I'm nine again.
The air feels different first.
Cool, but not cold. The kind of morning breeze that moves through your shirt without biting at your skin.
I'm sitting at the top of the hill overlooking central Rivenden, legs stretched out, palms pressed into the grass behind me.
The city looks calm from up here.
Rows of rooftops. Thin trails of smoke. The main street cutting straight through the center. I can almost imagine I hear the faint sounds of people starting their day.
Behind me, the giant tree stands firm, just like it always has. Its trunk is wide enough that I can't wrap my arms around it even if I tried. I lean back against it, feeling the rough bark press through my shirt.
I've spent hours here before.
After arguments.
After long days.
Sometimes just to think.
Sometimes just to sit.
I pick at a blade of grass and flick it down the hill.
Everything feels steady.
Normal.
Then something cracks.
It's quiet. Subtle.
I turn my head.
The sound doesn't come from the tree.
Or the city.
It comes from the air itself.
About twenty feet in front of me, a thin fracture splits open in midair. Like a line drawn through glass. It doesn't tear the sky apart — it just exists there, suspended.
I slowly stand up.
The crack widens slightly, jagged at the edges. A soft silver-white glow leaks from within it. Not blinding. Just steady.
I walk toward it carefully. My boots press into the grass like normal. The closer I get, the colder the air feels.
The fracture hums faintly.
I stop right in front of it.
The silver light reflects in my eyes.
I hesitate for half a second.
Then I reach forward and touch it.
The world drops.
There's no explosion.
No loud noise.
Everything simply disappears beneath my feet.
The hill, the tree, the city — gone.
I'm falling.
The sky above fractures into pieces like glass breaking in slow motion. Large translucent shards float around me, glowing faintly in different colors — blues, greens, golds, purples. They spin lazily as I descend through endless darkness.
There's no wind rushing past me.
Just the steady feeling of falling.
I look down at my hands.
They're bigger.
Older. Back to normal.
The shards around me begin to flicker.
One drifts close enough for me to see inside it.
I recognize the scene immediately.
I'm six.
Yui is three.
She's standing in the kitchen, barely tall enough to reach the table, struggling to hold a cup with both hands. I remember that cup. It was too big for her.
She looks frustrated.
I'm standing beside her, holding the bottom of it steady while she tries to lift it herself.
"Like this," I hear my younger voice say faintly.
She looks up at me, eyes wide and determined.
The shard floats away.
Another comes into view.
I'm seven now. Aiken and Kensei are eleven. We're out in the streets near the old house in central Rivenden, racing each other toward the market. Aiken's ahead, laughing. Kensei shoves me lightly as he passes, telling me to stop slowing them down.
I remember how mad I got about that.
Even though I was smiling.
That shard drifts past.
Another.
I'm standing on a stool in the kitchen, helping Mom mix something in a large bowl. She keeps telling me not to spill it. I do anyway.
Flour dust floats through the air.
Yui is sitting on the floor nearby, playing with something she probably shouldn't be touching.
Mom sighs but smiles.
The memory fades.
I keep falling.
More shards pass.
Small things.
Sitting on the front steps at night.
Watching the rain hit the cobblestone.
Kensei complaining about something pointless.
Aiken trying to act older than he is.
Yui holding onto my sleeve when she was scared of thunder.
Nothing dramatic.
Just pieces of home.
Then one shard appears larger than the rest.
It slows as it drifts in front of me.
I know this one before I even see it clearly.
All of us are there.
Me.
Kensei.
Aiken.
Yui.
We're inside the old house in central Rivenden.
Someone knocks.
All four of us look toward the door at the same time.
Yui is the first to run.
I follow right behind her.
We race across the wooden floor toward the front entrance.
The door swings open.
A man steps inside.
Long brown hair.
Large bangs falling over his forehead.
His face is slightly blurry in the memory — not completely clear — but I know exactly who it is.
The feeling in my chest tells me enough.
The shard begins to crack.
And that's when I hear it.
A deep, heavy sound.
Not from the memory.
From above me.
A massive door opening.
I twist my body mid-fall and look up.
Far above, in the endless dark, a gigantic silver door slowly opens.
Light pours through the gap as it widens.
Brighter than anything around me.
The floating shards drift away as if pushed back by the pressure of it.
The door opens fully.
