The train hummed steadily beneath our feet, wheels clattering against the tracks in a rhythm that felt almost hypnotic. Morning light filtered through the window beside me, casting long shadows across the floor of the carriage. The air inside was warm, quiet—just the occasional creak of the car swaying or a soft voice from somewhere down the aisle.
Aiken sat next to me, arms folded, her foot tapping lazily against the floor. She hadn't said anything for a while, just sat there looking out the window, her reflection caught in the glass beside the rolling countryside.
Then, without warning, she nudged her elbow into my ribs.
I shot her a look. "Seriously?"
She didn't say anything, just gave me a smug little smile before leaning in and poking my cheek.
I scowled and leaned away. "Can't sit still, can you?"
"You're fun to mess with when you're stuck in one spot," she said with a shrug. "Besides, you've been wearing that same grumpy face since we got on the train."
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. "Maybe I just don't like trains."
She poked me again, this time on the shoulder. "Or maybe you're nervous."
I didn't answer that. She knew the answer anyway.
A minute passed. Then two.
Eventually, she rested her head on my shoulder without asking.
"You'll be fine," she said quietly. "The trials aren't going to be as bad as you think."
I stared out the window, watching trees blur past. "You don't know that."
"No," she admitted. "But I know you."
I didn't respond. There wasn't much to say.
After a moment, she lifted her head again, grinning a little as she stretched.
"Oh—and just a heads up," she said, voice teasing now. "There's a lot of people who want to see you again, after all it's been 6 years since everyone saw you.
My brow furrowed as I tried to look back at my memories.
I tried to recall the faces, the voices—anything. But most of it was still fog.
"I don't remember much," I said. "Some names. Maybe one or two faces. But it's all kind of... broken up.
Aiken nudged me again, softer this time. "Well, they'll remember you. And when they do, try not to look like a total stranger, alright?"
I gave a quiet scoff. "I'll try."
The train continued forward, cutting through the heart of the kingdom.
**
The train hummed on through the fading light, its rhythm steady beneath us. My eyes drifted back to the glass, to the smeared colors of the sunset. I wasn't really seeing it.
Central Rivenden.
I tried again to remember.
There was a moment—just a flicker of it—buried beneath all the fog. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, kneeling in front of me. I couldn't see his face clearly, just the warmth in his voice and the way he held out a small wooden sword. My hand, tiny in comparison, had gripped it like it was something sacred.
Then it vanished. The memory slipped through my fingers before I could hold onto it.
But before I could sink deeper into the thought, a loud thud echoed through the train car.
I sat up straight, blinking. Another thud followed a second later—dull, rhythmic. A pause. Then again. Louder this time.
I scanned the cabin. Nothing seemed out of place. A few other passengers sat near the front, dozing or quietly talking. No one else reacted.
But the sound kept coming. Not from this car.
From the one behind us.
My eyes narrowed slightly. I looked down at Aiken—still fast asleep, pressed against me, undisturbed. Carefully, I shifted in my seat and slid her head gently onto a small pillow, tucking her hair back behind her ear.
She didn't stir.
I stood, quiet as I could, and stepped out into the connector between the cars. The wind outside whistled faintly against the seams of the train as I eased the next door open.
The moment I entered the rear car, I felt it.
Cold.
The air here was different. Still. Too still.
Empty seats lined the cabin—no one else was here. The only sound was that same dull thudding… coming from the very back.
My eyes adjusted.
There, at the far end of the car, a figure crouched on the floor. A man. Or… something that looked like one.
He was slamming his forehead into the metal floor, over and over—slow, methodical. Each impact echoed through the car, unnervingly precise. He didn't seem to notice me. Or maybe he didn't care.
I stayed where I was, fingers tensing slightly. The air around him felt wrong. Heavy. Like it didn't belong on this train. Like it didn't belong anywhere.
Another slam.
Blood now streaked the floor beneath his head, but he didn't stop.
I didn't move.
The figure froze mid-slam, forehead hovering just inches above the blood-slicked floor. For a moment, the entire train felt like it stopped with him—sound, air, movement—all dead still.
Then he looked up.
His face was twisted, barely human. Skin pale and stretched too tightly over bone, his mouth hanging open just slightly, as if caught in the middle of a scream that never came. But it was his eyes that rooted me to the floor—glowing, wild orange orbs that pulsed like embers in a dying fire. Frenzied. Empty. Starving.
