The forest had fallen into its usual silence — the kind that made even shadows hold their breath.
The moonlight, faint and thin, barely reached the clearing where two figures stood.
One small and still bleeding, the other vast and coiled, its scales dark as midnight.
Keros' voice rumbled through the air like thunder rolling through the mountains.
"Again."
The boy did not answer. His chest rose and fell in quiet rhythm, the cracks on his mask gleaming faintly beneath the silver light.
He moved — or tried to.
But before his feet could shift, a thunderous sound cut through the air. The serpent's tail lashed out with terrifying speed.
The boy's perception caught every detail — the tension of muscle, the rippling displacement of air, the fracture lines forming where the tail would land — yet his body lagged behind his thoughts.
The impact came with brutal finality.
He was thrown back like a broken arrow, crashing against a tree trunk. Bark exploded around him, dust and mist filling the air.
Keros did not move to help.
He simply watched, silent, unreadable.
Valen rose slowly, his breathing shallow. Blood trickled down his arm, but his black eyes remained as hollow and focused as ever.
"Again," he whispered.
The serpent's pupils narrowed, not in mockery, but quiet irritation. "You cannot even dodge, boy. Your perception sees death coming—yet your body welcomes it."
Valen said nothing. His gaze remained distant, fixed somewhere beyond pain.
Keros exhaled heavily. "You are sharp, I'll give you that. But instinct without power is nothing."
Valen clenched his hands. They trembled—not from fear, but from rage.
Not at Keros.
At himself.
He could see everything.
Every opening, every flaw.
And yet, his muscles betrayed him. His body was a chain, dragging his mind down.
The serpent tilted his head. "Enough for tonight," he rumbled. "Your body can no longer keep up. Rest, before you break completely."
But the boy didn't listen.
He staggered forward.
Dust clung to his bare feet as his shadow stretched thin across the cracked ground.
Keros frowned. He could feel the stubbornness radiating off the boy like heat.
And then—
A sound like cracking glass.
The air vibrated. The faint pulse of darkness shimmered briefly around Valen's form — not the unknown ancient one, but something eerily familiar.
Keros' pupils dilated.
That darkness… it was his.
His own power — but wrong. Different. Distorted.
The same energy he'd offered the boy during their bond ritual, now thrumming with something older, heavier.
"No…" Keros murmured under his breath. "That's… impossible."
He could feel it rising, not from the world, but from within Valen — like a tide he could not command.
The air thickened, cold pressing against the serpent's scales.
The ground beneath the boy's feet fractured.
Dark tendrils leaked from his body, faint and unformed, but their weight bent the air around him. His mask cracked, a faint line running across its surface.
"Stop," Keros growled.
But the boy wasn't listening.
He stood there, trembling, his lips parting slightly as a low whisper escaped.
"I'm… too weak."
His voice cracked, soft and broken — the first time Keros had heard even a sliver of emotion from him.
And in that moment of raw frustration, the darkness pulsed violently.
The evolved fragment — Abyssal Sovereignty — began to awaken, its sealed energy responding to the boy's turbulent emotions.
Keros' eyes widened. Even sealed, its pressure was terrifying. It clawed against his instincts — primal, endless, hungry.
"Foolish boy!" Keros thundered. "That power isn't meant to be touched—!"
Before his voice could reach him, blue light flashed in front of Valen's eyes.
[Warning: Abyssal Sovereignty seal integrity compromised.]
[Emergency stabilization protocol initiated.]
The voice was calm. Mechanical. Unfeeling.
Valen froze. His breathing slowed as new text began to shimmer before his sight.
[Reinforcing seal: 97% suppression active.]
[Host body stability restored.]
And just like that—
The pressure vanished.
The tendrils of darkness recoiled, sucked back into him like smoke into a vacuum. The clearing fell silent, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves.
Keros exhaled slowly, his body tense. He had fought gods, witnessed kingdoms fall — yet the thing sealed inside this frail boy unnerved him more than any war.
Valen fell to one knee, panting. His small frame trembled, sweat and dust streaking his face.
The faint hum of the system persisted.
[System Task Generated]
[Objective: Strengthen physical foundation – Stage One]
[Requirement: Complete 100 consecutive strikes before sunrise.]
[Reward: Basic Reinforcement (+1 to all stats)]
He blinked at the floating text, silent, his dark eyes reflecting the faint glow.
Keros watched from a distance, still unsettled. "What do you see, boy?"
Valen didn't answer immediately. His chest rose and fell, the faintest flicker of confusion in his gaze.
"…Something," he said finally, voice low. "It's… showing me things."
Keros frowned, coils shifting uneasily. "Things?"
Valen didn't reply. His gaze shifted toward a broken tree nearby. Slowly, shakily, he walked up to it.
Then — he struck.
The sound of impact broke the silence.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Even when his body screamed and blood ran down his hands, he didn't stop. The world around him faded until there was only the rhythm of his fists, the pain, and the faint gleam of blue light hovering in his vision.
By the time the last strike landed, the first rays of dawn had begun to bleed into the wilderness.
[Task complete.]
[Reward applied.]
[Strength +1 | Endurance +1 | Agility +1]
Valen stood still, breathing heavily. His body trembled, but deep within, he felt something—tiny, but real—shift.
Power.
Barely perceptible. But his.
He looked down at his hand, flexing it slightly.
The serpent spoke softly. "That darkness you wield… even sealed, it resists control. You will need discipline before it devours you."
Valen didn't respond. His black eyes lifted toward the fading night, a faint gleam of determination behind the emptiness.
He didn't understand the System.
He didn't understand the seal.
But one thing was clear —
He would not remain weak.