Behind it—
An eye.
Massive.
Silver.
It fills the space completely.
The iris is sharp and focused.
It's looking straight at me.
The falling stops.
I'm suspended in the air again.
The eye doesn't blink.
It just watches.
My chest tightens, but I don't feel panic.
Just pressure.
Like something important is about to happen.
Without thinking, I reach upward toward it.
My arm stretches as far as it can.
The eye seems closer now.
Almost within reach—
My hand slams into something solid.
Pain shoots through my palm.
The darkness shatters.
I'm on my bedroom floor.
My arm is raised toward the ceiling.
Breathing hard.
The room is dim, lit only by faint early morning light creeping through the window.
I slowly lower my hand and sit up.
My heart is pounding against my ribs.
For a second, I just sit there.
Quiet.
I look toward the window.
The sun is barely beneath the horizon. A thin orange glow edges the rooftops of Rivenden.
Morning.
I rub my head and exhale.
"…Just a dream."
But the feeling lingers.
The falling.
The door.
The eye.
I push myself to my feet.
I glance at my bag resting against the wall.
"The trials," I mutter quietly.
I take one last breath, steadying myself, then turn away from the window and start getting ready.
**
The platform feels different today.
Not louder. Not quieter. Just heavier.
Steam rolls low along the tracks, curling around boots and luggage. Conversations blend into a steady hum that never fully settles. Parents stand close to their kids. Some talk too much. Some don't talk at all.
My bag rests at my side. The strap of my sword presses firmly across my chest, the weight steady against my back.
I sneeze.
It cuts through the air sharper than I expect.
Yui immediately stiffens beside me. "You're sick."
"It's just dust." I glance down at her. She's trying to look annoyed, but her fingers are twisted into the edge of my sleeve.
I don't say anything.
The train whistle sounds faintly in the distance.
Low. Distant. Getting closer.
Aiken nudges me lightly. "That's ours."
I nod.
The vibration reaches us a few seconds later, subtle at first. Yui moves closer without thinking. This time she doesn't pretend she didn't.
Her hand grips the back of my shirt tighter.
I look back down at her.
She isn't looking at me. She's staring straight ahead like if she focuses hard enough, this moment won't actually happen.
I ruffle her hair gently.
"Don't make Mom too mad while I'm gone."
She nods once.
"And stay out of whatever Kendra drags you into."
Another nod.
Her eyes shine, but she's fighting it.
"I'm not crying," she says.
I don't argue.
The whistle grows louder. The train rounds the bend and comes into view, metal catching sunlight as it slows into the station.
I turn to Mom.
She's already looking at me.
White hair bright under the sun. Green eyes steady and calm like always.
She steps closer.
"Eat properly."
"I will."
"Sleep."
"I'll try."
"No," she says gently. "Actually sleep."
I nod again.
She studies my face a little longer than usual. Not searching. Just memorizing.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," she says quietly.
The words settle somewhere deep.
I nod.
"I know."
The train screeches softly as it comes to a stop. Steam spills out in thick bursts. Doors slide open along the side.
I step forward and hug her.
She wraps her arms around me firmly, one hand resting at the back of my head. Steady. Warm. Familiar.
"I'm proud of you," she says.
Simple.
But it hits.
I pull back slowly.
Yui moves in next, hugging me around the waist without saying anything. She squeezes tighter than usual, pressing her face into my chest for a second like she's trying to remember it.
I rest my chin lightly on her head.
She pulls away first.
"You better come back," she says.
"I will, and I'll even bring you something."
Aiken hugs Yui, then Mom.
The doors are fully open now.
I adjust my bag and step toward the train.
Before boarding, I look back one more time.
Mom stands straight, hands folded loosely now. Calm. Steady.
Yui waves both arms.
A few steps to the right—
Xaviar stands with his arms crossed, posture relaxed but solid. He doesn't wave immediately. Just watches.
Beside him, Igon is the complete opposite. Long grey hair tied back loosely, beard shifting as he grins wide. He lifts one arm high and waves like he's trying to flag down a ship at sea.
Xaviar finally raises two fingers in a small, subtle gesture.
I lift my hand in return.
I board.
Aiken follows.
We find seats near a window.
I sit down and immediately look out.
The train jerks once.
Then starts moving.
Slowly at first.
The platform slides past inch by inch.