We locked eyes.
He rose slowly, vertebrae cracking with every inch he straightened. Blood streamed from his forehead down his face, soaking the front of his shirt, but he didn't even flinch. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths, and something about the way he moved was wrong—jittery, as if every motion was half a second behind his own body.
His mouth opened.
What came out wasn't speech—not really. A low growl rattled out from his throat, broken by warped, slurred sounds that could've once been words.
"Yy…rrrhh…ken…ssahh…"
It scraped through the air like rusted metal dragged across stone. Incoherent, yet laced with intent. Like whatever was inside him was trying to speak, but the vessel couldn't form the words.
My hand twitched toward my belt, instinct kicking in.
The thing—whatever it was—took a step forward, and the lights above flickered once, then again. Each flicker casting his face in shifting, monstrous shadows.
He tilted his head slowly, eyes still locked on mine.
Then, without warning, he lunged.
My feet slid back instinctively as his first punch came flying toward me. I caught it—barely—with my forearm, the impact shuddering down into my bones. Before I could reset, his other hand came in a wild hook. I ducked low, the wind of his swing grazing the top of my hair.
He was fast. Not trained—just wild. Unpredictable.
I shifted my weight and pivoted on my heel, sweeping my leg low to try and knock him off balance. He stumbled, just slightly, enough for me to step in and deliver a clean jab to his ribs. My fist connected with a sickening thud, but he barely reacted.
What the hell was this guy?
He came at me again, snarling like some cornered beast. I raised both arms, catching his fists with tight guards, stepping back with each hit. The car rocked gently beneath our feet, the hum of the train vibrating through the metal as we moved in tight rhythm—attack, block, dodge.
I parried his next swing with an open palm and twisted, sending his momentum sideways as I drove my elbow into his back. He crashed into the wall of the car with a dull clang, but even then, he didn't stop. He spun, arms flailing with that same erratic energy, forcing me to duck again.
I stepped in close, chest to chest, and slammed my knee into his stomach. He doubled over—just for a breath—and I followed it up with a hard uppercut that cracked his head back. Still, he didn't go down.
I took a quick step back, breathing evenly, my stance resetting again. My muscles burned, but my mind was sharp. Every motion, every strike—I could feel the hours of training paying off.
He screamed something guttural and charged me again.
I let him.
At the last second, I slid under his swing, twisting around his body. I grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him backward, throwing him off balance. As he stumbled, I jumped and twisted mid-air, slamming both feet into his back with a spinning kick.
He crashed forward, hitting the ground hard this time.
I landed with a slight stagger but kept my guard up, watching him closely as he writhed, snarling, trying to push himself up again. His movements were jerky now, like something inside him was breaking apart.
I clenched my fists and felt it, I reached deep inside, trying to summon my Dark Matter.
Black threads of my matter began to curl faintly around my fingertips, the shadows within me stirring.
But then he surged forward, fists flying with a frenzy I wasn't ready for.
His knuckles slammed into my arms, my ribs, my jaw. I tried to steady myself and tap into my matter fully—but he didn't give me a second to breathe. Every time I felt the dark surge begin to form, he crushed the rhythm with another brutal hit.
"Damn it—" I grunted, gritting my teeth.
He shoved me against the side wall, his fists hammering into my torso. I clenched my jaw against the pain, trying to block the worst of it. I had to calm down—I couldn't unleash the power like this.
I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply through the chaos. I let my breath settle, slow and focused. The strikes kept coming, but now, I wasn't flinching. I wasn't swinging wildly or panicking.
I was watching.
His swings, his form—it was all unhinged, but there was a rhythm buried in it. A shift in his shoulders. A dip in his hips before he lunged. He was repeating the same brutal cycle.
Left hook. Right jab. Overhead slam. Then the wild claw-like swipes.
Again and again.
I opened my eyes just as he launched into the pattern again. Left hook. I dipped under. Right jab. I twisted sideways. Overhead slam—I caught it on my forearm and stepped into him.
This time, I was ready.
As his hand came down again, I twisted my waist and threw a hard palm strike to his sternum, knocking him back half a step. I followed with a fierce kick to the side of his knee, then shot up with a straight punch to the throat.
He stumbled—finally.
And in that moment of imbalance, I summoned it.
