A week had passed since the day Arcos lost control of his powers. Yet the memory still clung to him like a shadow—every flicker of flame behind his eyes, every tremor in his hands, was a reminder of the chaos that had nearly consumed him. The others seemed to move on, their laughter rising bright and careless beneath the open sky, but for Arcos, that day lingered. It haunted the corners of his thoughts, slipping into his dreams, turning even silence into a weight pressing down on his chest.
Now, within John's realm, the children trained under their master's watchful gaze. The training grounds pulsed with life: the sharp ring of wooden blades meeting in quick succession, the playful taunts exchanged between friends, the occasional bark of frustration when someone stumbled. To most, it was a place of discipline and growth. But to Arcos, it felt distant, muffled, as though he were moving through water, caught between the world outside and the storm raging in his own head.
John had set the others to their usual drills—strikes, parries, precision of footwork—but for Arcos, things were different. His training was not about the body, not this time. His power was tied to his heart, his mind, his emotions, and so John had carved out a path meant only for him: stillness instead of strikes, focus instead of force. Every heartbeat, every thought, every breath had to be sharpened, disciplined, mastered.
While Arcos struggled in his quiet corner, John paced the grounds, his eyes sharp as he studied each child. He knew the difference between effort and sloth, between a warrior's form and a careless imitation. And then there was Aelric—one of his most promising pupils by potential, yet perhaps his greatest disappointment.
Aelric's stance sagged, his blade hung limp, his every movement weighed down by apathy. Laziness didn't just touch him—it consumed him, seeping into his bones like a slow poison. His strikes were half-hearted, his spirit unlit, his body present but his will elsewhere. It was a reflection not only of his training, but of his entire way of thinking: a boy drifting through life, waiting for the world to shape him instead of daring to shape it himself.
John exhaled deeply, the sigh carrying the weight of his disappointment. His voice rang firm yet weary as he spoke.
"Aelric! When will you learn? If you refuse to change your ways, you will never grow stronger than you are now. You'll remain stagnant—forever weak."
The boy halted, turning his lazy gaze upon his master, his posture slouched as though the very act of standing took too much effort.
"But Master," Aelric drawled, "when will we do real strength training? How will this"—he gestured vaguely at the exercises—"make me strong? Sure, it'll help me control my powers more, but control isn't strength, is it?" His eyes darted toward the other students, seeking validation, but they groaned in unison and covered their faces with their hands.
"What? Why is no one backing me up?" he asked, bewildered, then turned his wide-eyed confusion back to John.
John released another sigh, heavier than the last. His gaze hardened, not in anger, but in unshakable conviction.
"Aelric, when will you understand? Even if you pit the world's strongest man against someone who has complete mastery of their abilities, the outcome will always be the same. The one with better control will prevail." His tone was steady, each word a hammer striking the boy's stubborn pride.
Aelric looked away, shame creeping over his features. He fidgeted under the weight of the silence, clearly embarrassed—not just at the lesson, but at the thought of the others laughing at him.
Seeing this, John softened. He stepped closer, kneeling to meet Aelric's downcast gaze. His hand came to rest gently on the boy's shoulder, his expression warm and reassuring.
"Look, Aelric," he said, his voice gentle now, "I wasn't trying to insult you. I wasn't mocking you. I only want to help you become the best version of yourself. I want you to be strong enough to protect not only yourself but those you love." His eyes glimmered with determination, the kind that could ignite hope in even the most doubtful heart.
He straightened then, turning his attention to the rest of the students, though his words still carried the intimacy of being meant for each one of them alone.
"And these words aren't only for you, Aelric. They're for all of you. We are different—every one of us—but we share one truth: we've all lost people we loved. And now, you've been given gifts. Powers that can help others. When you see someone in need, you must act. It doesn't matter what they've done, or how dark they've become—you must still help them. Because that is what strength is truly for."
His eyes swept across the group, piercing and resolute.
"And if, one day, any of you should turn against the weak when I am gone, then it will fall upon the rest of you to stop them. Reason with them. Pull them back from that path of darkness. Because their corruption will reflect upon all of you."
For a moment, silence hung in the air, the weight of his words pressing into every soul present. Then, as if a switch had flipped, John's expression shifted. His stern demeanor melted away, replaced by his usual playful grin. He clapped his hands together with a cheerful clap.
"Alright! Training's over. Time to clean up after yourselves!"
A chorus of groans erupted from the students, their disappointment plain. For them, training was all there was to do in John's realm—sealed away from the real world, this routine was both their discipline and their only freedom. Yet even as they booed, a spark lingered in their eyes—the quiet fire of lessons that would one day shape their destiny.
From a distance, Arcos sat cross-legged in his meditation spot, unmoving, his body so still he could have been mistaken for stone. To all who looked upon him, he seemed lost in deep meditation, untouched by the noise of the world around him. But when John turned his head toward him, he realized something was wrong.
