Next came the sign-up board, a large slate propped against the wall with mentor names listed alongside their specialties in weapon types and styles. For "slashing blades—agile," a handful of options appeared: an elf renowned for precise, flowing cuts; a beastkin expert in raw speed and aggressive strikes. Then there was Gale—a human, with no elaborate description beyond "flexible advanced." Strangely, most of the recruits skimmed past his name, murmuring under their breath about it being "too intense" or "not for the faint-hearted." Einz didn't catch the full reason, but the slot remained open, untouched. He shrugged it off and added his name beneath Gale's, figuring he'd find out soon enough.
The class wrapped up efficiently once everyone had chosen and signed— no lingering drills or demonstrations, just the instructor's final nod. "Meet your mentor tomorrow," he said. "That's where the true work begins."
The following day, Einz arrived at the mentor hall early, the space a straightforward room branching off the main corridor, lined with schedule boards and doors leading to private consultation areas. Gale was impossible to miss: tall and lean with wild white hair that stuck up in every direction, his eyes sharp and piercing, carrying an air of effortless confidence as he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed.
Einz stopped a few paces away. "I'm Einz," he said simply. "Signed under you for blades."
Gale's head tilted, a grin already forming. "Einz, huh? The space kid." He paced a slow circle around him, hands in his pockets, grin sharp and easy. "Most recruits stick to the safe picks—predictable, boring. But you?" His eyes gleamed with amusement. "You signed under me. Either you've got guts… or no idea what you just did."
Einz shrugged, his tone even. "Didn't know the difference."
Gale let out a bark of laughter, bright and unrestrained. "Oh, you'll learn quick enough. I'm the best around—stronger than most, faster than the rest, and a hell of a lot more fun than those stiff drills. They avoid me because I don't do the boring stuff—the endless forms and sword angles. Field training's where the real magic happens."
Before Einz could ask, Gale clapped a hand on his shoulder and started steering him toward the door with surprising strength.
"Field?" Einz echoed, digging in his heels just a little.
"Absolutely—the best way to learn! Gale's grin didn't falter; if anything, it widened. There was a spark in his eyes, something equal parts brilliance and danger, like he knew a joke only he found funny.
"Trust me, kid," he said, pushing the door open to the bright morning outside, "you'll be thanking me by the end."
Einz followed, more out of confusion than agreement. The air outside was crisp, sunlight filtering through the high courtyard walls that framed the Order's rear training grounds. Recruits were scattered about, sparring, shouting, swinging practice weapons. It looked like what he expected—until Gale kept walking.
Past the training rings.
Past the weapon racks.
Past even the line of boundary posts that marked where most trainees stopped.
Einz frowned. "Uh… the field's not here?"
Gale waved him along without looking back. "Of course not. You think you can learn anything useful on flattened dirt and hay dummies? Nah, I've got a better spot."
"How far is this better spot?" Einz asked, picking up the pace to match Gale's unhurried stride.
"Not far," Gale said, for the third time in thirty minutes.
They left the Order's rear grounds completely, the dirt path sloping downward into the forested edge beyond the walls. Birds scattered overhead. The air grew cooler, the canopy thicker. Einz started to suspect his mentor's sense of distance was as chaotic as his hair.
After another stretch, Gale finally stopped on a small ridge overlooking a wide valley. The view was breathtaking—and unsettling. The forest below ended abruptly, like someone had scooped a perfect circle out of the world.
Einz stared, his voice dry. "...That's not a field."
Gale's grin widened, wind whipping through his hair as he peered over the edge of the black expanse. "It is a field," he said, unbothered and far too cheerful. "Just not the kind you're used to."
Einz stepped closer despite himself. The low hum rising from below vibrated faintly through his boots—too familiar, too close. His throat tightened. For a heartbeat, the world tilted, and he wasn't standing beside Gale anymore. He was back there—watching the horizon collapse inward, the sky folding into itself as his city vanished beneath that same dark spiral.
He swallowed, forcing the air back into his lungs. "That's a hole," he said quietly, but the words came out thinner than he meant, more memory than observation.
Gale glanced sideways, one brow raised, and for the briefest moment there was something almost knowing in his grin—then it was gone, replaced by the same easy brightness. "Exactly," he said, stepping up to the edge. "A perfect field for what comes next."
Einz turned to him, incredulous. "You're not serious."
Gale stepped up to the edge, peering down into the faint shimmer that rippled across the hole's surface like liquid air. "Serious is boring."
Before Einz could stop him, Gale tipped forward and jumped.
Just like that—no hesitation, no warning. His coat flared in the wind, his laughter echoing down into the void..
Einz rubbed a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. "He's actually insane."
Then, despite himself, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His heart thumped with a strange excitement.
"...Screw it."
He took a few steps back, inhaled, and sprinted forward—
—and jumped in after him.