Elara learned early not to touch anyone.
No one said it out loud. But if someone dropped, you didn't help. If they bled, you stepped around it.
She hadn't understood the rule yet. Her hand moved on instinct—over a wrist gone soft with fracture, over ribs that seized with each breath. The touch let her feel what they had, and she did not.
After enough repeats, the pain began draining into her palms.
But the others weren't grateful or moved. They were confused. A few looked at her differently after—like she was stupid.
Because she was.
There was no reward in healing someone who might kill you later. The Eclipse crowned the last one breathin—no pairs or alliances. But Elara wasn't being noble, she agreed: helping others was foolish. But it gave her a way to experiment.
When Hikari arrived, nothing stood out except his hair. He was just another name on the roster—another Kynenn forced into the next deathmatch.
Elara was sitting on the stairs outside the second-level training hall when she saw him for the first time—the trauma in his face mixed so tightly with the desire for innocence, it was hard to tell which had come first.
He didn't look scared.
He obviously didn't look impressed, either.
Most newcomers cried for at least a week. Letting themselves go. Mourning freedom, family, identity—until the Foundation reshaped them into what the world came to know as all kynenn: brutal husks of warriors, primal beasts indifferent to anything but their own desires.
Not him.
Hikari stood like someone who had already lost too much of who he wanted to be,too much for him to be molded by anything else.
She watched him through drills.
He wasn't the fastest. But he adjusted fast—calmly tracking where he lost. Hikari rarely made the same mistake twice. That alone kept him ahead, especially in a place where instructors didn't really teach.
Hikari didn't need to be taught.
Elara kept scouting him—instinctively. And while others scrambled to fight the ones they could beat, Hikari sought out those with overwhelming power. He picked up what mattered.
Fast.
And he got stronger even faster.
That was rare.
By his second week, Elara had made a point of staying close. She saw what the instructors ignored: Hikari didn't understand Myaku—the internal rhythm that stabilized energy and made power usable.
He was strong in close combat, but when the Kynenn sparred without restrictions, when powers came into play, he fell behind. His grasp of what he was doing was shallow. Without discipline, it would rip him apart from the inside.
Elara had studied Myaku for years. She studied relentlessly from the time she learned to read—books, diaries, notes from fights she'd witnessed or sparred in. Because while others were dragged into the Foundation from the outside world—abducted after persecution or loss—Elara had no world before it.
She'd been left on the stone steps as an infant, raised entirely within the Foundation's walls.
It warped her sense of the world. No one told her that some people were simply without—not until she was too old to believe it. And she'd been raised as Kynenn, without actually being one.
But with all that said, she didn't just practice Myaku. Her endless delusion redefined it. Elara alone may as well have designed systems to guide power she didn't have, just to understand what it should've felt like.
So when Hikari fought, she didn't just see his stance. She saw every misfire. Every pulse out of sync.
In an effort to get closer to him—and to test her own theories—she started acting like something close to a teacher.
Exclusively for Hikari.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Elara asked one day.
Hikari shook his head slightly, defensive immediately. "I'm just doing what they tell me."
"Yeah, but you're treating Myaku like it's just some raw power."
He looked at her. "…Isn't it?"
"No. Myaku's not about strength. It's about flow. You don't force it out—you can direct it, but it's gonna move on its own mostly."
"Flow how?"
"So you really have no idea? It's in your blood," she said, genuinely confused how he was even as efficient as he already was. "Myaku moves with your pulse. So if your breathing's off, or your body's tense, it gets stuck and recirculates. Or it burns too fast, exits without shape, and you gas out."
"So you're saying it's timing?"
"It's more rhythm than timing," she said. "Like… the way a boxer controls their breathing. If you stay calm and keep everything in sync, your manifestations stay clean. Controlled. If not, it leaks or spikes. That's when you lose control."
She continued, "Most people with a high concentration—or a big reserve—burnout before they learn how to use them right."
He exhaled, this time slower. "Makes sense."
"Does it? Or are you just agreeing?"
"I mean… it makes as much sense as it can. This is all new. I never thought about how to use it. It always… just happened the way I wanted."
"You'll see. If you let me teach you."
"Doesn't seem like there's anything better to do."