This was no meditation.
Arcos's breathing was shallow, his eyelids fluttered faintly, and his aura felt… off. As John drew closer, the truth revealed itself—Arcos wasn't meditating at all. He was trapped in a deep, unnatural slumber, one that looked forced upon him by unseen hands.
"Arcos…" John murmured, concern furrowing his brow. He reached out, placing a hand gently on his friend's shoulder.
The reaction was immediate and violent.
Arcos's eyes shot open wide, his pupils dilated with terror as he jolted upright, screaming. "NOOO!" His voice cracked the stillness of the air, raw and desperate, and his body shook as if he had just sprinted for miles. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving.
John staggered back in shock, his own heart hammering at the sight. The fear in Arcos's eyes was all too familiar—it mirrored the look John had seen when they first met, when Arcos had been hunted like prey through the forest by merciless men.
"Arcos! Are you okay?" John demanded, his voice strained with both worry and urgency.
The other students, startled by the outburst, rushed over to see what had happened. Their eyes darted between Arcos's trembling form and John's pale expression.
Arcos stared back at them, dazed, sweat running down his face in a single glistening drop. His lips parted as if to speak, but all that escaped was a fractured sound. "I–"
It was just a dream, he told himself. But it felt so real.
Phoenix stepped closer, her usual fiery composure softened into worry. Her voice came so quietly it was barely a whisper, yet Arcos heard her words clearly. "Arcos… are you feeling okay?"
Her voice struck him like a blade. His eyes widened, the memory of his burned-down home flashing across his vision. He saw his parents' corpses again, charred and lifeless in the ashes. The same despair that had consumed him then threatened to swallow him once more.
John noticed. He recognized that haunted look—the hollow, broken stare of someone watching everything they love ripped away. He had seen it before in Arcos, and seeing it again now told him that something deeper was wrong. His eyes narrowed slightly, though none of the other students noticed. None, except one.
From the training grounds, Zethar had been watching. His Arianrhod magic sharpened his sight, allowing him to catch every flicker of expression, every detail of the scene. Not even the faintest change escaped his eyes.
That's strange… why did Master's face change like that? Zethar thought, his lips curling into a faint scowl. He crossed his arms, the sun painting his features in crimson as it dipped lower toward the horizon.
"Does he care more about this kid than the rest of us?" he muttered bitterly.
But then, as the last sliver of sunlight vanished, his gaze hardened, and a darker thought crept into his mind.
"Maybe that's the wrong question…" he whispered to himself, eyes narrowing against the shadows that gathered. "Why does he care so much about Arcos?"
As the darkness deepened and the twin moons rose high to claim dominion over the skies, their pale silver light spilled across the realm like a watchful gaze from the heavens. The students of John retreated one by one to the houses they had been given when first brought here, weary from another grueling day of training. Rest was a necessity, their bodies drained, their spirits in need of renewal before the trials of the academy awaited them with the coming dawn.
Yet one figure did not return inside.
Arcos lingered in the open air, his eyes fixed on the twin moons above. Their glow painted his face in shades of silver and shadow, his gaze locked in thought. His lips parted, words slipping out in a low murmur.
"What is happening to me?"
His voice quivered with confusion, with something deeper—fear. He turned his head toward the spot where he had meditated earlier, brows knitting together as he replayed the memory.
"And what was that dream?" He paused, hesitation tightening his chest. "No… not a dream. More like a vision…" His voice faltered again, heavy with uncertainty. "Or a premonition…" Another pause. His breath left him in frustration. "Ahh… I don't know." The words were softer now, almost a plea.
"Careful," came a voice from behind, teasing yet strangely gentle. "If you overthink too hard, your brain might explode."
Arcos spun sharply, his narrowed eyes scanning the shadows. "You're not scaring me this time, Aelric," he muttered, though his tone wavered with suspicion. But there was no one there. The night remained still. His gaze sharpened, as if straining to pierce through an unseen veil.
"Boo!"
Phoenix materialized behind him, her sudden shout ripping through the silence.
Arcos leapt, a startled scream tearing from his throat. Aelric appeared behind her, bursting into laughter, his voice echoing against the night. Phoenix doubled over, joining him, their mirth spilling uncontrollably.
"Did you see the look on his face?" Phoenix gasped between peals of laughter, clutching her stomach.
Arcos felt heat flood his cheeks, his face burning crimson. Embarrassment and irritation mingled, tightening his chest. He folded his arms and sat down heavily on the nearby rock, turning his back to them. "You two… are not funny," he muttered, though the tremble in his voice betrayed how shaken he still felt.
The laughter faded slowly, replaced by the sound of Phoenix's softer steps as she approached. Her tone lost its playful edge, carrying warmth instead. "Come on, Arcos. We were only trying to cheer you up."
