"Alright," Lina snapped, yanking me back to reality like a splash of cold water. "Now we see if you can move properly."
She circled me like a hawk stalking wounded prey.
"Try to hit me."
I blinked. "Uh. What?"
"I said hit me. Use whatever you want."
"I'm still sore from yesterday," I muttered, flexing my shoulder. It felt like a sack of bricks had been stapled to my spine.
She raised her hand. "You think monsters care if you're sore? Come on. Show me what you've got."
I clenched my jaw and surged forward.
It wasn't graceful. My feet were too loud, my swing too wide—telegraphed and clumsy. She barely had to move. Just a sidestep and a palm slammed into my chest, knocking the air out of my lungs and launching me backward three feet into the dirt.
"Again."
I groaned and got up, heat crawling up my neck. "You could go a little easier"
"No." Her voice cut like a blade. "You don't get soft sparring. You get broken bones and hard lessons. Again."
I charged again. Twice more. Then five more times.
Every time ended the same—with my ass in the dirt, my shoulder bruised, my breath ragged, and Lina standing above me like a statue that could kill gods.
"You fight like a child," she said finally. "You panic. You flinch. You swing too wide and chase your own momentum."
I glared up at her, panting. "I'm trying."
She crouched beside me, her face unreadable.
"I know," she said softly. "That's why I'm still here."
Her voice… I wasn't expecting that. For just a moment, it felt like something shifted between us. But it vanished just as quickly.
"Get your ass up."
By the second hour, my knuckles were bruised, my arms felt like they weighed bricks, and every muscle in my back screamed with every breath.
Lina didn't care.
"Again!" she barked, her voice slicing across the field like a whip. "Weight on the back foot, pivot from the hips. Stop throwing punches like you're swatting flies."
I spat into the grass, breath ragged. "I'm not built like you."
She stepped in front of me, gray eyes unblinking. "Then build yourself."
Without warning, she snapped a strike toward my ribs.
I twisted—barely.
Her hand grazed past me, just a whisper of force, but the shock of it still rattled my spine.
"Sloppy," she muttered. "Your body's fast. Your brain's slow."
I clenched my fists. "You want me to stop thinking?"
"I want you to stop hesitating," she snapped. "There's a difference. Your instincts are trying to lead, and you're dragging them down with doubt."
She raised her hand again — I flinched before I could stop myself — and then she vanished.
There wasn't time to think.
I dropped low, pivoted right — and her foot sliced through where my head had just been.
She was already moving again.
I barely sidestepped a palm strike that would've cratered my chest, then rolled and sprang to my feet. No wind-up. No warning. Just her, appearing and disappearing like a shadow mid-flicker.
But something was different now.
Each time she moved, I felt… pressure.
A shift in the air. Like the space between us rippled a fraction of a second before she struck.
It was subtle — like a breath caught in the wind. But I followed it.
I ducked another blow, twisted with my back heel pivoting, and threw a left hook on pure instinct.
Lina leaned just out of reach — but she nodded.
"Better."
I didn't know how I'd known where she'd be. I didn't know why her motion felt like it bent the air before she moved. But something inside me was reading it, even if I couldn't explain it.
I bounced lightly on the balls of my feet, chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum.
"You feel that?" she asked.
I nodded slowly.
"Don't try to control it," she said. "Just ride it. Space affinity starts with awareness. Gravity with weight and flow. You're starting to feel both."
She stepped toward me again. "This time, hit me."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
"You want to be a Guardian?" she said, cracking her neck. "Then earn it. Show me that all that potential isn't just fluff."
I swallowed the dry taste of fear, clenched my fists tighter, and surged forward.
She came to meet me like a storm.
But the moment she stepped, I felt the air tighten — like the world drew a map for me mid-motion.
I ducked the first jab. Slid past her leg sweep. Turned my shoulder just enough to let her elbow glance off my collarbone instead of cracking it.
And then I was inside her guard.
I didn't think — I just moved.
My right fist arced low, powered from the hip — a brutal body shot aimed toward her ribs.
She dropped her elbow just in time to block it.
The shockwave from the impact cracked out across the grass.
Pain flared up my arm — but I didn't back off.
I followed with a sharp jab to her shoulder — she pivoted. I twisted low and swung again, this time catching her on the ribs with a clean, punishing strike.
She staggered back half a step.
I blinked.
Lina was grinning.
"You felt the window."
I nodded, chest rising and falling.
"You didn't think about angles. You just moved when the space allowed. That's talent."
My breath caught. Not because of her words — but because I finally felt it. That thing humming inside me during the fight in the woods. That pull. That awareness of motion and density, like the world was clay and I was learning to mold it.
Another chime echoed in my mind.
⸻
[Skill Unlocked: Spatial Intuition – Basic]
Your perception of movement and position sharpens at close range. Reflexive dodging and predictive evasion improved while fists are engaged.
⸻
"You're talent is blooming ," Lina said, voice softer now. "It's not refined, but it's there. And it's real."
I dropped into a crouch, fists against my knees, panting hard. "I still feel like I got run over."
She chuckled. "You did. But you got back up. And you're reading the fight the way someone twice your level can't."
She turned and walked a few steps, then paused and looked over her shoulder.
"You ever hear of the Resonance Principle?"
I shook my head.
"Most people with an affinity have to struggle to draw it out. But with the right bloodline or a strong enough connection, the world starts to answer you first."
