Location: Fenwick District — The Aetherium Foundry — Jerkins Family Training Ground — Night
The training ground had become a crucible.
Not the kind that tested metal—the kind that tested men. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the weight of expectation. The shadows in the corners seemed to lean inward, watching, waiting for the moment when someone would break.
Jericho stood at the center, his fists clenched at his sides. His breathing was controlled, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on the figure across from him. The Kenshin had not moved since stepping into the light. He simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back, face unreadable.
"Are you ready?" the Kenshin asked.
His voice was flat. Empty. The voice of someone who had been trained to kill and had never forgotten it.
"I—"
"I—"
"I—"
Jericho couldn't finish the sentence.
The Kenshin's head tilted.
"That's your answer, then."
"No—"
"Yes."
"I—"
"Yes."
The Kenshin's hands unclasped.
"Then let's begin."
---
Jericho charged.
His body was a weapon, his limbs extensions of his will. The concrete beneath his feet cracked with each stride, the impact sending shockwaves through the polished floor. His face was twisted into something that was not quite rage—something colder. Something that looked like desperation wrapped in pride.
The Aethernova suit materialized around him like a second skin.
Not fabric—not metal—something else. Pale brown light bled from his shoulders, his chest, his fists, spreading across his body in jagged lines that pulsed with each heartbeat. The air around him grew heavy, dense, pressing against the floor like the weight of a mountain. Cracks spiderwebbed across the polished wood beneath his feet, spreading outward with each step.
"I will not fail," he thought.
"I will not show weakness."
"I will not—"
The Kenshin moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
His suit was different—darker, sleeker, its surface absorbing light instead of reflecting it. Pale gray light bled from its edges, flickering like a dying flame. The space around him seemed to warp, to bend, to shift—making it impossible to tell where he was and where he wasn't.
Jericho's fist connected with empty air.
The Kenshin was already somewhere else.
"Your second mistake—"
The Kenshin's palm struck Jericho's chest.
"—is assuming I would fight fair."
---
Jericho flew backward.
His body hit the wall with a sound like a thunderclap. The concrete cracked, spiderwebbing outward from the point of impact. Dust fell from the ceiling, drifting down in slow motion, catching the harsh white light. His breath left him in a rush. His vision swam. His ears rang with the force of the impact.
"Get up," he told himself.
"Get up."
"You can't—"
"You can't—"
He pushed himself to his feet.
The Kenshin was already in front of him.
"You're still thinking," he said.
"That's still your problem."
His fist connected with Jericho's jaw.
His knee connected with Jericho's stomach.
His elbow connected with Jericho's temple.
"You're not strong enough," he said.
"You're not fast enough."
"You're not—"
"—good enough."
---
Jericho's vision swam.
His body ached. His lungs burned. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"No," he thought.
"No, no, no—"
"I've worked too hard for this."
"I've sacrificed too much."
"I can't—"
"I can't—"
His hands clenched into fists.
The pale brown light around his body flared—brighter, hotter, more desperate.
"I can't lose."
"Not to him."
"Not to anyone."
"Not—"
He charged again.
His body moved with a speed that surprised even him. His fist aimed for the Kenshin's face—not a strike, a declaration. A statement of intent.
The Kenshin's hand caught his fist.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
"You're not thinking," he said.
"That's your problem now."
"You're just reacting."
"Just—"
"—surviving."
"That's not enough."
---
Seraphina stood at the edge of the training ground.
Her arms were crossed. Her expression was unreadable. Her eyes were fixed on the fight—on Jericho's desperate charge, on the Kenshin's fluid defense.
"Pathetic," she murmured.
"Absolutely pathetic."
A figure appeared beside her.
Liana. Jericho's mother. She was younger than Seraphina, softer, her face lined with worry. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her fingers interlaced, her knuckles white.
"Seraphina—"
Her voice was quiet.
"—don't you think you're taking this too far?"
"Too far?"
"He's your nephew."
"He's a Jerkins."
"He's—"
"He's a Jerkins."
Seraphina's eyes were cold.
"And Jerkins do not fail."
"They do not falter."
"They do not—"
"—make excuses."
---
Liana's voice was shaking.
"He's still young."
"He's still—"
"He's still learning."
"He's—"
"He's still my son."
Seraphina's hand moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
Her fingers closed around Liana's wrist.
"Whatever you did for my brother," she said.
Her voice was soft.
"Before me, you have no voice."
"No power."
"No—"
"—say."
Liana's face went pale.
---
A voice cut through the tension.
"Yeah, Aunty. You show her."
Seraphina's head turned.
Leo Jerkins stood at the edge of the training ground.
His face was calm. His hands were clasped behind his back. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy.
"You," she said.
Her voice was flat.
"Since you became a Resonance, you've been gaining some balls and confidence, haven't you?"
Leo bowed.
His movements were smooth, practiced.
"Your grace and my father's grace were the motivation that caused me to not lose hope," he said.
"And in the end—"
"—I made it."
Liana's voice was sharp.
"Leave," she said.
Her eyes were cold.
"Leave, Leo."
Leo's head tilted.
"Aunty—"
"I said leave."
Leo didn't move.
His eyes moved to Seraphina.
"Aunty," he said.
"Do you hear that?"
"It sounds like some mosquito has invaded our home."
"Now it thinks it's heaven."
"But I don't quite know where it is."
"It's really annoying."
His neck twisted—left, right, left—as if searching for the source of the sound.
"It's really, really annoying."
Seraphina laughed.
Liana's face turned red.
---
Jericho heard the voice.
"Aunty—"
"Do you hear that?"
"It sounds like some mosquito—"
His focus shattered.
The Kenshin moved.
"Distracted," he said.
"That's your final mistake."
His fist connected with Jericho's face.
His knee connected with Jericho's stomach.
His elbow connected with Jericho's temple.
Jericho fell.
His body hit the floor. His breath left him in a rush. His vision swam.
"No—"
"No—"
"No—"
---
Jericho lay on the ground.
His body was broken. His pride was shattered. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.
Liana rushed to his side.
Her hands found his face. Her eyes were wet.
"Jericho—"
"Jericho—"
"Jericho—"
His eyes found Leo.
His brother was standing at the edge of the training ground.
His face was calm. His hands were clasped behind his back. His eyes were cold.
"I'm going to get you," Jericho thought.
"I'm going to get you."
---
Elijah watched from the shadows.
It appears this Seraphina might know where the key to the vault of Vein frames is, he thought.
If I suck up to her—
—maybe it will save me the time of me being here.
---