Mom grows smaller.
Yui keeps waving.
Igon's arm is still in the air.
Xaviar lowers his hand but doesn't move.
Then—
Movement catches my eye.
Two figures sprinting along the platform.
Kendra.
Jasper.
They're running full speed, weaving past people, not caring who they bump into.
Kendra's red hair flies behind her as she cups her hands around her mouth.
"Kin!"
Even through the window, I can see the tears streaming down her face.
She's not hiding it.
"You better kick some ass!" she yells.
Jasper runs beside her, glasses slightly crooked from the sprint.
"Become an Ethereal Knight!" he shouts, voice cracking just slightly.
I can't hear everything clearly, but I see their mouths move. I see their hands wave wildly.
I press my palm lightly against the window.
They keep running as long as they can.
Until the train picks up speed.
Until their steps can't keep up anymore.
They slow.
Then stop.
Still waving.
Still shouting something I can't make out.
The station begins to shrink behind us.
Redmere fades into the distance.
I lean back slowly in my seat.
There's a tightness in my chest I don't name.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Something.
This is it.
The platform disappears from view.
And the train carries us toward Central Rivenden.
**
The train's been moving long enough that the noise fades into something steady.
At first it's loud — metal scraping, wood creaking, the subtle sway when the tracks curve — but after a while it just becomes part of the air. Constant. Predictable.
I sit by the window and watch the land slide past.
Fields stretch out wide, long rows of crops broken by narrow dirt paths and fences. Farmers move slowly between them, sleeves rolled up, not even glancing at the train anymore.
They've probably seen hundreds.
I rest my forehead lightly against the glass.
Across from me, Aiken watches me for a few seconds before speaking.
"You've barely blinked since we left," she says, adjusting the collar of her jacket. "You look like you're waiting for something to jump out of the grass."
I don't turn toward her.
"I'm just looking."
"At what."
I take a second before answering.
"I don't know. Everything. It just feels… smaller than I remember."
She leans forward slightly, elbows on her knees.
"That's because you're moving," she says. "Things always look smaller when you're the one leaving them."
I glance at her.
She sits back again, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear.
"You nervous?" she asks after a moment, more casually this time.
I watch a lone tree pass by before answering.
"Not like I thought I'd be."
"That's not a real answer, Kin."
I sigh quietly.
"I don't feel scared. I just don't want to mess it up."
She nods slowly, like she expected that.
"Yeah. That part doesn't go away," she says. "When I took it, I thought the nerves would hit me the night before. Or the morning of. They didn't. They hit me in random moments. Sitting. Waiting. Watching other people."
She studies my face.
"You don't strike me as someone who's scared of fighting."
"I'm not."
"I know. That's not what I mean."
The train crosses a short bridge and the sound changes for a few seconds. We both glance out the window at the river below before it disappears behind us.
"The physical stuff is straightforward," she continues. "You win. You lose. You get back up. But the Trials aren't just about that. They're about how you handle being watched. Compared. Judged."
I shift slightly in my seat.
"I'm used to that."
She raises an eyebrow.
"You think so?"
I met her eyes briefly.
"I've been compared to him my whole life."
She doesn't argue with that.
Instead, she leans back and folds her arms loosely.
"Yeah," she says. "You have."
We sit in silence for a moment.
Outside, the fields slope into low hills dotted with trees.
"You still stuck at fifteen?" she asks, nodding toward my sword strap.
"Yeah."
"And you hate that."
"Yes."
She lets out a small breath through her nose.
"You've always hated limits," she says. "Even when we were kids. If someone told you to slow down, you'd go faster just to prove you could."
"That's not true."
She gives me a look.
"You tried to race Kensei uphill with a sprained ankle."
"That was different."
She softens slightly.
"You don't have to break yourself to prove you're moving forward," she says. "If fifteen's where you are right now, then that's where you are. That doesn't mean you stop. It just means you don't tear yourself apart trying to jump to twenty."
I look back out the window.
The land opens up again, a herd of cattle grazing near a fence.
"I don't want to show up and be… average," I say quietly.
She doesn't laugh.
"You won't be," she says. "But even if you were — average people still pass."
"That's not what I want."
She studies me.
"No," she says. "It's not."
The train hums steadily beneath us.
After a while, she adds,
"You don't have to do this to catch up to anyone."