She glanced down at the faint imprint of my footwork on the training field. "You're not forcing anything, Mark. You're responding. That's the difference between a magician and a warrior."
I stared down at my hands, flexing my fingers.
I hadn't cast a single spell. I hadn't used any fancy technique. But for just a moment — I moved like I belonged here. Like the world bent just enough to say, Yes. That's the path. Now go.
Lina approached again, slower this time.
"You're not ready yet," she said. "But today you took the first real step. That instinct — the way you reacted without hesitation — it's rare."
I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the buzz in my blood. "So what's next?"
"Tomorrow, we train with weights. And after that, terrain combat." She gave me a sideways smirk. "You've got power. But I want to see what happens when gravity turns against you."
Great.
More bruises.
Still… I stood up taller.
Because for the first time since falling into this insane world, I felt something I hadn't before:
I nodded, silent, and watched her walk off toward the village path. Her footsteps barely crunched the dirt. I sat there for a while in the fading light, letting the night wind cool my sweat-soaked shirt.
⸻
When I finally made it back to the cottage, the quiet settled over me like a second skin.
I stripped off my shirt, now stiff with salt, and dropped it by the water basin. My arms ached. My legs burned. My lungs felt like they'd been steamrolled and left out to dry—but something inside me was stirring. A tension behind my ribs I hadn't felt since I'd landed in this world.
I collapsed onto the straw mattress, staring at the wooden ceiling beams. For the first time since arriving in Nytherra, I didn't feel like I was just surviving.
I felt like I was starting something.
With a breath, I opened the interface.
[System Accessed]
A faint glow flickered across my vision as the menus shimmered to life.
[System Accessed]
Name: Mark Jackson
Race: Human (???)
Level: 8
Realm: Mortal Realm – High Tier
Bloodline Sync: 5.3%
Role: Temporary Guardian in Training – Pinebarrow
Health: 390 / 390
Mana: 120 / 120
Current Questline:
Foundations of Strength
• Assist village functions
• Train daily
• Reach Level 16 (Awakened Realm)
Affinities:
• Primary: Space
• Sub-Affinity: Gravity
Core Stats:
• Strength – 22
• Durability – 22
• Agility – 17
• Intelligence – 12
• Willpower – 19
Traits:
• Spatial Resistance I
• Minor Battle Endurance
Active Skill:
• Dragon Enhancement – Partially Locked
There it was. No fanfare. No dramatic title drop or musical cue. Just plain white light—and the truth in front of me.
Primary Affinity: Space. Sub-Affinity: Gravity.
I didn't know what that meant yet, but I remembered what Lina had said—most villagers didn't have an affinity at all. Let alone two.
So why did I?
Was it the bloodline the system kept hinting at? The Sync number that hadn't budged since the fight in the woods? Or something else entirely?
I scrolled down, curious.
Skill Tree (Locked)
Abilities (Limited)
Active Skill: Dragon Enhancement – Partially Locked
Gauntlets: Unranked Relic – Charge: 48%
Unlocked Skill: Nova Break – High-Impact Spatial Burst
I hovered over Nova Break. I hadn't used it yet, but just thinking about it made my chest tighten. That same sensation I'd felt during the affinity test. Like something inside me wanted out.
But I wasn't ready. Not yet.
Not until I understood what I was.
I closed the screen and let the dark claim me.
⸻
The morning came too early.
Birds outside chirped like they had something to prove, and the light slanting through the cracks in the wood stabbed right into my eyes.
I groaned, rolled onto my side—and almost didn't get back up. My body felt like it had been chewed up and spat out by a Rock Bear. Everything from my calves to my lower back throbbed in protest.
But I got up.
I grabbed the fresh tunic laid out near the door, splashed cold water over my face from the basin, and stood under the open-air bucket shower on the side of the cottage. The icy rush jolted the sleep out of me, and for a few blissful seconds, I didn't feel like a walking bruise.
The air smelled like pine sap and distant forge smoke.
Mr. Drake's probably already started for the day.
I toweled off, laced up my boots, and jogged down the path that led toward the forge. The village was quiet—just a few early risers sweeping porches or tending chickens—but it felt different now. Familiar. Not home yet, but not foreign either.
The forge loomed into view, smoke curling from the chimney. I heard the rhythmic strike of hammer on steel before I saw him.
Mr. Drake stood at the anvil, a massive blackened apron wrapped around his thick frame. The copper rings in his beard caught the light as he worked, each hammerfall sparking tiny suns.
"'Bout time you showed up," he said without looking up. "I was startin' to think Lina scared you off."
"Not yet," I said, stepping into the heat of the forge.
He chuckled. "She'll either break you or make you. Sometimes both."
I nodded. "That seems to be her specialty."
Mr. Drake finally set down the hammer and turned to me, his eyes sharp but not unkind.
"You got hands that don't know how to work yet, but they've got the right bones. You show up, do the job, don't whine? You'll learn."
"I'm here," I said simply.
He grunted. "Then grab the tongs. We've got tools to fix and blades to shape. You're gonna learn what it means to build something before you break it."
I did as he said.
The work was hot, exhausting, repetitive—and weirdly satisfying. I lost track of time as we fell into rhythm: he'd hammer, I'd hold; he'd temper, I'd oil; he'd bark orders, and I'd follow them.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I could feel that strange pull again.
A whisper of pressure bending around me.
Not just strength.
Something else.
Something mine.