"What was that?" I asked, rising unsteadily to my feet. Despite the fact that the entire thing had been in my mind, I felt sore. As if I'd been working out for ours.
Each muscle ached, sweat pouring off my body.
"Who knows," Syar replied . "No one—not even the Knights of old—knew who built these trials. If they did, the knowledge died with them."
"I see," I muttered, flexing my palm. There was a faint hum beneath my skin. "Then who—"
"Ah, ah, ah." Syar raised a finger, cutting me off with a look. "If you're planning to tell me what happened in the soul space, don't. Not to me. Not to anyone."
"Why not?" I frowned.
"Why? Well, I'd doubt you'd be able to understand. So take my words as blind truth. Knowledge of a man is power over him. More than you realise right now. And that soul space, that's the representation of your very core. Only fools would bare such knowledge to another...even me."
I nodded slowly. "If you say so... So, what now?"
Syar sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles like someone suffering a stubborn migraine. "Did you already forget why you went in there?"
A grin tugged at my lips. "Right. I need a staff."
Syar raised a brow and muttered under his breath as he summoned a long wooden staff from thin air. It materialised with a soft crackle, like lightning leaping between dimensions. "So, it's a staff then?"
"I guess it could be anything, really."
"No, it can't." His tone was sharp now. "Unless you're some prodigy or a born weapon master, stick to one. If your soul space showed you a staff, that's your path. Don't argue with your essence."
I took the weapon in both hands. It felt... familiar. Not just in weight or balance, but like an old promise whispered from another life. Closing my eyes, I called the mana back to me.
And it came.
Not in torrents—but as a flicker. A single ember glowing in the hollow of my chest. Warm. Comforting. Almost... alive.
I focused. Willed it. A tiny tendril peeled away, slithering through my veins like molten silk. But it was faint. Fragile.
'Move.' I ordered, gritting my teeth. 'Move!'
And the dam broke.
Mana surged like a river in flood—raw, wild, blisteringly hot. My body quaked as it carved channels through me, fire threading muscle, bone, and nerve.
I wrestled it into shape. Forced it into the pattern etched in my memory from the soul space. Every step felt like recalling a half-forgotten melody from a dream.
It burnt. Like white hot metal pouring through my body.
Unknowingly, I swept my foot backwards, assuming the position of the first form.
Mana reached my palms—and hesitated. Teetering on the edge. I shoved harder with my mind, commanding it with all my will.
And it obeyed.
The staff flared, veins of glowing light spiraling through the grain like living circuitry. It pulsed in sync with my heartbeat.
First form...
I moved.
'Shooting Star.'
One breath.
One thrust.
The world bent. Air warped around the spearhead, then cracked—a sonic ripple exploding outward like a comet tearing through sky. Mana ruptured from the tip in a brilliant flare, shaking the chamber's walls with its echo.
Staggering, I opened my eyes, chest heaving.
Syar stood there, arms folded, expression unreadable – save for a flicker of surprise in his face.
Syar stood there, arms folded. His expression unreadable—save for the flicker of approval in his eyes.
"So, boy... you really did find one."
"Wasn't I meant to?" I panted, catching my breath.
"You were...and yet I didn't expect you to. Many are unable to develop a mana art, even when they complete the trial. In truth it's rare to gain one. I only expected you to be able to find what weapon you were best suited to."
"Well, I'm sorry to impress," I groaned, shaking off the exhaustion.
" It's not bad," he muttered, almost to himself. Then, louder, "But it burns too much mana for now. You'd collapse before a real fight finished. In the meantime, I'll teach you something more sustainable."
With a flick of his wrist, another staff shimmered into being. He strode to the center of the chamber.
"Watch closely."
He gripped the staff. Breathed.
Then he moved.
And to my eyes, it was like a transformation.
He was no longer a man. Men were too solid.
Syar was like wind given form. Like water given freedom to flow. Shifting, graceful, lethal and beautiful.
Utterly, utterly, beautiful.
The staff spun in his grasp, arcs of invisible force trailing behind each motion. It flickered with residual mana, snapping through the air with every twist and shift. Each form bled into the next without pause until I could barely distinguish between them.
Awestruck I watched. This – this was mastery.
As he finished, the staff disappeared with a flicker as he came to a stand still.
"You got to teach me that" I grinned at him.
"Well then" he replied, eyes flickering with a light I swore I'd seen in another face. A dangerous light. "Make sure you listen to me well."
…............
Growling, I scrambled for the next stone, fingers raw and numb from the biting cold.
Wind beat down at me, its screams shattering the veil of wintry peace within the night. Moon just strong enough to illuminate the next freezing stone I would need to grip.
Climbing the side of this mountain was grueling.
Grueling and exhausting.
Each step felt like a journey.
And this journey felt like an eternity. The sun had still been in the sky when I had begun.
Day had retired...I had not.
'Quicker I can do this...more sleep I'll get.'
According to his master, this wasn't even training. This was merely a warm down before sleep.
A stupid, utterly out of proportion and disgusting warm down. Permitted to use mana, I had to circulate it through my body constantly to stop my body completely shutting down from hypothermia. And to keep my muscles going far beyond their ability.
But despite it all, I didn't stop climbing.
No, not once.
Because I had a war to win. A war that needed to be won so I could achieve my dream.
'A little empty corner of the world...just for me. A place where I could be no one.'
With that thought, I continued climbing.