"I'm not."
She tilts her head slightly.
"You're sure?"
I don't answer immediately.
Instead, I watch a patrol of riders moving across a distant field. Even from here, their posture is unmistakable.
Knights.
"I just don't want to stay the same," I say eventually.
She nods once.
"That's a better reason."
The train continues east.
We don't talk for a few minutes after that.
Just watch the world pass by.
**
A few hours had gone…
The light's warmer now. Lower. It stretches longer across the fields instead of sitting straight overhead. The shadows of trees trail behind them like dark stains on the land.
Aiken's asleep.
Her head's tilted toward the glass, a few strands of white hair brushing against it whenever the train rocks. One arm's folded across her chest. The other hangs loosely at her side.
I watched her for a second.
Then I look back out the window.
The countryside rolls past in steady layers — fields broken by fences, narrow dirt roads cutting through tall grass, the occasional farmhouse tucked far from the tracks. We pass a small herd of cattle, their heads lifting briefly at the sound of the train before they go back to grazing like nothing matters.
The rhythm of the wheels under us is steady.
Comforting, almost.
I stay seated for another minute before I realize my legs feel tight.
Too long sitting.
I push myself up slowly, careful not to bump the seat in front of us.
Aiken doesn't stir.
Good.
I step into the aisle and stretch once, arms lifting overhead, fingers lacing together as I lean slightly to one side. My shoulders pop faintly.
The train hums under my boots.
I start walking.
The first car is quiet in the normal way.
Conversations kept low. The occasional laugh. A spoon clinking against ceramic.
An older couple two rows ahead is playing some kind of card game on a fold-out tray between them. The woman frowns at her hand like it personally offended her. The man across from her smirks like he knows something she doesn't.
Across the aisle, a kid is asleep with his mouth open, head bouncing lightly every time the train shifts.
Someone unwraps food near the front of the car. The smell of grilled meat lingers faintly in the air.
It's ordinary.
I move into the next car.
This one's a little louder. A group of teens my age are sitting near the middle, comparing practice weapons. Wooden swords mostly. One dull metal short blade with chipped edges.
One of them glances at the sword on my back.
His eyes linger for half a second before he looks away.
A man near the window gives me a small nod as I pass.
I nod back.
The train leans slightly into a curve, and the metal creaks in a long, drawn-out groan before settling again.
I move into the next car.
This one's quieter.
Less crowded.
A woman sits alone near the center, a book open in her lap. She looks up briefly when I pass, then lowers her eyes back to the page. A younger kid stares at me openly until his mother nudges him and whispers something I can't hear.
I keep walking, rolling one shoulder absentmindedly.
The farther back I go, the fewer people there are.
The next car has only a handful of passengers. A man in work clothes with his hat tipped low over his face. A pair of women talking quietly near the back. A suitcase tucked under a seat with one strap hanging loose.
The air feels different back here.
Not heavy.
Just… still.
The train's hum feels louder without conversation layered over it.
I pause briefly near a window and glance outside.
The landscape's starting to shift.
Fields are giving way to more trees now. Taller ones. Denser patches. The tracks cut through them in a straight line.
The sun filters through branches in quick flashes as we pass.
I step forward again.
The next car has only three passengers. Two sitting across from each other but not speaking. One staring out the window with his arms crossed.
The kind of quiet that feels like it's waiting for something.
I didn't think much of it at first.
Just assume it's the distance from the main cars.
I reach the second-to-last car.
Only one passenger sits near the front.
Bigger man.
Hands folded.
He glances up at me when I enter, eyes sharp for a second before he looks away again.
The rest of the car is empty.
No luggage.
No scattered belongings.
Just open space.
The hum of the train feels louder here.
The walls creak slightly as we hit another curve.
I slow my steps without meaning to.
The door to the last cart stands ahead.
Closed.
No visible movement through the main window panel from this angle.
I step closer.
And that's when I hear it.
Low voices.
More than one.
Overlapping slightly.
Not casual conversation.
Short phrases.
Tight.
"…wait until the bend near the east pass…"
"…quick, grab what you can…"
"…no hesitation…"
"…before we hit the outer lines…"
The words aren't loud.
But they aren't careful either.
My fingers curl slightly at my side.
I shift slightly to the side and glance through the narrow window panel near the doorframe.
