The sword was heavier on the second swing. Cal adjusted his grip, instinctively correcting his stance as he struck again. The motion was slower. Not by much, but just enough to notice.
The blade passed through bark and armor alike.
Nothing happened.
What is this thing? It's not even budging from my sword!
The knight-like figure continued to slowly advance, towering over both Cal and Vincent with its wooden structure. Cal gripped his sword tighter, changing his stance and twisting his body for another swing.
The blade traced a clean arc through the air, shoulders rotating, hips following through with the proper form that Darius drilled into him. The edge bit into the knight's torso, carving through layered bark and darkened grain. Splinters burst outward.
Cal gripped even harder, dragging the sword. However, it wasn't against resistance from the wood, but itself, as if the motion had been thickened mid-swing. Cal grunted against the strain, trying his best to move the blade despite the resistance applied on itself.
Cal wrenched the blade free and stumbled a half-step forward. His boots scraped against the forest floor, balance correcting just in time to keep him upright. His arms burned, a deep ache spreading from his wrists up into his shoulders.
The wound he'd made closed soundlessly. Bark knit back together, grain realigning as though the cut had never existed.
"Damn it-" Cal breathed, already moving again.
Cal angled for the legs this time, aiming low to cut it off from its foundations. A horizontal sweep meant to sever, to topple. The blade passed through both limbs in a spray of wood and rot.
The figure did not falter, and as Cal continued his swing, he noticed how it slowed even further, muscles locking halfway through the follow-through. His hands trembled as he tried to recover, breath hitching sharply in his chest. All of this felt delayed, like his muscles were obeying his thoughts many seconds too late.
Behind him, Cal heard the sound of Vincent's voice. Cal assumed it was just yelling, but the sound of his breaths and the sensation of his heart in his ears drowned out anything that could've potentially been heard.
Vincent stood with clenched fists and wide eyes, frozen between instinct and futility. A normal boy, watching something that could not be reasoned with.
Cal pressed forward anyway, not aware of such a notion. He went for an overhead strike, two-handed with all of his weight behind it.
The sword sank into the figure's shoulder and stuck. It was held there, as Cal strained and ground his teeth in an effort to pull back. His arms were shaking violently as the rate of his heartbeat increased more and more. The longer he held the blade there, the heavier it became, until it felt as though the forest itself was leaning down on him.
Eventually, he tore the sword back and staggered as he did so, his chest heaving. As he did, the knight-like figure raised one massive arm. Its movement was unhurried, like a snake poised to strike.
Cal forced himself to move, feet dragging as he circled, each step slower than the last. The sound of his boots against the earth and the pain from gripping his sword too hard had drowned out the creaking of bark and wood.
It doesn't matter how I strike or how hard I try to hit this creature! Every swing's taking something from me! Why is it getting so difficult to attack?
Cal's thought continued to race, scrambling for something that wouldn't result in failing muscle or burning lungs. Something that would make a difference in such a predicament.
White.
The memory surfaced uninterrupted. Not a technique, nor a new stance. Just an image of what he saw in the past few hours.
His sword had glowed before, the light forming and dissipating like it struggled to exist. Every time he saw it when he attacked — whether it was the stags, or the humanoids which bore bells that clung to their flesh — he noticed that it didn't merely cut, but it erased. Parts of those creatures didn't just fall away, but they simply ceased. No blood. No remains. Just absence, carved clean out of the world.
It hadn't felt like strength then but rather felt like it was completely natural. So much so, he didn't even realize that his strikes had such an effect until those bodies fell. Like the blade was following an unknown reality that had already started its course.
Cal sucked in a sharp breath and forced the image forward. Not with his arms this time, not with his legs, but with his mind. He pictured the white glow bleeding along the edge of the sword. Pictured the air parting before it. Pictured the knight-like's bark and grain unraveling into nothing, the way those other creatures had.
It always happened spontaneously before... If I can visualize it now based on what I've seen then, maybe I have a chance of landing a proper strike! Just like before! Visualize it! Ponder it!
And with that, something answered.
It wasn't that light. Not at first anyway. Rather, it was pressure, sudden and invasive, blooming behind his eyes. His vision sharpened unnaturally, edges too clear, the world etched in brittle detail. His heartbeat stuttered.
