The Collendrum countryside unfolded like a painter's fever dream—too vivid, too alive, as if Earth had been a rough sketch and this was the finished masterpiece. Invia walked at the convoy's rear, legs burning from the unfamiliar pace, mind struggling to process the impossible beauty around him.
Silver-leafed trees caught the afternoon light like mirrors, creating a constantly shifting kaleidoscope. The grass beneath his boots was softer than any he'd known, releasing a sweet scent with each step. Even the air tasted different—cleaner, charged with an energy that made his skin tingle.
This is what Earth lost, he thought, remembering the grey skies and dying plants back home. Or maybe this is what Earth never had.
"Oi, princess!" Kleo called from the front. "Stop gawking and keep up. We're not paid by the hour."
Invia quickened his pace, the sword at his hip bouncing awkwardly with each step. He still wasn't used to its weight, the constant reminder of his new resonance. During their last rest stop, he'd tried a few practice swings away from the others. The results had been... embarrassing.
At least no one was watching, he consoled himself. Probably.
As they crested a hill, the landscape changed. Scars marred the perfect countryside—great gouges in the earth where no grass grew, crystallized patches of ground that reflected light in unnatural colors, the skeletal remains of what might have been a forest, now twisted into impossible spirals.
"Old battleground," Tam said, noticing his stare. The scout had appeared beside him with the quiet grace all the mercenaries seemed to possess. "From before the Rifts. When the races were really going at it."
"Races?" Invia asked, grateful for any information.
"Humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, the works," Tam explained, gesturing at the devastation. "This was a three-way between human forces, an elvish war band, and some dwarf clan. Happened maybe five years back. Nobody won."
Then, Kleo smacked his forehead, turning to Invia. "Right, forgot the big part. Here's the brief, lad: Collendrum's a broken land. Humans were losing ground to the other races—elves, orcs, all of 'em working together like we were the plague itself. We'd been pushed to a scrap of territory, backs against the wall, waiting for the final blow." His scarred hands clenched unconsciously. "Then, three years ago, the Rifts opened. Newcomers arrived, and everything stalled. The other races eased off, no one knows why. Maybe the Rifts, maybe something bigger stirring in the deep places."
The destruction stretched for miles. In some places, the very fabric of space seemed wrong, as if different types of magic had collided and left reality confused about how to heal itself.
"Manifestation Realm fighters," Rhen added, the shield-bearer's voice heavy. "When powers that strong clash, the land remembers. Some of these scars won't heal for decades."
They made camp as the sun began its descent, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold that Earth's atmosphere could never achieve. Invia helped gather firewood, his movements still clumsy compared to the others' easy efficiency. Every task reminded him that he was a tourist here, playing at being a mercenary.
After the meal—some kind of stew that tasted better than it looked—Invia retreated to the edge of the firelight. The others were sharing war stories, their laughter warm against the cooling night. He'd contribute nothing to those conversations, so instead he focused inward.
The System, he thought. There has to be a way to see more information.
He tried various mental commands. Status. Profile. Stats. Character sheet. Nothing. Frustration mounting, he tried more desperately. Information. Data. Interface.
Still nothing. He was about to give up when a thought struck him. Ownership? My status.
The panel materialized:
[Invia]
Title: The Fool
Resonance: ?, Sword
Realm: Physical
Rank: Lower
Attributes:
Strength: D Agility: D Willpower: C Endurance: D+ Perception: B-
Mastery:
Sword: E+ Slash: D Thrust: E Chop: E Parry: E+ Block: E+
Skills:
The Fool? The title stung more than it should have. Great. Even the System thinks I'm an idiot.
He frowned at the question mark next to his resonance. A glitch? Or something else?
Willpower at C and Perception at B-minus, he noted. Higher than my physical stats. Makes sense, I suppose. Years of watching and enduring had to count for something.
"Not joining the circle?" Ziona asked, appearing beside him with her healer's quiet step. "The stories get better after Brix has a few drinks."
