Ashen's palms hit the dirt with steady rhythm.
Push-up after push-up. Breath controlled. Movements precise.
The early sun hadn't even kissed the yard yet, but his sweat already traced lines down his back.
"Why am I not able to remember the events that will take place..."
His mind wrestled as his body worked.
"It's all so foggy..."
He paused, arms trembling, then dropped to the ground and lay flat against the cool earth.
But, one thing burned through the haze—
"Except for that... final day."
The words echoed in his mind, grave and resolute.
From the window, his mother watched him with arms folded, a quiet furrow in her brow.
Lira had seen Ashen run in the yard a hundred times.
But never like this.
"One terror attack changed so much in him..." she whispered to no one in particular.
Garvic, her husband, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his thick chest.
"You either make or break at trauma," he said with a short, almost proud chuckle.
"And our boy? He's far from getting broken."
"Stop it," Lira shot back, frowning.
"He's too young to even understand these things. He's not even four yet."
"Exactly," Garvic said. "Not four. And already more focused than most grown men I trained with."
Down in the yard, Ashen moved to pull-ups on the low tree branch. His grip was solid, eyes narrowed.
"Why am I not able to remember who Katrina is?"
His past life—vivid. Clear as glass.
But the memories of this world? They smeared like ink in rain.
He felt things. Images tried to surface. But none stayed long.
Only fragments. Faces without names. Whispers without context.
Ashen dropped from the branch, knees bending to absorb the fall.
He wiped his hands on his shorts, breathing steady. No joy, no play. Just rhythm.
Lira walked down the steps slowly, concern softening her voice.
"He should be chasing squirrels, not chasing shadows in his head."
Garvic didn't reply immediately.
"Maybe the teacher will help," she said. "She was supposed to start his training properly, wasn't she?"
"She's on mission," Garvic replied. "Apparently something important came up. She'll begin with him once she returns."
---
Far away from the warm yard and watching eyes, Katrina stood at the center of a quiet guild hall.
The place was unusually empty. No clanging swords, no sparring laughter, no footsteps racing up wooden stairs.
She looked around.
"Where is everyone, Master?"
Madhav leaned back in the armchair near the hearth, sipping tea that had long gone cold.
"You know your friends," he said with a smile. "Lively bunch. They went to one of the outer islands. Mission to capture that rogue guild."
Katrina tilted her head slightly. "The one that used to be under our jurisdiction? The small-time group that broke away?"
Madhav nodded. "That's the one. Got bold recently. Someone's funding them."
Katrina reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a tightly wrapped object.
"Here," she said, handing it over. "The exact item you sent me to retrieve."
Madhav took it, unwinding the cloth just enough to reveal a coiled black whip. Magic shimmered along the leather like oil on water.
"You opened the box?"
Katrina didn't flinch. "I was intrigued."
He gave a small chuckle. "Keep it. It's not government property. That mansion belonged to one of the Black Market giants. They've been smuggling items to rogue guilds and pirates for years."
Katrina raised a brow. "If you told me their stuff was ours to keep, I wouldn't have burned their entire supply line while I was there."
"Well, I only had intel on the whip," Madhav said, leaning back. "But I figured it'd suit you."
Katrina smiled faintly, the first real expression she'd worn all day.
"...It does."
---
Back at the yard, Ashen now sat cross-legged, eyes closed, letting the morning breeze cool his skin.
Meanwhile. Katrina stands in the center, flipping the whip between her fingers. Its magical threads pulse faintly — alive, electric.
She cracks it once — SNAP! — and a current of violet energy slices the air, leaving behind a trail of sparks.
Katrina
(eyes glinting, a rare smile forming)
"Can't wait to show this off to the others."
In front of her, Madhav, arms behind his back, wearing that ever-serene smile that never gives away everything.
Madhav
"The first one you'll show it to… will be your student."
Katrina lowers the whip slowly. Her head tilts.
Katrina
"Student?"
(skeptical, flat)
Madhav walks past her, hands still behind him, and looks through the arched window. His gaze settles on the forested hill beyond the guild hall.
Madhav
(quietly, almost to himself)
"Eyes like he's seen war. Guts like he doesn't fear it. That kind of fire… it either burns the world or lights it up."
(turns to her)
"You'll be the one to find out which. One month. No missions. You'll teach him."
Katrina's expression tightens. She folds her arms, unimpressed.
Katrina
"How old is this prodigy?"
Madhav
(casual, almost amused)
"He'll turn four in a few weeks."
A beat.
Katrina blinks.
Then scoffs, the whip lowering completely to her side.
Katrina
(flat, sharp)
"I'm not a babysitter."
She turns, coat swishing as she strides toward the exit — whip at her side, mood soured.
Madhav
(calling after her, still smiling)
"Didn't say he needed babysitting. Said he needed sharpening."
Katrina doesn't stop walking. But something in her step... lingers. Just for a second.