The conversation went exactly as she expected. Hikari paid attention—at least to certain topics. She could see it in how he moved, how he listened. So Elara positioned herself where she held clear authority. From there, building a connection would be easy.
"Most people only get Myaku from one of three sources," Elara said. "You either inherit it—that's called Tenkei, the strongest form, and it means you're a descendant of one of the Tenshi. You find an artifact from one. Or you form a contract. No matter what, one of these three connects you to a Tenshi."
Hikari was quiet.
"You already have it," she pressed. "So… Do you know which one it is?"
"…Contract," he muttered.
Elara blinked. "Since it's fire, it's gotta be the fire Tenshi. Kagutsuchi is his name. Do you at least know about Tenshi?"
"Doesn't matter."
His tone was cold. Emotional.
Elara didn't push again.
But she watched the way his jaw clenched—how his eyes dropped to the mat, not in embarrassment, but distance.
Hikari had been forced into memory. The whole reason he was here. The reason his dad had to enter the Eclipse. And the shitty excuse his mom used to start a brand-new life without him.
Elara couldn't read his mind, but she knew whatever deal he'd made, it wasn't clean. And he clearly didn't want to talk about it.
"Okay," she said quietly.
A long moment passed.
"Still doesn't change that your posture's garbage," she added.
That got him. A tiny, tired smile pulled at his mouth—like something old had just let go of his shoulders for a second.
They kept talking after that. Same topic—for weeks.
They covered what anyone training to survive needed to know. The real basics.
Elara went deeper about the origins, how there were only three ways to access Myaku:
Magical artifacts, which were old Tenshi-infused relics that changed depending on your Myaku frequency.
Supernatural contracts, made with Tenshi spirits themselves—dangerous pacts that gave power in exchange for something else.
And Tenkei—rare, dangerous awakenings through trauma in descendants of the Tenshi. Even then, most people in the bloodline would never awaken. It was the rarest form—and the strongest.
The part Hikari found most interesting was how, even if two people had the same element—fire, water, lightning—what that power looked like in practice could be completely different.
It all came down to the individual. Their interpretation. Their emotions.
That's why one person's flames might explode on impact, while Hikari's followed the lines of his fingers—precise, calm, patient until released.
Everything shaped how your Myaku behaved.
And there were rules—strict ones.
Use too much, and your blood burned.
Push past your reserve, and it didn't just hurt—it lingered. Cramps. Hallucinations. Sometimes your body just stops.
Recovery was slow. And painful.
Some techniques—like Myaku conduction or restoration—could soften the damage, but they required real control: mastery of pulse, flow, everything.
Elara never went in-depth on those. She had no firsthand experience.
Most people didn't. Beyond general use, techniques like that were more theory than practice.
But there was one other technique. Rumored to be far more complex—and far more dangerous—than the rest. No one Elara had known had ever seen it. But it was described in such detail, with such unlikely precision, that it had to be rooted in something real.
Elara told herself it was the smart move. Hikari would make it far—further than anyone else she could reasonably attach herself to. She'd stay beside him. Heal him if necessary. Watch his back until the field narrows. And when the last day came, when it was just a matter of odds and reflex—
She'd do what needed to be done.
That was the plan. Quiet, unemotional.
But somewhere in her brain, within the same few months he arrived, the plan stopped feeling clean.
She found herself hesitating before speaking. Like the act had started to feel too real. And then she noticed how easily he'd been reading her. The way she thought. She felt invaded upon.
She never planned on explaining her logic to him.
But eventually, she could feel how dangerous a game she'd been playing.
She told him during lights-out rotation.
No reason. No buildup. Just the quiet between patrol shifts, their backs against the concrete wall surrounding Dorm Five, and the stillness that made silence feel like permission.
"I only got close to you so I can use you in the end," she said.
Hikari didn't look over.
His eyes stayed forward, resting on nothing. She couldn't read his expression in the dark.
"I figured," he said after a moment.
There was no edge to his voice. No disappointment. Just acknowledgement—like she'd confirmed something he'd already accepted.
Elara swallowed. She wasn't sure what she expected. Anger, maybe. Or a shift in his tone. A coldness.
But she didn't see any of that from him
And that made it worse.
"You're not mad?"
