If you don’t know then why are you training me for something you don’t understand?”

  “Because I owe it to my brother. We all did.”

  “Who is my father?”

  He doesn’t even blink.

  “The closest our family has come to regaining its glory.”

  “Our family—where?”

  “They were here, but abandoned the promise. Now they’re in Aresia—our homeland.”

  “The New World?”

  He nods in affirmation.

  “How long have you been waiting for me, and why am I needed?”

  “I’ve lost count—about two hundred years. And your father gave you his blood and your mother’s blood.”

  ’My mother’s and father’s blood? And two hundred years—he looks younger than me.’

  “What do you mean about my blood—and you’re two hundred years old?”

  “Yes. Mana at my level stretches life, and your blood has unique properties—I’m sure you’ve felt your father’s bloodline ability.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “The foresight—the loops you’re experiencing.”

  “The loops are foresight?”

  “Yes. Your foresight is so extreme you see in loops instead of flashes. I’m here to train that ability—and your general strength—for the promise.”

  “…If I train and fulfill the promise, will I get to meet my father?”

  ’All I want right now is answers; this life, though painful at times, is already paradise compared to my last.’

  “Yes.”

  Great—more mystery, but at least I finally have context. Koln doesn’t seem like a bad guy; the time I’ve spent with him proves that. I don’t exactly have better things to do, and this sounds fun. I’m sure I’ll learn what I want someday.

  “Okay—do you know about my crew?”

  “No. But I’ve sent some of my companions to check. They aren’t dead.”

  “Companions?”

  He gestures to the panther lounging nearby. ’So he has other pets—don’t tell me Moso is one of his.’

  “So where do we go from here?” I decide to accept the situation at face value. Truth or not, I just want to fight more and get stronger. Some might say my priorities are wrong—and I’d agree—but who cares.

  “I’ll take you to Aresia and have you fight. Fights are best for training, after all.”

  He smiles—eerily similar to mine. Must be the blood.

  “Okay—fight as in duel, or what?”

  “No. War, probably.”

  “Yeah, war—wait, something that big?”

  “Yes. We need it for the promise—two birds, one stone.”

  “Yeah… sounds good,” I say, a bit hesitant. “So we go to the New World and wage war with what army?”

  “We’ll find one. You just need you. I’ll observe.”

  “I’m not a one-man army.”

  “You underestimate yourself. And this is the best way.”

  I sigh. “Okay, we’ll see. Anyway, why did my hair turn white and my eyes gold? Genetics, or my technique?”

  “Both—genetics and mana purity.”

  ’So my hair and eyes are this way because of mana refinement and bloodline. Interesting.’

  I want to ask more, but he’s already abruptly leaving. Plenty of time for questions later.

  ’How do we get to the New World, I wonder.’

  I lie back down. The panther pads onto the bed and curls against my feet. ’A thousand thoughts run wild,’ but sleep drags me under again.

  Tomorrow’s problem.