Grace's breath caught the moment her Face fully materialized beside her.
The ground itself seemed to lean closer to the figure.
Elior's eyes widened, the smirk fading. "....So this is your Face."
Grace hesitated, her voice trembling but proud. "Yes…. this is her."
Elior nodded once, his expression unreadable. "A vixen draped in mystery… impressive. Not something ordinary." His eyes lingered on the crown. "Royalty in its essence. The mist… hmm. Healing, or corruption? Can't tell yet."
Grace felt her chest tighten. His words sounded like judgment, but also acknowledgment.
Then, Elior's gaze sharpened. His posture shifted. His body leaned forward ever so slightly, and the night grew heavier.
A wet sound tore through the silence.
Grace gasped as something broke from his shoulder. From Elior's left back, a sharp, spiky branch thrust itself outward, ripping through his flesh.
Blood dripped down his arm, but his expression didn't flinch. The branch was thin yet long, almost skeletal, jagged with cruel edges, and at its end bloomed a lily.
The air bent strangely. Grace blinked, it wasn't her eyes. Around Elior, space itself warped, shivering like broken glass. She could see tiny rifts flicker open and shut, splitting like cracks in reality.
Her breath grew shallow. "What… what is happening?"
Elior's tone was steady, almost teaching, but underneath it carried weight. "This branch… it rots space. It's always been its passive nature." He raised his hand and touched the lily blooming near his shoulder, smearing its red-stained petals with his palm. "But when I will it—"
He plucked the flower, carefully, like it was sacred. For a moment, his face softened as he balanced the lily in his palm. Then his eyes turned sharp again.
"it rots time as well when needs."
He flicked the lily into the air.
Grace's heart leapt. She watched as the flower traced a route forward, its delicate petals swirling. Where it passed, the world itself broke.
A line of space tore apart, revealing nothing but void for a breathless second. The sound was like fabric ripping, only deeper, older. Then it sealed again, leaving Grace trembling at the glimpse of emptiness.
Her knees weakened. "You can… tear space apart…?"
Elior's expression, dramatic yet calm, was almost frightening in how natural it felt to him.
His eyes found hers. "My Face…"
He paused, letting the silence sink deep into her bones.
"Dawn of Happiness...."
He lowered his hand, smirk returning faintly, though his aura was overwhelming.
"....Smile."
The name itself echoed in the air, like the world bowed for a moment.
Grace shivered, her vixen-faced figure drawing closer to her instinctively, its green mist circling around her like a shield.
Elior simply stood there, blood trickling from his back, as if nothing about him had changed yet everything had.
Beside Elior, the air cracked again, and something stepped out, if stepping was even the right word.
It had wings, but not of feathers. They were sharp, thorny branches stretching wide, bending like they had grown in the wrong direction. Its body looked carved, wooden yet alive, every line across its frame resembling a wound left unhealed. Its face was blank, as if sliced from a single trunk, hollow eyes burning faintly.
Grace steadied. The vixen beside her hissed softly, its mist swirling, as though it recognized a predator hidden in Elior's shadow.
The night air was heavy with silence. Grace's breath steamed faintly in the cold, while Elior stood opposite her, calm as ever. The glowing veins on his left shoulder pulsed softly, feeding life into the grotesque branch curling out of his flesh.
"You ready?" he asked. His voice was gentle, but his eyes told another story.... sharp, unyielding, as if nothing in the world could break his focus.
Grace nodded. Her Vixen-like Face flickered into being beside her, scarlet kimono trailing like flames in the dark. The crown above its head glowed faintly, and the green mist around its leaves thickened, swirling like a living storm.
Both stepped forward. Then, as if pulled by the same string, they rushed.
Elior's speed was shocking. One second he was standing still; the next, his hand was cutting the air like a blade toward her throat. Grace's reflex kicked in. She swung her arm up, summoning a dozen leaf-shaped daggers in an instant. They flew like shards of wind, spinning so fast they whistled.
Branches erupted from Elior's shoulder, splitting the ground as they shot forward like spears. They smashed into her daggers mid-air. Wood against leaf, nature against nature. Sparks flew, as if the world itself couldn't decide which to favor.
The impact slowed them, but neither stopped. Grace darted sideways, her fox leaping ahead. The Vixen's leaves glowed brighter, dripping green mist that warped the ground into a soft illusion.
Elior didn't flinch. His branch ripped out from behind like a whip, carving a deep scar into the sand where she had been a breath ago.
Grace gritted her teeth. Her eyes narrowed then the world stopped.
Time slowed.
The Vixen's crown gleamed like a frozen sun. Every falling grain of sand hung motionless, every ripple in the air like glass. Grace moved lightly, soundless. Her fingers gripped a dagger made of emerald light as she closed the gap between them.
She swung for his side and froze in shock.
Elior moved....
Not just moved, he blurred. The branch on his shoulder twitched, twisting reality like melting glass. Space cracked faintly around him, and with one impossible step, he blocked her strike with his bare hand.
Grace's heart hammered. Even inside slowed time?
Then she understood. The branch.... it wasn't bound by time. Its rotting effect stretched beyond speed, beyond stillness. It warped the rules, bending space to let Elior slip forward.
Time snapped back.
Grace stumbled away as Elior chuckled softly. "Not bad," he said, brushing dirt from his shoulder as if she hadn't just frozen the world. "You're learning fast."
Before she could speak, he raised his hand and the ground erupted.
A roar like an avalanche tore through the night. A giant sand cannon, formed from compressed earth and air, blasted forward with devastating force. Grace barely had time to shield with her Face before it struck. The explosion tore through the training field, sand spiraling high like a storm.
When the dust settled, Grace lay on the ground, coughing, her kimono-clad fox fading into mist.
Elior walked toward her, calm as ever. He offered a hand but didn't smile. "You're still new. That's fine. No shame in this. You just need to understand your Face. Study it, align with it. That's when real strength begins."
Grace took his hand, panting. Her cheeks burned with frustration, but deep down… she was thrilled.
She had touched a fraction of what Facecraft truly was and now she wanted more.
Elior's body eased as the branch folded back into nothingness.
The jagged spines retreated under his skin, leaving behind raw cuts across his shoulder. For a moment his face tightened, not from pride but from pain.
With steady hands, he pressed against the wound, smearing blood before wiping it away with the corner of his sleeve.
Slowly, his flesh sealed back to normal, though faint red lines still lingered like scars.
Grace watched silently, unsettled by the transformation. "Does it… always hurt like that?" she asked softly.
Elior gave a faint shrug, his voice low. "The branch doesn't come for free. My Face feeds on blood. Every time I call it, I have to give something of myself. That's the price."
Grace's brows furrowed. She had felt exhaustion using her own Face, but blood? The thought of carving into herself for strength made her chest heavy. "And if you keep using it?"
Elior finally looked at her, calm but sharp. "Then I'll bleed out one day. That's why I use it carefully. One mistake, and my own weapon will kill me before anyone else does."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with a reality Grace hadn't considered.
Elior let out a quiet breath and brushed the last traces of dirt from his hands. "Enough training for tonight. We'll go deeper next time. Till then, rest."
Grace nodded slowly. Her fox-like Face was already gone, but she could still feel the faint warmth of its crown above her head.
They walked back toward the bunker together, the slow night pressing against their shoulders.
Inside, faint lantern light flickered against the steel walls, the air warmer than the desert wind outside.