Inside the last cart stand seven — maybe eight — men.
All wearing masks.
Not decorative.
Cloth wrapped tight over the lower half of their faces.
Some lean against the walls. Others stand clustered near the center. One adjusts something at his belt. Another taps the hilt of a short blade absently with his fingers.
No one's sitting.
They're not spread out randomly.
They're positioned.
Waiting.
"…hit the front cars first…"
"…less resistance…"
"…grab valuables and move…"
"…off before Central…"
One of them laughs quietly.
My jaw tightens.
Bandits.
No question.
And they're not planning something small.
They're planning to clear the train before we reach Central Rivenden.
Which means they know patrol presence increases near the capital.
They've timed this.
Studied the route.
Picked the stretch where help is thinnest.
My eyes widen briefly at the thought of it all.
I have to go tell som—
The hand hits my shoulder like a hook.
Hard.
I don't even get time to turn fully before I'm yanked sideways and thrown through the door.
I hit the floor shoulder-first, roll once, and slide across the wooden boards of the last cart.
The door slams shut behind me.
When I look up, every masked face in the cart is staring at me.
Seven.
No—eight.
All standing. Spread out. Weapons low but ready.
The biggest one stands near the center, arms relaxed at his sides like he isn't in a rush.
The one who grabbed me steps in last, shutting the door behind him.
"He was listening," he says.
The big one looks down at me.
"How much did you hear?"
I push myself to my feet slowly.
"Enough."
That's when the first one moves.
He doesn't talk. He just lunges.
His fist comes wide, like he expects me to panic and cover up.
I don't move back.
I step in.
My forearm blocks his first, a gust of wind moving around us.
Before he could react, I swept his legs and slammed him into the ground.
His breath catches. I immediately follow up with a pivot of my hips and drive my knee hard into his ribs.
That's one.
Another rushes from my right, aiming high.
I slip outside his swing and answer with an elbow across his jaw.
The crack of impact snaps his head sideways. He stumbles.
I don't let him reset.
I grab the back of his neck and drive a knee up into his face.
He drops flat on his back.
Two.
A third tries to tackle from behind.
I feel the air shift before his hands reach me.
I duck and pivot, letting his momentum carry him past my shoulder. He crashes chest-first into the wooden wall.
I turn and slam a low kick into the back of his knee.
His leg buckles.
He drops to one knee.
I follow with a downward elbow between his shoulders.
He slumps forward.
Three.
The cart goes quiet for half a second.
Three bodies down.
The rest adjust.
No more rushing blind.
They spread out now—forming a loose circle.
The big one still hasn't moved.
He's watching.
Measuring.
Two come at me together.
One low, one high.
The low one dives for my legs.
I lift my knee sharply into his shoulder.
He grunts but keeps coming.
The high one swings for my temple.
I block with my forearm and immediately counter—short elbow to his cheekbone.
He recoils.
The low one finally gets a grip around my calf.
I twist and stomp down on his forearm.
Hard.
His fingers loosen.
I step through him and drive my knee into his sternum.
He flies backward into a seat.
Four.
A knife flashes from my left.
The blade slices toward my ribs.
I step back on an angle and let the edge miss by inches.
Before he retracts, I snap a kick into his thigh.
His stance breaks.
I step in and slam my elbow into the side of his head.
He collapses sideways, blade clattering from his hand.
Five.
Now they're breathing heavier.
Not laughing anymore.
The cart feels smaller.
Two more step forward cautiously.
One fakes high.
The other tries to sweep low.
I jump just enough to clear the sweep, land, and drive my knee into the one who faked high.
He doubles over.
I shove him into the other.
They tangle and crash against the window.
Six.
Now it's down to two upright besides the big one.
One looks nervous.
The other angry.
The nervous one rushes first.
I catch his punch on my forearm and answer with a knee straight up into his chin.
He drops.
Seven.
The last regular-sized one hesitates.
He doesn't want to be next.
He swings anyway—desperate.
I pivot and slam my elbow into his ribs, then kick his supporting leg out from under him.
He hits the floor hard and doesn't get up.
Eight.
Now it's just him.
The big one.
He rolls his shoulders once.
Slow.
Not impressed.
"You're quick," he says.
I don't respond.
My ribs ache.
My breathing is heavier now.