"Just thinking," Invia said, willing the panel away. "Still processing... everything."
She settled beside him, movements careful and precise. "The memory loss must be difficult. Not knowing who you were, what you've lost."
If only it were that simple, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Sometimes I get fragments. Faces, voices. A woman who might have been important to me."
"Family?" Ziona asked gently.
"Maybe." The lie tasted bitter, but not as bitter as the truth—that Rose was a world away, probably sick with worry, and he had no way to tell her he was alive. "It's frustrating, reaching for something that should be there and finding only echoes."
"Resonance awakening can do that," she said. "Especially traumatic ones. Your soul cracks open to accept the connection, and sometimes other things spill out." She paused. "Though I've never heard of someone forgetting everything but still knowing how to speak, how to think. The mind is selective in strange ways."
Before Invia could respond, Kleo's voice boomed across the camp. "Story time! Rhen's going to tell us again how he got his resonance. Always good for a laugh."
The shield-bearer groaned. "Do I have to?"
"Yes!" the others chorused.
Sighing dramatically, Rhen moved into the firelight. "Fine. But I'm warning you, it's not heroic." He settled his bulk onto a log, shield propped beside him. "I was fifteen, working in my father's shop. Boring life, boring town, boring everything. Used to dream about being a hero, you know? Saving villages, fighting monsters."
"We all did," Lysa murmured.
"Yeah, well, I got my chance." Rhen's voice grew distant. "Bandit raid. Real nasty ones, the kind that don't leave witnesses. They hit during market day, when everyone was out. I saw them coming, and all those heroic dreams just... evaporated. I was terrified."
The fire crackled, sending sparks into the night sky.
"I ran," he continued. "Not away—toward my little sister's school. All I could think was that she was there, defenseless, and these bastards were coming. I grabbed the first thing I saw—a pot lid from a merchant's stall. Stupid, right? A pot lid against armed bandits."
"But it worked," Brix said, clearly having heard this before.
"It worked," Rhen agreed. "Because the moment I put myself between them and the school, something clicked. The pot lid felt right. Not because it was a weapon, but because it was a barrier. A choice made physical. My resonance woke up right there—Protection."
He gestured to his shield and sword. "These are just tools. The real power is the concept. I can 'protect' by killing threats before they strike, by shielding others, by warning of danger. Abstract resonances don't follow the same rules as physical ones."
"Must be nice," Tam muttered. "Having options like that. My resonance is just 'Dagger.' Not much room for interpretation there."
"Every resonance has depths," Kleo said. "Just depends on how you choose to explore them." His eyes found Invia across the fire. "Even common ones like Sword can surprise you. Right, princess?"
Invia shifted uncomfortably. "Still figuring mine out."
"Aren't we all?" Kleo's grin held layers. "That's the fun part—choosing what your power means to you."
The conversation drifted to other topics, but Invia found himself thinking about Rhen's story. An abstract resonance that manifested through different tools, shaped by the user's interpretation of the core concept. It reminded him of something, a nagging feeling he couldn't quite place.
Later, when the others had retreated to their bedrolls, Invia remained by the dying fire. Sleep felt dangerous—too many questions waiting in the dark, too many faces he'd left behind.
"Can't sleep?" Kleo asked, emerging from the shadows like he'd always been there.
"Not tired," Invia lied.
"Mmm." Kleo settled across from him, spear laid casually across his knees. "Want some advice? Free of charge, which makes it worth exactly what you're paying."
"Sure."
"Stop thinking so hard." Kleo poked at the embers with a stick. "I can practically hear the gears grinding in your head. Whatever you're running from, whatever you're trying to figure out—it'll still be there tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Twenty years of it." Kleo's grin was sharp in the firelight. "You think you're the first person to show up lost and confused? Hell, half my company's got stories they don't tell. Tam there? Ex-assassin. Lysa? Noble runaway. Even sweet Ziona's got blood on her hands from before she found her healing."
"And you?" Invia asked.
