The ship finally slowed as the Silk River narrowed into its final docking point — a bustling trade outpost located several kilometers before the capital. Sailors rushed to unload crates onto wooden platforms, where caravans and merchants waited to ferry goods toward Tray. Above them, the luminous Stones embedded in the stone sky brightened slightly — signaling the beginning of the bright phase of the day.
Polo hopped down from the railing and grabbed his pack, already slipping into the mindset of a merchant.
"Well, this is where we part ways… for a little while," he said, adjusting his coat. "Between inventory checks, trading permits, and making sure the capital doesn't rob me blind, I'll be buried in work for weeks."
Adlet smirked. "I thought you liked being buried in paperwork."
Polo shrugged, voice steady. "Where business thrives, I thrive. And here… business never sleeps." His gaze swept the bustling harbor — the perfect environment for a man like him.
He turned back, tone confident but sincere. "We'll meet again before the Master Protector tournament starts. A month and some days — don't be late."
Adlet nodded once. A promise. "You'll see me in the arena."
"And don't slack off with your training," Polo warned. "Try not to get yourself killed before I get to brag about knowing you."
They exchanged a bump of fists — lightly, like they had done a hundred times. But this one lingered. They both knew that the world was changing too fast for goodbyes to feel casual anymore.
Polo left with the workers, giving a final wave over his shoulder before being swallowed by the bustling trade outpost.
Adlet breathed in deeply — this was a new phase of his path.
Time to move.
The road toward Tray stretched ahead, winding up the rocky slopes that guarded the capital. Caravans creaked along the ascent, merchants shouting prices, Protectors on patrol scanning the distance.
The higher Adlet climbed, the more the capital revealed itself — not as a distant mirage, but as an imposing fortress of ambition. Towers of carved stone rose from the plateau, their peaks brushing against the luminous Stones embedded in the stone sky. Vast banners fluttered above thick walls, proclaiming a power that ruled far beyond these lands.
And yet… Tray felt smaller than before.
Not physically — no. The city's grandeur was undeniable.
But compared to the monstrous scale of what he had conquered — compared to the Forbidden Island, the Kraken, the mountain of Rokh — Tray no longer overshadowed him.
He felt aligned with it.
Like this world was no longer something to fear…
but something he could eventually conquer.
The road led him through the lower quarters of Tray — crowded streets where merchants shouted prices and guards patrolled the gates. The city expanded upward, carved into terraces of stone, each layer more refined and secure than the one below.
As he climbed, the noise of the market gave way to wide, calmer avenues. Here, the people carried themselves with the confidence of those living closer to power.
Higher still, past the noble district and its towering residences, the Academy finally came into view — dominating the cliffside like a crown of knowledge and ambition. Its halls rose tall against the stone sky, so high they almost brushed the glowing Stones embedded above.
Along the outer training fields, young apprentices practiced under the watch of instructors. Their voices carried faintly through the crisp air:
"Do you think we'll be on a mission soon?"
"If I reach Upper Rank 1 quickly, maybe…"
"What if I can't…?"
The sound pulled him backward in memory.
Not even two years ago, he had stood exactly where they stood now.
Full of excitement. Full of ignorance. Full of dreams that had not yet tasted fear.
He reached the outer training fields, and the sight of the apprentices stirred memories he thought he had left behind.
Daven came first — arrogant, cruel, always eager to assert dominance. Adlet had once burned with resentment toward him… yet now, after facing true terror, that rivalry felt insignificant — almost childish.
And then Florian.
They had not grown up together, but the Academy had forged a bond between them. They had helped each other study, train, believe they belonged there. Adlet had called him a friend.
That was why the betrayal cut so deep.
On their first mission, when fear took over, Florian had abandoned him — a desperate attempt to survive, even if it meant letting Adlet die.
Florian returned to Eos afterward… abandoning the Protector's path entirely.
Adlet wondered if he was happier now. If peace had found him where strength had failed.
He felt no hatred anymore — only a distant understanding.
Not everyone is built to walk this road…
And Adlet knew now more than ever that he was.
It feels like a lifetime ago…
And yet he was still so young.
He pushed open the doors of the central hall. Cool air, a faint echo of footsteps. He walked with purpose toward Barno's office and knocked.
Silence.
He tried again. Still nothing.
So he followed the distant rise and fall of a familiar voice down the corridor, until he reached the great amphitheater.
Barno stood on stage before a group of about twenty apprentices, his posture severe yet guiding. Adlet lingered at the back, unnoticed.
"…and by the end of your first year," Barno was saying, "those who have not reached Upper Rank 1 will face a choice." His tone was firm, devoid of sugarcoating. "Withdraw from the Protector path… or be assigned to low-tier surveillance missions near dangerous zones — until you finally reach a level fit to support a group."
