From the Perspective of Allan Drake
The soft rustle of the morning breeze combed through the quiet neighborhood, now eerily subdued in the wake of the world's transformation. Though the birds still chirped, their songs were nervous, hesitant, as if nature itself were trying to find rhythm in this new reality.
Inside the modest two-story house on the edge of the city, Allan Drake stood by the window of the kitchen, watching the dew collect on the backyard grass. His hands were still from holding the warm mug of tea his mother had prepared earlier. But his mind was in motion, constant, calculating, deep.
Through the bond that connected him to Kairo, he could feel the subtle echoes of training, discipline, and muscle memory refined by repetition and instinct. Every stance, every pivot, every breath Kairo had taken during the previous day's weapon drills now lived inside Allan's body, sharper, stronger, ten times more refined.
He blinked, and his vision sharpened momentarily with the Omniscient Eyes . The world's energy flowed like a river of light just beneath the surface, and everything felt… within reach.
"It's time they stop being civilians."
He turned from the window and called out.
— Ethan. Alice. Mom. Come outside. We need to talk.
Helena Drake stood by the kitchen island, drying her hands with a towel. She raised an eyebrow.
— Outside? For what? Breakfast's nearly ready.
Ethan, already fiddling with a small blueprint pad he'd designed with his creation talent, peeked out from the hallway.
— Something happen?
— Yes, and no, Allan replied. His tone was calm, but resolute.
— The world has changed. Monsters, dungeons, and people with unimaginable power now walk among us. You all awakened talents, but power without control is meaningless.
He stepped forward, his brown eyes glowing faintly under the morning sun seeping through the open door.
— So before any of you leave this house again, you'll train. With me.
He turned to Ethan specifically.
— Make us wooden training weapons. Swords, spears, a bow for Alice, and a shield for mom. Enough for everyone.
Ethan blinked.
— Wait… You want me to—
— You have the Creation Genius talent, don't you? Then create. Simple, sturdy, balanced. It doesn't have to be perfect. Just enough to handle hours of drills. For now we'll have breakfast.
— I...I...Fine, but next time you don't need to come at me like that big brother.
The younger brother hesitated. But after a breath, he nodded and went to work.
They went inside and had their meal before heading to the backyard again.
As the backyard transformed into a rudimentary training field, a sense of skepticism hung in the air.
Alice, seated on the steps, turned a carved wooden arrow in her fingers and looked at Allan sideways.
— You really think you can train us? What, did you spend years learning martial arts without telling us?
Helena chuckled lightly.
— He barely passed P.E. in school. Sweetheart, we love you, but teaching combat? Isn't it a bit too much for you?
Allan didn't respond with words. Instead, he reached to the side and picked up one of the wooden swords Ethan had just finished. He tested the weight, spun it once in his grip, then moved into a stance so natural, so precise, that all three froze in place.
The shift was subtle, almost invisible. But in that single movement, Allan was no longer just "Allan."
He was a warrior.
He seemed like a master.
He closed his eyes. The Martial Domain surged silently within him. It wasn't just comprehension, it was intuition, it was philosophy. The body became language. The weapon, extension. The breath, timing. It's like he became one with the weapon.
And now, it was time to teach.
— I don't need years mom. His voice was soft, controlled.
— I understand a lot now. That's enough. Come. Let's begin.
The backyard's space was tight, but Allan divided it into three sections, one for each trainee. Ethan with a short spear. Alice with a wooden bow and quiver. Helena with a broad, heavy shield and single-edged short sword.
— Ethan. Step forward. Stance.
Allan walked slowly, adjusted Ethan's feet with his own, tapped his brother's wrist where it was too tight, then gently pressed his shoulder back into line.
— Your center of gravity is off. Always think from your core. Imagine a string pulling you upward through the spine, keeping you aligned. Try the thrust again.
Ethan tried, failed, tried again. But by the third thrust, his motion was cleaner. Not perfect, but cleaner.
— Good. But not fast enough to kill. We'll get there. Reset. Again.
Then to Alice.
— You can form arrows, yes. But can you hold a target in mind under pressure? Can you predict movement?
— I— I don't know, maybe?
— Then you'll learn.
He set up bottles on fence posts at varying distances.
— Draw. Breathe. Loose on the exhale. Don't think about hitting. Think about knowing where the arrow wants to go.
Her first arrow missed. Her second hit wood. The third shattered a bottle cleanly.
Allan didn't praise her. He simply nodded.
— Again. Find consistency. A hundred arrows. Nothing less.
Then to Helena.
— You're the heart of this family, mom. That's more than a metaphor now. Matriarch's Heart enhances those around you. But your shield? That's the literal defense. You will become a wall.
Helena adjusted her grip. Her arms were still soft, unused to weight, but her resolve was steady.
— Most enemies will probably strike high or to your sides. You will train reflex. Knees slightly bent. Weight forward. Sword close. Ready to riposte.
He moved to her flank and without warning struck with the edge of his wooden blade.
Clang!
She blocked it instinctively, sloppy, but present. Her eyes widened in surprise.
— Good. Reflex exists. Now, we refine it. Prepare for more.
And so the hours passed.
Time slowed. Repetition burned patterns into muscles, carved grooves into instinct. Sweat dampened shirts, turned grass to mud. But slowly, Allan's family transformed before his eyes.
Not into warriors, not yet. But into students.
Focused. Driven. Willing.
Allan moved among them like a silent specter of discipline. He corrected form. He encouraged subtle changes. He demonstrated, then observed. His knowledge, once theoretical, now became deeply embodied through the Celestial Feedback amplification from Kairo's drills and now layered again through first-hand transmission.
It was a recursive evolution. He trained them using skills learned from Kairo. Their mistakes refined his understanding. Their growth sharpened his teaching. And all of it, through his own talents and its connection to the avatar, echoed back to his very soul.
By sunset, the four of them collapsed onto the grass. Breathing hard. Silent. The backyard smelled of damp wood, earth, and faint traces of magical energy.
Alice stared at her calloused fingertips.
— I… hit sixteen bottles.
Ethan looked at his bruised forearms.
— I can hold the spear correctly now without cramping.
Helena smiled tiredly, wiping her brow.
— I blocked half of your attacks. You cheat, by the way. You swing really hard. I'm still your mother, Allan.
Allan sat back, arms behind him, eyes toward the reddening sky.
— You all did well. Tomorrow, we go again. This is just the beginning.
They lay in the quiet, a small family wrapped in a storming world.
But they were no longer weak.
They were learning to fight. To survive. To adapt.
And the world…
The world would learn the name of the Drake family in more than whispers.
It would feel it.