"Me?" Kleo laughed. "I'm exactly what I look like—a mercenary who's lived too long and seen too much. No deep secrets, no hidden trauma. Just a man who chose his path and walked it without looking back."
Somehow, I doubt that, Invia thought, but kept it to himself.
"Point is," Kleo continued, "we all carry weight. Question isn't whether you've got baggage—it's whether you let it slow you down. You chose to pick up that sword today. Choose to learn how to use it tomorrow. Rest comes later."
He stood, collecting his spear. "Get some sleep, princess. Tomorrow we'll reach the main road, and I want you functional enough to not embarrass us if we meet other travelers."
Alone again, Invia stared into the dying fire. Kleo was right about one thing—he was thinking too much. But how could he not? Every moment in this strange world was a reminder of what he'd left behind.
When he finally crawled into his bedroll, exhaustion won over anxiety. But sleep brought no peace.
He was back in the apartment, watching Rose fold laundry. Her hands moved with practiced grace, but something was wrong. The room was too dark, shadows creeping in from the edges.
"Where did you go?" she asked without looking up. "I turned around and you were gone."
"I'm sorry," he tried to say, but no sound came out.
"I looked everywhere." Her voice was calm, conversational, which made it worse. "The hospitals, the morgues, the refugee camps. Nothing. Like you just... stopped existing."
The shadows reached her, began pulling her apart like smoke. He tried to move, to reach for her, but his body wouldn't respond.
"Was I not enough?" she asked as she dissolved. "Was our life so small that you had to disappear?"
The apartment crumbled, replaced by the Shatterling's glowing eyes. But now it wore Rose's face, spoke with her voice.
"You chose to leave me."
Invia woke gasping, bedroll soaked with sweat. Dawn was still hours away, but he knew sleep was done with him. Moving quietly, he gathered his sword and crept away from camp.
He found a clearing just out of sight, where moonlight turned the grass silver. Drawing the blade, he tried to remember the forms he'd seen his father practice. The movements felt alien, his body refusing to cooperate with his mind's eye.
Start simple, he told himself. Just the basic slash.
He raised the sword, brought it down. Too fast, no control. Again. Too slow, no power. Again. Wrong angle. Again. Wrong stance. Again.
Each failure stoked his frustration. On Earth, he'd been powerless, but at least understood why. Here, he had the tool but not the skill, the resonance but not the mastery. He was still watching from the outside, just with a prop now.
"You're trying too hard."
Invia spun, sword raised awkwardly. Rhen stood at the clearing's edge, shield on his back, expression patient.
"Sorry," Invia lowered the blade. "Didn't mean to wake anyone."
"You didn't. I take last watch." Rhen approached, studying Invia's stance with a practiced eye. "You're fighting yourself more than learning the sword. May I?"
Invia nodded, and Rhen adjusted his grip, shifted his feet, and straightened his spine. Small changes that somehow made everything feel more natural.
"Better. Now, forget everything you think you know. Forget whatever you've seen others do. Start with this: the sword wants to cut. Your job is to guide it, not force it."
For the next hour, Rhen walked him through the basics. Not the forms Invia had tried to copy, but the foundation beneath them. How to hold without strangling the grip. How to move without fighting balance. How to breathe without holding tension.
"Why are you helping me?" Invia asked during a break.
Rhen shrugged. "Because someone helped me once. Because you're trying, even when no one's watching. Because—" He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Because I think there's more to you than even you know. Call it a protector's instinct."
They returned to camp as dawn broke. The others were stirring, packing with quiet efficiency. Kleo caught Invia's eye and nodded—whether approval for the morning practice or just acknowledgment, Invia couldn't tell.
As they resumed their march, Invia felt the sword differently. Still awkward, still foreign, but maybe—just maybe—a little less like a lie.
The road ahead wound through recovering lands toward distant towers. Whatever awaited in Dragonspire City, whatever choices lay ahead, at least he was moving forward.
Even if part of him remained forever looking back.