Inner Realm – The Shifting Arena of Will
The lotus beneath Anay's feet faded into the ether, and in its place, a vast white space unfolded—endless, silent, surreal. The arena shimmered like light reflecting off still water, but it felt alive, as if waiting.
Anay took a breath.
The elemental echoes had dissolved into his soul, and yet the power pulsed within him stronger than ever. Fire, water, wind, and earth now harmonized with his core.
Suddenly—
A faint hum vibrated through the air.
A thread of golden energy spiraled down from above.
It coiled before him, then solidified into shape—glowing, shifting, breathing.
From nothingness emerged a blade.
Then it changed.
A dagger, sleek and swift, hovered before him.
It shimmered—
And became a sword, sharp and balanced.
A heartbeat later—
It stretched into a glaive, powerful and imposing.
Then—
It shattered into pure light and coiled around him like a spirit.
Zettai Anant's voice whispered gently from all sides:
"I am not one form. I am your reflection."
Anay reached toward it.
But the energy danced away—playfully, warily.
"Why… won't you come?" he asked.
Zettai Anant's presence responded with clarity:
"I exist through your will. Not want."
Trial of Intent
The white space shifted suddenly—becoming a battlefield.
Stone towers rose from the ground.
Mirage-like enemies appeared around him—faceless warriors of shadow and speed.
They rushed in from every side.
Anay's body tensed, but no weapon came to his hand.
He called, "Zettai Anant!"
Nothing.
The shadow warriors struck.
He dodged—barely—his instincts guiding him.
"I need a weapon!"
But Zettai Anant's voice echoed once more:
"Then choose."
In a blink, one illusion approached from behind—fast and silent.
Anay turned his body with pure reflex—and reached out not with panic, but purpose.
In that moment—
A dagger appeared in his grip.
Short. Swift. Silent.
He ducked under the enemy's strike and slit through the illusion's chest in one graceful motion.
The figure dissolved.
He exhaled.
Then two more emerged—one charging from afar with brute force, the other flanking quickly from the side.
He needed speed.
He whispered, "Give me reach."
The dagger expanded into a sword, perfectly balanced.
He stepped forward, spinning into a wide arc, knocking back both illusions.
But the brute attacker didn't fall.
Anay's heart pounded.
"Power. I need power."
The sword extended, transformed, and grew.
Into a glaive.
He planted his feet and surged forward.
The heavy polearm cleaved through the enemy with a thunderous crash.
Three illusions gone.
Dozens remained.
The Shift Within
As the illusions surrounded him again, Anay didn't panic.
He closed his eyes.
And breathed.
The dagger… the sword… the glaive…
They weren't separate weapons.
They were expressions of him.
Speed. Precision. Strength.
But they meant nothing without one thing—intent.
He opened his eyes.
Calm.
Clear.
Still.
As more illusions struck, his grip shimmered—and in mid-motion, Zettai Anant flowed seamlessly from one shape to another.
A dagger for evasion.
A sword for counters.
A glaive for crushing finishers.
Every time his focus shifted, so did the weapon.
It wasn't Anay adjusting to the weapon.
It was the weapon listening to him.
For the first time—
They moved as one.
By the end of the battle, the arena was empty again.
White mist drifted gently across the now-quiet space.
Anay stood alone.
Zettai Anant floated before him—its form unshaped, a swirl of light.
He stepped forward, hand over his heart.
"I understand," he whispered. "You are what I need you to be… when I know who I am in that moment."
The light shimmered gently—and entered his chest.
Resting not in his hand…
But in his will.
Zettai Anant's final words for this trial echoed:
"Good. You're beginning to listen."