But I'm still standing.
He steps forward.
No rush.
Then suddenly—
He's on me.
His fist drives straight into my ribs.
Pain explodes along my side.
I stagger half a step.
He follows with a hook toward my jaw.
I duck and drive my fist into his chest.
He doesn't move much.
He's heavier than the others.
Stronger.
He grabs my shirt and pulls me forward.
I twist and try to knee him—
But he moves differently.
His hand glows faintly for a split second.
Then he drives his palm into my chest.
Impact.
The world snaps white.
My body lifts off the ground.
I crash into the far wall of the cart hard enough to rattle the windows.
Wood splinters behind me.
My vision flickers.
For a split second, I can't breathe.
The air feels punched out of me.
If I hadn't—
I swallow hard.
If I hadn't instinctively hardened my body at the last second—
If I hadn't let just a sliver of dark matter reinforce my muscles and bones—
That hit would've ended it.
I slide down the wall slightly.
My chest burns.
My ribs scream.
It's Impact matter.
"Of course…" I muster out
He steps toward me calmly.
"You're not the only one with tricks," he says.
I push myself off the wall.
Slowly.
My legs feel heavier.
My side throbs.
But I'm upright.
And now it's clear.
If I drag this out, he wins.
He's stronger.
And if he lands that clean again, I won't get a second chance.
I wipe blood from the corner of my mouth.
I have to finish this now.
He raises his hand again, faint glow gathering in his palm.
Before he can fully channel it—
I move.
I explode forward.
My feet barely feel the floor.
I close the distance in a blink.
His eyes widen.
He tries to bring his palm up—
Too late.
I drive my fist forward.
Fifteen percent.
Dark matter wraps my fist in a tight surge.
Flaring.
And I punch straight into his gut.
The impact caves the air inward.
It sounds like something heavy collapsing.
His body lifts off the floor.
He flies backward across the cart and slams into the wall opposite me.
Wood cracks.
Glass rattles violently.
Then he drops.
Still.
I step back and take a deep breath, looking around at the scene.
Eight masked bodies scattered across the floor. Some groaned faintly. Most out cold.
I stand there for a second longer, listening.
No shouting from the front cars.
The sound of a pair of footsteps approaching,
Good.
I walk over to the door and push it open carefully.
I look around for a brief moment, a few dents in the wood. A scuff mark where someone's boot scraped the wall. A faint smear of blood that isn't entirely mine.
I step out and close the door behind me, pulling it until it clicks shut.
A man with a long dark coat approaches me, "What the heck is all that noise?"
Walking past him I point back to the room, "I'll let you take care of it."
My ribs throb with every breath. My shoulder aches I raise a hand and wipe sweat from my forehead. My fingers come away damp—and a little red from where blood had splashed near my cheek.
I rub it off with the sleeve of my shirt.
By the time I reach the next car, my breathing is almost steady again.
Passengers glance up as I walk through.
Some look confused. Some were annoyed at the noise.
I move through the cars casually.
When I reach our car, I slow slightly.
Aiken's still asleep.
Head tilted toward the window. Arms folded loosely. Breathing even.
She didn't wake up.
I step into the aisle, adjust my strap once out of habit, then lower myself into my seat.
The cushion creaks softly under my weight.
I lean back.
And finally let out a long breath.
It leaves me slower than I expected.
My body feels heavier now that I'm sitting. The adrenaline's draining out in waves, leaving behind the ache underneath.
I roll my shoulders carefully and rest my head against the back of the seat.
Outside, the landscape is changing.
The fields are thinning out.
More stone roads.
More clustered buildings.
The land slopes gently downward.
I lift my gaze toward the horizon—
And then I see them.
Four massive pillars.
Each one rising into the sky at the corners of the city.
Even from this distance, they're unmistakable.
Tall.
Solid.
Eighty meters at least.
Stone carved with old markings that you can't read from here, but you know they're there.
They sit like guardians at the edges of Central Rivenden.
I haven't seen them in six years.
My chest tightens slightly—but not in a bad way.
I can feel it in my ribs where the impact hit earlier.
But this is different.
The city stretches beyond them—walls, rooftops, towers catching the afternoon light.
From here, it looks almost the same as I remember.
Almost.
I lean my elbow against the window and stare.
After six years.
After everything.
I'm back