The forest wind whispered through the ruins at the edge of ironveil district, carrying the scent of rust, moss, and rain-soaked dust. Rein stood alone beside a fractured statue — the faint outline of a man in imperial armor, its face eroded by time. The statue's chest still bore the faded insignia of the Fluxion Imperium — three intersecting rings, the mark of unity now long forgotten.
He looked at it for a long while, his metallic arm clenched tight around a worn comms device. The static crackled, and then a faint voice came through — hoarse, old, yet steady.
"Rein Karsen. It's been years."
Rein exhaled slowly. "Lord Caleus. I didn't think you still used this frequency."
"We never abandoned the old codes. The Empire may have fallen, but its fire still burns in those loyal enough to remember."
Rein's eyes hardened. "Then hear me clearly — the boy lives. The last son of the Emperor has awakened his cores. The Obsidian Order has learned of it and am sure that stupid emperor has too."
A silence followed. Then the voice returned, lower now, cautious.
"So the rumors were true… the bloodline survives. That means the Nexus could—"
Rein cut him off. "Don't. Don't finish that thought. You know what that power cost the world the last time."
"And yet it's the only way to rebuild it," Caleus said quietly. "Fluxion bleeds, Karsen. The Order's grip tightens. The aliens are stirring. Without the royal blood, there is no hope."
Rein turned away, staring at the forest. The faint hum of Jiro's training could be heard in the distance — the sound of elemental fire bursting against stone.
"He's just a boy," Rein murmured. "He doesn't even know what he is. Gin and I promised to protect him, not use him."
"Protect him?" Caleus repeated. "Or chain him? You can't hide the truth forever. When the Nexus calls, the blood will answer."
Rein's jaw tightened. His hand dropped to the pendant under his shirt — the same insignia as the statue. "The Order thinks they can control him. The aliens want to capture him. And now even you people want to use him. Tell me, Caleus — who's left to save him?"
There was no answer. Only the sound of static and distant thunder.
Rein crushed the comms unit in his fist. Sparks burst from the broken device.
He looked up at the fading sky. "Forgive me, old friend," he whispered. "But I won't let any of you decide his fate."
•••••
Jiro's breathing was ragged, his hands trembling as smoke rose from the scorched soil. The flames he'd conjured moments ago were gone, leaving only the faint hiss of evaporating water. The balance between the two elements still escaped him — fire burned too hot, water refused to yield.
Rein stepped out from the shadows, slow and deliberate, his boots crunching over gravel. "You're forcing them," he said quietly. "Fire doesn't bend through will. It bends through rhythm."
Jiro wiped sweat from his brow and exhaled, trying again. A flicker of flame ignited in his right palm — smaller this time — while his left hand drew moisture from the air. They hovered close but not together, like two beasts watching each other with suspicion.
"Feel them," Rein said, circling him. "Fire is hunger. Water is patience. The moment you make them fight, you lose control. Let them dance."
Jiro focused — breathing deep. The flames softened, the water shimmered brighter. For a heartbeat, they merged into a thin stream of mist and light. Then — boom — the air erupted again, sending Jiro sprawling back onto the ground.
Rein sighed, then crouched beside him. "Better. You lasted two seconds longer this time."
Jiro groaned. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
A faint smirk tugged at Rein's lips. "A little."
They sat there in silence for a while — only the sound of wind brushing through the metal trees of Ironveil. The district stretched around them like a sleeping giant — iron towers, rust-colored soil, and the faint hum of old factories that once forged the weapons of the Empire.
Rein pulled a flask from his coat and handed it over. "Drink. Ironveil air dries you faster than training does."
Jiro took a sip and winced. "Tastes like oil."
"That's Ironveil for you," Rein replied. "Once, this place built ships for the Empire. Now it's a scrapyard where everyone fights for scrap or survival."
Jiro looked down at his hands — the faint glow of his cores pulsing beneath the skin. "Then why bring me here?"
"To learn control," Rein said. "This place teaches patience through struggle. If you can control your energy here, you can control it anywhere."
A soft silence followed. The air shimmered faintly from the residual energy Jiro had released. He watched the older man, noticing the exhaustion hidden behind his calm expression.
"Rein," Jiro said finally. "Why are you helping me? Really. It has been eight months"
Rein didn't look at him. He stared instead at the dying sunset over Ironveil — where the old imperial banners once flew. "Because someone has to," he said quietly. "And because… there are debts that never fade."
Jiro didn't press further. Something in Rein's tone carried too much weight — too much pain. Instead, he looked out toward the horizon, watching the faint glow of forges flicker like dying stars.
For a brief moment, neither of them were teacher and student — just two survivors of a world that had forgotten its peace.
The night deepened. Somewhere far off, thunder rumbled — the low, distant roar of a storm slowly approaching.
Rein rose to his feet. "Tomorrow, you'll begin resonance drills," he said. "If you can't control the fire or water within a single breath, I would break two or three of your bones personally."
Jiro gave a tired grin. "Wouldn't be ur first time trying."
Rein looked down at him — and though his expression stayed cold, something in his eyes softened.
He's learning faster than I expected, Rein thought. But when the truth comes… will he still trust me?
He turned away before the thought could linger, his cloak swaying in the wind.
*****