Dark tendrils exploded from my back like wings of void, swirling and snapping through the air. My body felt lighter, my mind sharper. The power was mine again, because I took control.
"My turn," I whispered.
I dashed forward, shadows curling around my fists as I drove a barrage of punches into his chest, each one sending shockwaves through his body. My final strike, a punch laced with pure Dark Matter, landed square in his stomach and sent him flying back down the car.
He hit the far wall hard, slumping to the floor in a heap.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—his body began to move again. He straightened slowly, joints cracking unnaturally as if being pulled up by invisible strings. Then—just as suddenly—his form shimmered. Not like a teleport or a fade… but like he was unraveling into the air itself.
And then he was gone.
I stood frozen, fists clenched, chest heaving. My heartbeat pounded against my ribcage like a drum that wouldn't stop. Finally, after a few still seconds, I dropped to one knee and sat back, resting against the cool floor of the train car. I wiped the sweat from my brow and took in a slow breath, trying to settle myself.
"What the hell was that…" I muttered, barely above a whisper.
Then, behind me—
"Wooo! That was awesome!"
I flinched, head snapping up as I turned. Standing there in the doorway between train cars was Aiken, hands on her hips, her expression somewhere between amused and impressed. She looked way too calm for someone who just walked in on me nearly getting murdered.
"What… are you doing here?" I asked, still winded, blinking hard as I tried to make sense of everything.
Before she could respond, another voice joined from behind her. Calm. Familiar.
"Hey there, Kin."
Xaviar stepped forward, hands folded neatly behind his back, that same knowing expression resting on his face. He walked across the train car like he owned the place. No tension. No confusion. Like this was all part of the plan.
"What…?" I stood up slowly, my voice strained. "What the hell is going on?"
Xaviar stopped a few feet from me, head tilting slightly. "That," he said, motioning to the empty car, "was the first part of your trial."
I stared at him, mouth parted, eyes narrowing in confusion. "My what?"
"The trials," he said again, slowly. "They've already started, Kin. That encounter you just had? That was no accident. You passed the first test."
I blinked, still piecing it all together. "Wait, you're telling me… this whole thing—this guy… it was planned?"
"Every second of it," Xaviar nodded. "You're not in Wellwood anymore. You've stepped into a different world now, and the trials aren't going to wait for you to get comfortable. That opponent? He was real enough—but controlled. Just enough to push you."
I stared at the floor, still trying to wrap my head around it. "But why… why would you be the one watching me? I thought you resigned from the tenfold?"
There was a pause, a flicker of something deeper in his expression.
"I stepped down from the Tenfold Circle," he said slowly, "so I could watch over you."
I looked up at him, confused. "What?"
"You and your family," he continued. "Wellwood wasn't a random choice for me. I was sent there… for Kentaro's wishes. Always making sure you were safe."
His words hit me harder than the fight just moments ago. I didn't know what to say—didn't even know how to process it. I'd seen Xaviar around town, joked with him, talked to him like he was just some calm swordsman that knew my dad. I never realized there was more to it.
He let out a quiet breath, then gave me a small pat on the shoulder. "You've got more in you than you realize. I've known that for years. The world's going to see it soon."
The train horn cried out again—long, steady, loud. We were getting close.
Xaviar looked toward the window, then back at me. "You'll face harder trials ahead. Some will test your strength, others your mind, your heart… but you made it through the first step. That matters."
He extended a hand toward me, calm and firm. "Congratulations, Kin. You passed."
I stared at his hand for a second before finally gripping it, letting him pull me upright.
My muscles were sore, my heart still racing—but for the first time in a while, I felt a strange sort of fire in my chest.
"Thanks," I said quietly, looking back toward the hallway.
**
The train hummed steadily beneath our feet, cutting through the darkened countryside like a soft whisper. I sat near the window, eyes focused on the distant horizon where the faint lights of Central Rivenden were beginning to appear—tiny sparks against the velvet night.
"It's... beautiful," I said, the words slipping out before I could even think about them.
Aiken, lounging beside me, glanced over with a raised brow. "Did you just say something was beautiful?" she said, teasing, but with a hint of genuine curiosity.
I blinked and glanced her way. "Yeah. So?"
She leaned in a little, a sly smile curling on her lips. "No, nothing—it's just... I don't think I've heard you say something like that since we were kids."