"You want to live just as bad as I do," he added. "Why would I be mad at you for that?"
Elara didn't reply.
She couldn't. Not without sounding weak. Not without admitting that she hadn't really meant it—that the plan she clung to at the start had been falling apart for weeks, and she'd only just now said it out loud to see if he'd push her away.
After hearing his response she already knew what followed. So she walked away, feeling less of a person than before. And began distancing herself from him entirely.
She didn't sit with him during meals.
Didn't speak unless spoken to.
Didn't walk beside him unless the patrol map forced it.
It wasn't spite.
She just couldn't stand how easy he made it to stay close.
She told herself the distance was necessary. That closeness had made her weak. That clarity—being alone again—was safer. Cleaner. She believed it for almost a week.
Then, during afternoon rotation, her sparring partner hit low.
She'd seen the setup. Blocked it twice. Third time, she hesitated—the weight shifted wrong, timing off. The kick caught her just beneath the kneecap and dropped her hard.
She hit the mat sideways, breath knocked out, one leg folded awkward beneath her. Her hands twitched toward her partner—she wanted to fix it. But the man wasn't done. Before she could move, someone stepped between her and the next strike.
Hikari.
He didn't say anything. Didn't look down.
Just stood over her with that same calm weight on his shoulders, eyes on the opponent like nothing had changed.
The other kynenn stepped back without protest. The match was over.
Elara pushed herself up slowly. Her knee ached—fixable, but not immediately. He didn't speak. But he offered his hand, palm open, waiting.
Elara took his hand, fingers curling around his wrist, and felt his grip steady her weight. He helped her up without judgment.
When she stood, his eyes held hers for a moment—clear, steady. Accepting her choice, whatever it was.
Then he stepped away, returning to his own spar without another glance.
He hadn't said a single word. He didn't need to.
From that point, she stayed beside him, and this time she stopped counting the reasons why.
***
Elara ran until the pain in her side blurred into numbness. She didn't know how far she'd gotten. The world looked wrong—too quiet, too still. Eventually, the chasing stopped. Maybe she lost them. Maybe they gave up.
Her mind had been foggy from fatigue, she didn't expect to escape the instructors in the first place. When she saw the open side gate, it forced her to wonder if they'd been summoned somewhere else.
It wasn't just unguarded—it was wide. Metal half-split from its hinges. Like someone had left in a hurry—or left it for someone else to enter. She hesitated to walk through it, but she had little choice.
Elara slowed, boots crunching over the concrete floor. Her eyes stayed sharp. Her legs were still moving before her brain gave permission. She circled in through the service stairwell. No resistance.
The halls were quiet, oddly quiet, they felt— spacious.
She didn't find a single instructor. Not alive anyway
Elara knew silence. She'd known it all her life. But this—this felt wrong.
Her intuition was right, the halls had been emptied out. Bodies of those who oppressed her laid half-hidden against the walls. The Foundation had become a graveyard in a matter of minutes.
She tried not to focus on the bodies, twisted in shapes the body didn't naturally allow.
She'd been gone less than half an hour. Elara struggled to orient herself in the building, it'd been completely changed. As she entered the space where barracks previously had been overcrowded she noticed there were still a decent few kynenn around.
A girl burst into view—young, curls tangled and eyes too wide for her small, tan face. She was breathing hard, twitching with the jerky panic of someone who's forgotten where they're going. The moment she saw Elara, her face changed completely. Fear. Recognition. Even a hint of confusion.
"You!" The word snapped out breathless. "You're—you were always around him."
Elara didn't move. "Who?"
"Umm—white hair," the girl managed. "With the purple dye. He was really quiet. Always… always helping people. You know who I mean." She blinked twice, fast, shifting weight on bare feet. "You were with him. All the time. It's really not a good time to act clueless."
Elara swallowed once, throat dry. She hadn't intended to entertain the girl's original conversation, Hikari was Elara's business exclusively. "What happened here?"
The girl shook her head sharply, backing up a step. "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!! I—I saw him. Just now, well i was with him. He was fighting this...freak. His powers didn't match anything. Like it made no sense, it was like he controlled shadows or something. It didn't look real. He vanished, reappeared—just stepped into thin air!"