Aelric moved closer as well, his expression shifting from amusement to quiet concern. "Yeah… you looked really down after what happened earlier." His voice lowered, heavy with sincerity. "We're worried about you." Phoenix nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with the same weight of care.
Arcos's shoulders slumped. A sigh slipped out, weak and uncertain, as though he were exhaling the burden he carried. "I know… I just…" His words faltered, his throat tightening. For a moment, silence pressed between them, broken only by the rustle of the night wind.
"I don't know what's happening to me," he finally whispered, the cracks in his voice betraying his fear. "Ever since that accident last week, I've been having these… dreams. But they don't feel like dreams. They feel real. Too real."
His hands clenched against his knees as if anchoring himself. "Sometimes I see myself older… someone I don't even recognize. Other times… I'm not even me at all. I'm someone else. But no matter the vision, they all end the same way—with destruction. With chaos. With catastrophe."
His head tilted back, his eyes drawn once again to the twin moons. Their glow shimmered in his gaze, a mirror of his turmoil. "It's like I'm being warned of something… but I don't understand what, or why."
Phoenix and Aelric exchanged a look, silent but heavy with unspoken worry. They saw the torment in Arcos's face, the way his confusion gnawed at him, and it struck them how lonely such a burden must feel—carrying terror that no one else could see, night after night.
Phoenix spoke gently, her voice trembling with empathy. "Arcos… have you tried telling our master? If anyone could understand, it's him. He might know what these visions mean… or at least how to help you."
Aelric nodded firmly, though there was a softness in his tone. "She's right. Master always seems to know more than he says. He could give you answers—or at least stop these nightmares from haunting you every night."
Both of them fixed their eyes on him, their hope and loyalty clear. They wanted to help him, to share the weight of his pain, even if they didn't know how.
Arcos's lips pressed together, his chest tightening as he fought to hold back the storm within. For the first time, he felt the truth of how deeply the visions had shaken him—not just his body, but his soul. His friends were reaching for him, but he wasn't sure if even they could grasp the darkness creeping into his fate.
Arcos's face darkened, his eyes sinking into a shadow that seemed to swallow the light around him. His expression was not merely sad—it was hollow, as though he had just seen the ghost of his long-dead parents standing before him. His voice trembled when he spoke, the weight of his dreams heavy on every word.
"I can't…" He stopped, struggling, his lips parting and closing again as if the words themselves refused to form. "The things I saw in those dreams…" His throat tightened, his chest rising with a shaky breath. Silence followed, broken only by the quiet quiver of his voice. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
Arcos lowered his gaze, shame burning in his eyes. He had given up trying to explain, knowing the horrors etched into his mind could never be expressed with words. The dreams were too raw, too haunting—nightmares carved into his soul that he dared not share. All he could hope was that his friends would understand his silence, and let the matter drift away like smoke in the wind.
Aelric and Phoenix exchanged a glance, their sighs carrying both disappointment and sympathy. Their faces betrayed their emotions: they wished they could help, wished he would trust them enough to speak—but they knew pressing further would only wound him more deeply. To push him would be to risk losing him.
"It's okay, Arcos. We understand," Phoenix said softly, her voice warm but tinged with sadness. She forced a small smile, her tone shifting to something brighter, almost desperate to lift the weight that hung over them. "So… who's ready for the tournament at Elarindor Academy?" Her eyes sparked with excitement, her face lighting up in contrast to the gloom, inviting her friends into safer waters.
The three of them began to talk—about their expectations, about the challenges they might face, about how they imagined themselves standing in the grand arena. Their voices rose with laughter and speculation, chasing away the heavy silence that Arcos had left behind.
But not all were so easily distracted.
From the window of a nearby house, John stood quietly, his gaze fixed on them. He had heard everything—every word, every pause, every sorrowful silence that Arcos could not bring himself to explain. His hand tightened against the window frame, and his face fell into an expression of quiet disappointment, not at Arcos, but at the cruel weight life had forced on him.
Turning away, John moved through his dimly lit room, each step slow and heavy. He sat at his wooden table, cluttered with half-finished artifacts and glowing fragments of enchanted stone—the only solace he had when the world felt too heavy. He stared at them for a long moment before speaking, his voice a low whisper meant only for himself.
"It has begun," he murmured, sorrow flickering in his tone. "I tried my best to avoid it… but I can't run any longer." His hands trembled as he picked up a tool, the faint light of the enchanted gem reflecting in his eyes. "I am ready for what will come."
His gaze drifted once more to the window, where he could still see the silhouettes of Arcos, Phoenix, and Aelric beneath the fading sky. A sad smile touched his lips, fragile and fleeting. It was not the smile of hope, but of resignation—of someone who knew that whatever awaited them all would be both inevitable and merciless.
And yet, in that sadness, there was a spark—a quiet acceptance that he would face it, no matter the cost.