Disappointment clouded the faces of several students.
One clenched his fists.
Another lowered her gaze.
Some seemed ready to vanish.
Adlet felt something twist in his chest — not pity… but understanding.
He had struggled. He had feared. He had doubted.
But he had never been forced to stare failure in the eyes like this.
Barno concluded the session, dismissing them with a nod. The apprentices shuffled out one by one, like shadows slipping away.
When the last pair left, Adlet stepped forward and spoke.
"Hello mister."
Barno froze mid-motion — surprise marking his features before he schooled them back into calm professionalism.
"…Adlet?" he breathed. "You're back already?"
Adlet grinned. "I came to register for the Master Protector tournament."
Barno blinked slowly, processing. "So soon once again? You do realize most take several years before considering such a leap, yes?"
Adlet's smirk sharpened with ambition. "I'm not most people."
Barno exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Trying to break every record ever set…"
"Don't worry. I have far better motivations than that."
"I'm sure you do…" Barno muttered — though there was a note of reluctant admiration hiding in his tone. "Well then. You know what must be done, for the sake of form."
Adlet nodded — stepped back — and let his Aura flow.
Black energy erupted along his arms like obsidian lightning — dense, heavy, controlled. The air thickened with a tangible weight.
Barno's eyes widened — just a flicker — but enough to reveal the truth.
He hadn't expected this.
"That growth… in less than two years…" Barno whispered, unable to hide the awe. "The boy who first stood in this academy hall…" He paused, then straightened. "You have permission to enter the tournament. And I will be honored to witness your performance."
Adlet bowed slightly — equal parts respect and certainty. "Thank you. I'll make sure it's a spectacle you won't forget."
He turned and left — a shadow of a smile lingering on Barno's face as he watched him go.
There were no more formalities needed.
No excuses left.
Only one path forward.
Adlet traversed the city, bought provisions from the market — prepared to abandon comfort once again.
Tray was no place to train at his level.
His progress would echo through the streets — and secrets were safest in solitude.
He crossed through the open gates and stepped into the quieter wilderness beyond the capital walls.
Trees rose toward the stone sky — their leaves catching the glow of the embedded Stars like scattered crystal fragments. The air smelled clean, untouched by the smoke and noise behind him.
After a few kilometers, he chose a clearing bordered by a gentle slope and a small stream — perfect for water, perfect for silence.
He set down his pack and built a simple shelter — branches woven tight, stones stacked for windbreak. His body moved through the motions faster than thought. Survival was muscle memory now.
When everything was set, he stepped into the center of the clearing.
Time to get to work.
He lifted his right arm — and the Black Scarab's Aura swelled.
A sleek, obsidian horn burst forth from his forearm — sharp as forged steel yet alive with aura.
It extended — one meter… two… before Adlet halted the growth. The longer it reached, the harder it was to maintain density.
He gritted his teeth and swung — the horn slicing the air with a whistle. Then another motion — a diagonal strike. A thrust. A pivot. A downward slash that nearly toppled him.
"Hah—!"
He stumbled back, breathing heavily.
Power wasn't the problem.
Control was.
Right now, the horn felt like a weapon he was borrowing — not yet one that truly belonged to him.
I need to make it an extension of myself… not a tool I'm forcing into shape.
He inhaled deeply, calming his pulse.
"Again."
The horn reformed — this time smoother, faster. He attacked the air with practiced forms, each movement incrementally steadier.
Still — it wasn't enough.
He paused, staring at his palm.
What if he could form it elsewhere?
Off the elbow… the shoulder… his back?
Total freedom of manifestation.
That would be evolution.
That would be progress.
He smiled — sharp and eager.
"One month," he whispered to himself. "No excuses."
He would shape this ability into a true technique — something that would turn the tournament into his stage.
Something that separated him from every other Protector.
He glanced up at the luminous Stones embedded in the stone sky — their glow beginning to dim subtly, signaling the rise of the night.
He welcomed the shift.
Night brought focus.
The Stars weren't just decoration — they were silent witnesses to every Protector's struggle. And tonight, Adlet felt their attention on him.
He clenched his fists, aura pulsing beneath his skin.
He thought of the ones who had fallen — to carry their hopes onward.
He thought of those who still fought at his side — Polo, Linoa, Lucien — and how much further they would go.
And he thought of himself — the boy who had survived when he shouldn't have, who refused to let fear decide his future.
Strength wasn't a trophy.
It was a promise.
A promise that he would never again stand powerless.
A breeze stirred the trees.
The Stars glimmered softly from their stony cradle above.
Adlet lowered his stance — focus sharp as the horn he sought to master —
—and trained.