Cal staggered one step forward and raised his sword again, hands tightening around the grip as a faint pallor crept along the blade. There wasn't a glow as such, but more like the suggestion of one, like something half-remembered trying to surface.
His nose burned.
Cal felt the warmth spill down his upper lip, dripping free before he even realized it was there. The metallic scent of blood cut through the damp forest air. Cal ignored it and swung anyway.
But as he did, the motion felt wrong immediately.
The sword wasn't just heavier like it was before, but this time, there was huge pause in the motions. This was much different from the previous attacks, as though his body had to ask permission to obey. His hands began to tremble, fingers spasming around the hilt as the pallor along the blade flickered unevenly.
The pain flooded his skull in a dull and swelling manner, like something pushing outward from the inside. The blade bit into the knight-like figure's torso, and for a heartbeat, the bark around the wound dimmed.
As the blade continued to drive through the bark, shallow hollow formed where the edge passed through, edges thinning unnaturally, like wood being sanded away by an invisible force.
Cal's strength gave out.
Mid-swing, his arms buckled. The pallor vanished and shattered, snuffed out as abruptly as the perturbation in Cal's swing. He gasped as his knees nearly gave way, breath tearing raggedly from his chest. He barely managed to wrench the sword free before stumbling backward, boots digging furrows into the soil.
The wound was almost nonexistent with the way it closed up, like it never came to be. Cal dropped to one knee, one hand braced against the ground as his vision swam. Blood dripped freely now, pattering softly against dead leaves. His hands shook uncontrollably, muscles quivering as if he'd run himself hollow.
"Hnn..." he grunted lowly, the pain in his head eliciting a dull throb which amplified the discomfort from his blood nose.
That's it? I can't use it at will without falling like this?! Damn it all!
The harsh reality settled around him, colder than the forest air that brushed against his skin. Before, it had happened when he wasn't trying. When his body moved on instinct. When he wasn't reaching for it.
But forcing the phenomenon into reality by will was an entirely different matter. It demanded far more than what Cal could give, and he was paying that price. Whatever he had touched before, he didn't understand it. And trying to grasp it blindly was tearing him apart faster than this creature ever could.
Ahead of him, the knight-like figure took another slow step forward, bark creaking softly as it raised its massive arm once more.
A scream sounded nearby. Cal recognized Vincent's voice immediately. However, he didn't care about the fear etched into the yell. He couldn't care even if he tried. There was nothing more to await and expect. There would be nothing but a permanent, silencing stillness after the next breath.
There was no warning for what came next. No gathering of strength. One moment it stood there, towering and unbothered, and the next its massive arm swept through the space where Cal knelt.
The impact rammed sideways and Cal felt himself lift off the ground, before he felt the pain. He felt the rough texture of ground leave his body as he sailed through the air, weightless for a breathless instant, before his back slammed into a tree with a sound like splitting wood. The bark bit into him, driving the air from his lungs in a single, violent burst.
His vision went white, then black crept in along the edges. Cal slid down the trunk, collapsing against its base in a tangle of limbs and steel. His sword slipped from numb fingers, clattering uselessly against roots and stone. Pain bloomed late and deep, radiating from his spine in dull, crushing waves that made his stomach lurch.
He tried to breathe, but all that came out was a refusal from his chest. A strangled sound escaped his throat as his lungs finally obeyed, dragging in a shallow, burning gasp. Each breath after that came worse than the last, scraping and uneven, as though something inside him had shifted out of place.
Cal felt the warmth of his blood travel out of his nose. The world narrowed down to the pain from overexertion and his blows, as well as the rugged nature of the bark. He could feel the way his limbs refused to respond no matter how urgently his mind demanded it.
Through his blurred vision, Cal saw the figure turn. He could feel the ground slightly quake with every step it took in advancement. Bark creaked and groaned with each movement. Its shadow stretched long across the ground, swallowing Cal where he lay.
Vincent stood where he was this entire time, not daring to move forward. It wasn't even possible for him. He tried to take a step forward — then stopped. He knew it was useless. Knew there was nothing he could do.
Cal painfully held up a hand, trying his best to gasp out a refusal to any potential decisions Vincent could make that would result in death. He tried to say the word, but all that came out was a pained groan from.
