Hikari's father was dead. Had been for years.
If he'd carried Hikari's power, maybe he would've survived. But he hadn't. And the world had kept turning—indifferent, undisturbed. One individual death hadn't touched it at all.
Hikari wasn't upset. Anger would've been a luxury. Hikari had little time for blame, and even less space to reflect.
The Foundation made sure of that.
He looked toward the wall—thick stone, cold and black. Torchlight played across it in shallow flickers, flames coughing in rusted iron sconces. There was no decoration. No banners. No color. No light other than fire and smoke.
The air sat heavy, like the silence before a verdict.
The kynenns stood in rows. Rank after rank in white uniforms, each stitched with red: Sector 3. Stamped like packaging. Marked like inventory. And for the moment, they stood still.
They were waiting—all they could do was wait. And every day prepared them the same:
Wake. Train. Study. Train. Sleep.
The instructors drifted to the center of the room, slow and deliberate—gravitational, like a storm collecting its mass. No words passed between them. They didn't need to speak. Their presence alone was enough to ignite motion.
The kynenns began.
Across from him, Kaen shifted his stance. His eyes floated, distant and unfocused, strangely detached from what stood in front of him. Then he rushed—too fast, too wide. His shoulder wound before every punch, telegraphing his movements like signals in fog.
Hikari pivoted easily, Kaen's fist slicing through the air where his jaw had been half a second earlier. He could've punished him. Dropped him flat. Could've let him choke on the dirt until the lesson set in.
But it wouldn't.
Kaen rushed again, fists up but loose, his body weight tilted far forward. Hikari stepped to the side, let the first punch swing wide, and slammed a palm into Kaen's back as he passed.
Not hard—just enough to throw him off balance.
Kaen grunted, spun, and threw another punch on instinct. Hikari caught it on his forearm. The jolt snapped through his teeth.
The next person Kaen fought wouldn't stop. Wouldn't wait.
Hikari sighed, more irritated than tired. He glanced at the instructor. Still motionless. The dull red helmet didn't even twitch.
He struck back—a quick jab to the chest, low kick following. Kaen winced, shuffled back, but didn't fall. He circled. Reset. Breathed through his nose. Then came again.
Not any cleaner.
A straight to the face—Hikari ducked. Uppercut. Fast. Almost landed. Hikari leaned just far enough. Felt the heat of the fist graze his jaw.
His knee came up into Kaen's ribs—stopped short again. Controlled. Careful not to lunge.
Kaen staggered, but swung anyway. A left hook cracked into Hikari's guard. The buzz traveled down his arm.
If he stopped to teach, he lost time.
Kaen stepped in, pressing close, faces inches apart—masking himself with Hikari's own body.
"Kaen," Hikari said, quick and low. Hikari muttered, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him. A shallow performance. "You're not in a street fight. Center your weight. Stop lunging like you're expecting me just let you hit me. And stop warning every punch with your shoulder."
Kaen blinked, raising an eyebrow with an exaggerated nod. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling like the statement barely merited attention.
Then he shoved forward, displacing Hikari's space like nothing had been said.
The heat in his face said enough—he understood he was trying to help, but not why.
They broke apart, boots dragging in the dirt, both breathing harder. Kaen charged again. Wild. As if nothing had landed in his head at all.
Hikari moved to parry—
Then Hikri felt a real punch to the side of his head. It caused a sharp pop. His neck turned with it.
He straightened slowly. Kaen came again. Controlled now. Focused. The punch landed against Hikari's guard.
It stung. He grinned.
Much better.
This wasn't about winning. Hikari never fought to prove something. Not here. It wasn't his bruises that mattered.
It was whether Kaen would still be breathing when it no longer felt like practice—when the floor cracked, and the real war began.
The Eclipse was coming. Faster than it seemed.
From the sideline, the instructor turned away, his helmet angling elsewhere with tired indifference.
That was all the permission Hikari needed.
He lowered his stance. "Keep that up," he muttered. "You'll live."
Kaen didn't answer. He only nodded—barely—his chin dipped, sweat glinting at its edge before falling to the floor.
He wouldn't say thank you. Not here. The words would've spoiled the air. Hikari didn't expect it. He turned, jaw set. Something colder in his chest now than before.
He didn't know how to save them. The kynenns. All of them.
But moments like this—fleeting, weightless as breath—weren't without meaning.
The ache in his shoulders returned quietly, as if remembering it had a place to be. A dull heat pooled at his back. He could feel the weight of training—not from today, but from everything.
Around him, the session dissolved. Bodies peeling toward exits, their faces unreadable beneath flickering torchlight. Two boys lay sprawled on the mat. Neither moved. They might not rise again.
No one checked. Not even the instructors.
There were no winners here. No applause. No tally.
Even the instructors paid more attention to the kynenns than the kynenns gave to each other. But even that—he'd realized—wasn't cruelty. It was caution. A kind of inward bracing. They watched their own footing. Not who they crushed beneath it.
No one woke intending to drown another. They just needed something to float on.
Even still, Hikari hadn't noticed the pair of boys. His thoughts had already wandered—forward, past the training room, past the bodies, past the heat still clinging to his spine.
There was a meal waiting. Soup again. Colorless. Flavorless. Barely food—engineered more than prepared.
But even that held appeal today. Hunger made things easier to stomach.
Without thinking, he quickened his pace. The fatigue caught up slowly, wicking through his limbs—not exhaustion, exactly, but heaviness. Something in his muscles that didn't want to be spoken to.
He moved further from the training floor, letting the noise fall behind him.
"You think you can afford days like this?" A call broke his immersion.