Elara didn't answer, but her pulse quickened.
"They were fighting, your friend was protecting me from the shadow guy. They were about even," the girl rushed. "But your friend—he had him. At least, I think he did. It was fire everywhere. I ran. Had to. Didn't want to be there when it ended. Didn't want him seeing me again."
She glanced behind her like shadows had ears. Confused, she had no choice other than to believe her. Elara took one small step closer.
"Then what?"
The girl exhaled sharply, voice dropping lower, urgent. "Well that's the thing. When I went back, no one was there. There was a lot of blood, but nobody near it. They were just—gone. Both of them."
Elara's chest tightened.
"Then another guy showed up," the girl said, words clipped. "Not the shadow freak—someone else, older, I think he was following the other guy though... He said we could leave or come with them. Said we were free." She laughed—a quick, jagged sound without humor. "Like hell. No one does that. None of it made sense."
Her voice cracked slightly, desperation creeping back in. "Some left anyway. Maybe most. Idk, I guess the idiots thought it was their chance. But it felt wrong—felt like a trap. Like a test. I don't know."
"Do you know who it was?" Elara held her stare. Ignoring almost everything else, Elara's heart was in her pelvic region. "Who took Hikari"
The girl flinched, eyes darting back again to check the emptiness. "Who else? Celaris. Had to be them. No one else would attack the Foundation. No one else could."
Elara didn't respond immediately. The girl stared at her, eyes pleading—like she expected answers, reassurance, anything.
But Elara had nothing to give. She stayed quiet.
After a long silence, the girl broke first. She exhaled hard, frustration mingling with her fear. She backed away slowly, ready to run again.
"Doesn't matter," she muttered, voice flat now. "If they did it once, they'll be back to finish us. I won't wait around for that."
She continued looking at Elara, but Elara wasn't in the same room mentally. After an awkward pause the girl turned around and walked down the hall, bare feet slapping on tile. Elara didn't watch her go, She'd been so stuck in her own thoughts she may as well have been blinded temporarily.
Then, sudden as lightning, Elara bolted out the same door she'd entered.
She knew where to go.
All the times her and Hikari had snuck out—Elara knew her way around the 3rd sector of the outer ring, but she had no intentions of touring this sector anymore. Elara was headed directly for the gate.
The civilians had no curfew tonight. Not anywhere close to the street Elara was on. There were no guards to enforce it, not that they would've done so either way. There were only empty watch posts. Floodlights still humming from their towers, unmanned. The streets beyond weren't silent. People were watching from the dark. Elara could feel it—behind barred windows and alleyways.
And tonight?
Tonight, every one of those eyes knew something had changed. They noticed the increased number of children, in especially dirty white robes running around, hiding.
And they were afraid.
Elara moved fast through the main arterial paths. Her boots struck the moss that covered the sidewalks, patched cement in the streets. Elara hated the way the night sky resembled a blood ocean. But not even that was something she'd noticed while running.
Her thoughts kept circling.
Celaris.
She'd never seen them. Never met anyone who had. Not that they were hidden, or even hard to find. But celaris had been one of the most inaccessible groups in the world. Within the most inaccessible county.
Celaris made you envy them.
Whispers always said they were kynenn, some of the strongest ever. They never were forced into an eclipse, matter of fact they were protected by the Eclipse's winners. The celaris was too dangerous to be controlled. Rumors say they were near immortal. A last generation of warriors—perfected and discarded.
But truth is, no one really knew. The instructors, even in their conversations between each other, never acknowledged them. Never said their name. Elara had only heard it once, muttered by a drunk instructor. But now, to ensure the safety of her only friend? Elara fully intended to test each and every rumor.
She reached the outer slums—a stretch of collapsed rooftops and mildew-choked brickwork, where water damage clung to every surface like old grief—was the gate.
The same one Hikari had slipped through years ago, back when he still visited his father. He never talked much about those visits. Most of what Elara knew, she'd gathered in pieces, fragments laid bare over seven years of silent observations and emotional slips.
If she'd known more, maybe she would've prepared differently.
Instead, she stood frozen, staring at the checkpoint—lined shoulder-to-shoulder with enforcers, barriers stacked three-fold, sensors embedded into the concrete like seeds in fresh soil.