A few hours later, Zevaron was running along a mysterious forest path. The terrain around him had shifted—the trees grew denser, the ground became damp, and traces of civilization had all but vanished. He was far from home; even the way back began to feel blurred.
As he quickened his pace, the scroll inside his storage ring suddenly vibrated.
The vibration was followed by a raspy voice, sounding as if it came from a vast distance.
"There is someone... a descendant of an acquaintance of mine. Go and meet them."
Zevaron slowed his steps, his brow furrowing. "Who could be out this far...? And what kind of acquaintance?"
Without further explanation, the direction within his mind shifted. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling him toward a specific point. Zevaron followed the impulse, pushing through thickets and over the roots of massive trees, until he finally reached an open clearing.
He stopped abruptly.
Perched casually on a thick branch of a giant tree, someone sat with one leg swinging slowly, their back leaning lazily against the trunk.
It was a girl with short brown hair, cut unevenly as if she prioritized practicality over appearance. Her eyes were pitch black, sharp, and filled with alertness. She looked to be about sixteen years old.
Zevaron recognized her.
"Keira...?"
The girl turned her head. She hopped down from the branch without hesitation, landing lightly as if it were second nature to her.
"What are you doing here?" Zevaron asked, still surprised.
Keira gave a thin smirk. She tucked her hands into her pockets; her stance was casual, yet she looked ready to move at any second.
"Zevaron," she said, "how many weeks has it been since we last met?"
She glanced toward the forest behind her.
"I'm watching over my brother. He's about to fight a Wood Bear monster."
Before Zevaron could ask anything else—
BOOM!
A heavy impact shook the ground, followed by a guttural roar that sent birds scattering from the trees.
Keira tightened her jaw, her eyes instantly snapping into focus.
"Looks like it's started."
A boy, roughly fourteen years old, was shoved backward by the force of the Wood Bear's strike. The ground beneath his feet was gouged, yet he remained standing tall.
The Wood Bear attacked again, delivering a horizontal swipe with full force. Instead of retreating, the boy offered a thin smile. He stepped into the range of the attack and lunged forward, driving a straight punch into the Wood Bear's abdomen.
The punch pierced through the creature's hard, wooden body.
A moment later, flames erupted from within the wound, consuming the Wood Bear's entire frame until it crumbled into ash.
"Your brother is quite impressive," Zevaron remarked to Keira.
"Quite impressive?" the boy's voice sounded cold.
He stepped forward and stood directly in front of Zevaron, staring at him without a hint of fear.
"Yes," Zevaron answered calmly. "You are indeed quite impressive."
At that very moment, the balance of the world seemed to shift.
The boy suddenly felt his footing vanish. His body was lifted and spun through the air, as if his entire strength had been diverted in the opposite direction. He had no time to resist—his own momentum had betrayed him.
But before his body could hit the ground hard, Zevaron moved.
He rotated the boy's wrist and shoulder in a controlled manner, guiding his fall with precision. The boy landed on the ground in a roll; his breath was caught for a moment, but he was without serious injury.
The movement was fluid.
Fast.
And it completely utilized his opponent's own power.
Keira watched from the side without expression, as if she had expected this outcome from the start.
"That technique... how is it possible for you to use it?" the boy asked in disbelief. "Only Sister Keira is supposed to be able to do that."
Zevaron did not answer immediately. He simply stood with a calm demeanor, as if it weren't something to boast about.
"What are you talking about?" Keira intervened. "He is the one who taught me that technique."
The boy fell silent. His eyes widened for a moment before he looked down, trying to process his sister's words. He looked back at Zevaron, this time with a different expression—no longer defiant, but thoughtful.
"So... you taught Sister Keira?" he asked softly.
Zevaron gave a short nod.
The boy took a deep breath. He stepped forward, stopping at a respectful distance. With a firm motion, he bowed his head.
"I apologize for my earlier behavior," he said. "I underestimated you too much."
He raised his head again, his gaze now filled with determination.
"If you don't mind... I want to learn. Not to win, but so that I can stand without bringing shame to Sister Keira's name."
Keira glanced at him briefly, then turned her face away while crossing her arms.
"At least you're finally speaking properly."
Zevaron looked at the boy for a moment, judging not his strength, but his attitude.
"If you truly wish to learn," Zevaron said finally, "then the first thing you must learn is to respect your opponent—even before the fight begins."
The boy nodded firmly.
"Understood," he replied. "I will remember my name today... and the person who made me understand the true meaning of strength."
Zevaron sent a voice transmission toward the scroll.
"Who do you mean?" he asked.
The scroll vibrated gently before emitting a deep, faint voice.
"That woman."
Zevaron fell silent for a moment. He then pulled an object from his storage ring—a thick-covered book with pages yellowed by age.
"Inside are several combat techniques," Zevaron said as he handed the book over. "I cannot train you right now."
The boy accepted the book with both hands.
"Oh right," Zevaron added, "what is your name? Keira mentioned she had a brother, but I've forgotten the name."
"My name is Lukas," he answered.
"Lukas," Zevaron said, "study the contents of that book here. I need to speak with your sister in private."
Zevaron then walked away. Keira followed him without saying a word.
After traveling about forty meters, Zevaron stopped. He raised his hand and formed a protective magic circle.
"
A transparent shield formed, enclosing the area around them and dampening any sound from the outside.
"What do you want to talk about that requires us to speak in private?" Keira asked.
In response, Zevaron pulled a scroll from his storage ring. The scroll opened slowly, releasing an old bracelet. Its surface was dull, without any flashy decorations or obvious magical radiance.
However, the moment the bracelet appeared—Keira's wrist felt heavy.
It wasn't pain, but a subtle pull, as if something inside her body was reacting instinctively. Her breath hitched for a moment.
The bracelet vibrated slowly.
Before Zevaron could speak, the voice from the scroll was heard again.
"That bracelet belonged to the ancestor of your clan."
Keira froze.
"The owner entrusted it before their death," the voice continued. "Inside that bracelet lies a legacy that can only be recognized by the same blood."
Keira stared at the bracelet intently. She slowly reached out her hand, stopping just before touching it. The vibration in her wrist grew clearer, as if the bracelet were responding to her very existence.