The morning air was crisp, laced with the scent of wet moss and burning herbs. Rey awoke in his hut to the faint hum of chanting outside. For once, it wasn't a sound that warned him of danger. It was routine—part of the tribe's daily awakening.
Fianna stood at the entrance, arms crossed, smirking slightly. "You're slow."
Rey rubbed his eyes. "I'm not used to sleeping without one ear open."
"Get used to it. You're training today."
"Training?"
Fianna nodded. "If you're staying here, you'll need to learn how to protect yourself. Not just run and survive like you did for the past two years."
Rey stood up, curious and nervous. He followed her to the village's edge, where a wide clearing had been carved into the jungle—smooth dirt surrounded by wooden pillars and woven targets. A few Elysian warriors stood watching, their dark green skin glinting in the light, weapons at their backs.
Fianna gestured to a rack of carved spears, bladed roots, and even stone gauntlets.
"Choose something," she said. "Your instincts will tell you."
Rey hesitated. His gaze fell on a short spear—not too heavy, balanced, with strange runes etched along its shaft. When he picked it up, a faint warmth ran through his fingers.
"That one's old," Fianna said. "It belonged to a Sky Hunter. We thought it was dead metal. Guess it's waiting for someone."
"Sky Hunter?"
"A warrior caste that vanished generations ago," she said, stepping forward. "Maybe it likes you."
She didn't give him more time to ask questions. Instead, she lunged.
Rey barely lifted the spear in time to deflect her swipe. She was fast—much faster than he expected—but she pulled her strikes just enough to avoid injury.
"Too slow," she said.
Again, she attacked. This time Rey stepped back, used the spear to redirect her blade, and spun behind her. She laughed.
"You're learning."
They trained for hours, Fianna teaching him how to breathe, how to read his opponent's movements, how to move with the spear like it was part of him. Though Rey had survived on instinct for two years, this was the first time he learned to fight.
But something strange happened midway through training.
When Fianna demonstrated a sharp lunge, her entire body shimmered—momentarily vanishing, then reappearing behind a pillar like a shadow made solid.
Rey froze. "What was that?"
Fianna paused. "A gift."
She walked to him and placed a hand on her chest. "Elysians are connected to the Rhythm. It's a living current in the Abyss—one that we can hear, feel, and even bend if we learn to trust it."
"Rhythm?" Rey echoed.
"It's not magic. It's not spirit. It's… life. Flowing through everything, even the monsters. But most forget how to listen."
"And you can use it?"
She nodded. "Some are born attuned to it. Others can learn through pain, loss, and purpose."
Her eyes lingered on his. "You've already taken your first step, Rey. The moment you survived… the moment you chose not to give up."
He looked down at the spear in his hand. It pulsed again, faint but steady. For the first time, he didn't feel like he was holding a weapon.
He felt like he was holding a path forward.
That night, as the tribe danced to the soft rhythm of drums, Rey sat beside Fianna under the stars.
"I want to learn," he said quietly.
She looked at him, surprised.
"Then I'll teach you," she replied.
And in that moment, Rey didn't just belong—he had a purpose.
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