The figure finally stilled right before Cal, the bark creaking softly as it loomed over Cal, blotting out the pale light filtering through the canopy. One massive arm lifted, wood groaning as it rose, shadow falling across Cal's face.
This was it. No chance of making it to the runecarriage terminal. No chance of making it to Nareth. No chance of ever making it past what he knew.
Mediocrity. He should've stuck with it. Not glory. Not meaning.
Just… here.
A strange regret bloomed in his mind, which lined up with his reminiscing of the shop. The mundane routine, the constant fetching of ironstone, and toiling away in the workshop. He thought of how simple things used to be — and how he thought he'd been the one to chase something more.
Why... Why did I want this?
The life beyond these trees didn't even come time him anymore. The Trials, the terminal, the stags, or the other creatures.
He thought about going back. About a life where he didn't need to be anything more than what he was. Then that decision he made after witnessing what existed beyond Lamnor in the tunnel. Was either option really better than the other?
The arm began to descend.
Crack!
A sharp, piercing sound split through the air. Frost erupted through the beast's raised arm, blooming violently from the inside out. Ice raced along bark and grain, spreading across its hand in jagged veins as the wood blackened and split, steam hissing as the cold burned through it. The limb shattered mid-swing, eliciting a recoil from the creature. It was a soundless jerk of its massive frame as it staggered backward.
It turned, but not towards Cal. It faced the opposite direction, fleeing from the direction of whatever it is that caused its injury.
CRACK!
A sharper, louder lance of frost tore through the air and struck the monster square in the head. Ice engulfed it in an instant. Bark froze solid, then ruptured, splintering outward as the figure collapsed and shattered into inert, lifeless fragments that hit the forest floor with heavy, final thuds.
Silence, raw and unfiltered, permeated the area. Cal half-lay there, staring at the creature's dead body. His ears rang faintly. The forest felt distant, unreal. Slowly, painfully, he became aware of movement to his side.
A girl stepped out from a tree, holding a bow loosely at her side, her gait taut with focus. Her eyes were trained on the remains of the figure, and that's when Cal noticed something. Wisps of pale frost-smoke curled lazily from her fingertips, dissipating into the air. After a long moment, she exhaled and lowered the weapon fully, tension draining from her shoulders.
"I never expected a rootbound sentinel to awaken before the sun fully rose," she muttered. "This forest really is unpredictable."
Only then, did it seem like she even noticed Cal.
Her gaze flicked toward him, sharp and assessing, before softening. She jogged over lightly, boots barely disturbing the leaves, crouching beside the shattered remains to double-check. Satisfied, she straightened with a small sigh of relief.
"Thank the Stars!" she said, glancing back at Cal. She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "That was a lucky shot on my end. I didn't think I'd actually be able to incapacitate it so quickly!"
Cal blinked, having no time to process what just happened before Vincent came running up to him. He dropped to his knees, tears already forming in his eyes. His hands were hovering uselessly as panic spilled over his face.
"Cal! Cal, are you... Are you alive? Don't move, don't-" he started.
"I'm... alive," Cal rasped, cutting Vincent's worried words off. He was more so surprised to find that he was.
He pushed himself up slowly, every motion sending dull agony through his back. The girl was already there, steadying him without hesitation.
"Slow down," she said. "You took a hit from one of those and lived to tell the tale. You standing is a miracle!"
Up close, Cal saw her in full. She was around his age, maybe a little younger. Pale skin flushed faintly from exertion. Hair the color of winter wheat, tied back messily, strands escaping to frame sharp, attentive eyes. They were an icy blue that mimicked the very frost that she shot. Those eyes hadn't stopped scanning the surroundings even now. Her clothes were practical. They were layered leathers and cloth, worn but well-kept, dusted with frost that hadn't fully melted. Different shades of brown and tan overlapped from said clothes.
But all of that was thrown to the wayside as Cal came to a realization. She met his gaze and smiled, quick and easy.
"I'm Elira," she said. "Elira de la Serre!"
Cal straightened instinctively, immediately regretting it as pain flared through his spine. His eyes widened.
"Y-You're an Ecliptic, aren't you?"