I paused, then shrugged. "Doesn't mean I don't notice things. Just don't always say them out loud."
"Guess I forgot this version of you existed," she said lightly. "The one who actually sees the world instead of just charging through it."
I smirked faintly. "I see more than you think."
That was when Xaviar, who had been sitting quietly across from us, let out a low chuckle. "You really are your father's son," he said, his tone laced with nostalgia and a warmth that made me glance his way.
I turned to him. "Were you close with my dad?"
Xaviar nodded slowly, his expression shifting into something reflective as the passing lantern lights danced across his face. "Closer than most," he said. "I met Kentaro when I was around twelve. He couldn't have been more than nineteen at the time. But even back then… there was something about him."
He paused, as if searching for the right words to explain a memory too large for a single sentence.
"He was mysterious, to say the least," he continued, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Not just in the way he spoke—or didn't speak—but in the way he carried himself. Calm. Measured. Like he knew more than the rest of us, and not in an arrogant way… more like he was always listening to something the rest of us couldn't hear."
I raised a brow. "Mysterious? How?"
"For starters," Xaviar said with a soft laugh, "he wasn't born in Rivenden. No one knew exactly where he came from. He just showed up one day—quiet, polite, with nothing but an old sword on his back and a look in his eyes that said he'd already been through a lifetime of battles."
He leaned back in his seat, letting the rhythm of the train guide his thoughts. "But there was something else—something deeper. His presence had weight. Like when he walked into a room, the air shifted. People paid attention, even if they didn't know why."
Xaviar's eyes drifted to the dark countryside outside the window. "There was a moment I'll never forget. We were on a mission up north—nothing glamorous, just escorting a caravan. Things went south fast. A group of mercenaries hit us hard. Real killers, not the street thugs we'd trained to deal with. I was still a kid, too cocky for my own good, and I got myself pinned down behind an overturned cart. Couldn't move. Arrows raining down. Steel flashing everywhere. I thought that was it."
He stopped, breathing in through his nose before continuing. "And then he came. Kentaro. Silent as ever. The mercenaries didn't even realize they were being taken apart until it was too late. I watched him carve a path straight through them. No hesitation. No anger. Just clarity."
Xaviar gave a quiet laugh, tinged with awe. "When it was over, I was on the ground—shaking, bruised, bloody. And there he was. Standing over me. Calm. He reached down, offered me a hand, and when I looked up... he was smiling."
I tilted my head slightly. "Smiling?"
"Not some cocky grin or smug little smirk," Xaviar said. "It was a kind smile. The kind that said 'You're safe now.' The kind that made you believe no matter how bad things got, he'd find a way to protect you. That smile became something of a legend. People talked about it more than his actual strength, if you can believe that."
He turned his gaze back to me now, his expression soft. "I see that smile in you sometimes. Maybe not often. You've got your own way of carrying things. But it's there. It's in the way you protect your friends. The way you stand your ground. And one day, when someone's on the ground like I was... they'll look up and see it too."
My chest tightened just slightly, a flicker of something passing through me—pride, maybe? Or the quiet wish that I might live up to even a fraction of the man my father once was.
I leaned back in my seat, the gentle clatter of the train humming beneath us, and closed my eyes.
I tried to picture it, his smile.
That kind expression Xaviar had described. The one people remembered more than his strength, more than his victories.
But no matter how hard I tried, all I could see were pieces. A shadow of someone I used to know.
I furrowed my brow and focused harder, hoping a glimpse of his face might come back to me. But there was only fog—just like all the other memories from that time. Just like the rest of Central Rivenden.
Eventually, I exhaled and opened my eyes.
The sky outside had deepened into a velvety blue, the stars barely visible through the soft gold glow ahead. In the distance, faint and glimmering like lanterns in a sea of shadow, were the lights of Central Rivenden.
The capital, my old home.
I stared out at it in silence, my chest rising and falling slowly.
I didn't know what the next trial would be. Didn't know who I'd face, or how far I'd be pushed. But I did know, I was stronger now.
Aiken dozed peacefully at my side, her head tilted just slightly toward me. Xaviar had his arms crossed, eyes closed, but something told me he wasn't sleeping. Just waiting.
The lights of Central Rivenden grew brighter.
I let a small smile tug at my lips. Just a little one.
Maybe the same one my father once had.