The clearing at the edge of the forest was still damp from last night's rain. Mist clung low to the ground, curling around Kael's boots as he stood awkwardly, gripping the hilt of a wooden training sword. Across from him, Serenya waited, bow slung at her back, twin short blades drawn. Her posture was calm, balanced. The way she held her weapons made Kael feel like a child pretending at war.
"Feet apart," Serenya instructed, her tone clipped. "Wider. Unless you want to fall the moment someone breathes on you."
Kael shifted his stance, awkwardly planting his feet. The training sword felt heavy, unwieldy. He had never so much as held a weapon back on Earth, aside from kitchen knives. This world demanded more of him, and it showed.
Serenya circled him slowly, eyes sharp as a hawk's. "Your grip is weak. Your stance sloppy. You'll die before you swing."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I've died plenty already."
"Then perhaps you've learned nothing," she shot back. Her words cut like steel, and maybe that was the point.
Before he could answer, Serenya lunged. The flat of her blade cracked against his wrist. Kael yelped, dropping the wooden sword as pain shot up his arm.
"Pick it up," she ordered.
He hissed through his teeth, stooped, and retrieved it. His grip trembled.
Again, she struck. This time across his ribs. The blow stole his breath. He staggered, coughed, and straightened, vision swimming.
"You hesitate," Serenya said, circling once more. "You think too much. In battle, that pause is death."
Kael's anger boiled. His chest still ached from the last strike, but he forced himself to hold the sword tighter. "Easy for you to say. You've trained your whole life. I—"
The words died in his throat as Serenya lunged again. Her blade found his throat. Cold steel pressed against his skin.
"You'll be dead before you finish complaining," she said, voice low. Her eyes, however, softened for just a flicker of a second. "Stop waiting for death. Fight like you want to live."
Kael swallowed hard. He didn't answer, but something shifted inside him.
---
They trained for hours. Blow after blow left Kael battered, bruised, and broken. Every time he faltered, Serenya punished his mistakes. Every time he fell, he dragged himself back to his feet, shaking, blood dripping from split lips and raw knuckles.
By mid-afternoon, his vision blurred. His body screamed for rest. But Serenya showed no mercy.
A final strike—sharp, fast—slipped past his guard. Her blade pierced his chest. Pain burst like fire, stealing his breath. He dropped to his knees, blood pouring down his shirt.
The world dimmed.
Then went black.
---
He awoke with a gasp. The forest spun into focus, the wound in his chest gone. His breath ragged, his heart hammering. He lay on his back in the damp grass, staring at the canopy above.
Serenya stood over him, blades sheathed, arms crossed. Her expression unreadable.
"You died," she said flatly.
Kael sat up, coughing, still tasting blood that wasn't there anymore. "And now I'm back."
Her eyes narrowed. "You died… and came back stronger."
He blinked. "Stronger?"
She gave a short nod. "Your body moved faster before the end. Your eyes… sharper. Each death isn't just survival. It's growth."
Kael flexed his fingers. His grip felt surer now, muscles tighter, reflexes quicker. He could feel it—the subtle shift, like his body remembered what his mind didn't.
Serenya crouched before him, her gaze searching. "But growth like that doesn't come without cost. What is it doing to you?"
Kael hesitated. The System's cold whisper echoed in the back of his skull.
[Soul Strain: 9%]
"I… don't know," he admitted quietly.
Serenya studied him for a long moment, then stood, turning away. "Then find out. Before it consumes you."
---
That night, Kael sat alone by the campfire. Serenya slept lightly, blades within reach, while the rescued boy clung to her side. The flames cracked, sparks dancing into the dark.
Kael stared into the fire, thoughts heavy.
He had died six times now. Each time, the pain was real. The fear was real. But so too was the power. He no longer feared a blade cutting him down. If anything, he craved the edge—because death had become his teacher.
He clenched his fists. If this power is mine, then I'll use it. Even if the cost is steep. Even if I burn myself away.
The firelight flickered across his face, catching the faint black mark spreading along his collarbone. He tugged his shirt higher to hide it.
---
The next morning, training resumed.
Serenya drove him harder than before, but this time, Kael pushed back. His strikes, though clumsy, carried more weight. His stance, though imperfect, held firmer. Each time she cut him down, he rose again, faster, sharper, angrier.
By sunset, he had died three more times.
By sunset, he had also landed his first true strike—his wooden sword cracking against Serenya's side, forcing her back a step.
They froze. Serenya's eyes widened, not from pain but from surprise. Then, for the first time since they met, a small smile tugged at her lips.
"You're learning," she said softly.
Kael's chest swelled—not with pride, but with grim satisfaction. "Then let's keep going."
---
Far beyond the clearing, unseen by either of them, a figure watched from the treeline. Cloaked in black, eyes glinting silver. He leaned on a staff carved with runes, a cruel smile curling across his lips.
"So… the Rebirth System has found its vessel."
He turned, vanishing into the shadows.
---