The First Step Hurts The Most

Rokuro was already bleeding.

His ribs ached, his legs screamed, and his arms felt like they were swinging through syrup.

All around him, quiet murmurs rose from the watching crowd—recruits, scouts, hunters, and forgehands who’d come to witness the so-called “Lock of Legend” prove himself.

So far?

It wasn’t going well.

He stumbled backward, sweat flying from his brow, breath ragged.

It was supposed to be a normal morning.

Instead… it was a massacre.

A massacre of pride.

╒ 🗝 ╛

The training field was nestled in the southern stretch of Emberhold, beneath the sprawling iron canopy of a tall tree known as the Bellbark—named for the way its leaves rang faintly when struck by wind.

Thick roots coiled across the ground like natural barricades, and patches of dirt had been flattened into sparring circles, some marked with faded chalk and scorched into blackened lines from previous bouts.

Rokuro and Kagi stood at the edge of the field. She, composed as ever. He, already bouncing on his heels like he had something to prove.

“Nice place,” Rokuro muttered, cracking his knuckles. “So who am I punching first?”

Kagi didn’t answer.

Because Lykos was already standing across the ring.

Cape off. Armor minimal. Sleeves rolled.

“You.” His voice echoed like a command, not a request.

“You want to earn your place here, you’ll fight me. No magical gauntlets. No weapons. Just you and me.”

Rokuro’s eyes widened. “…Wait, hold on—”

“If you win,” Lykos continued, “you won’t have to follow a single command we give you.”

He raised his hand, pointing directly at Rokuro. “But if you lose… you do exactly what I say. No complaints.”

Rokuro grinned, already stepping forward. “You had me at ‘win’.”

He looked to the side. “What about Kagi? She gets a test too, right?”

Selka was seated on a low root nearby, legs crossed and fruit in hand. It was something that looked like an apple but was… blue. She waved lazily.

“Kagi’s a Key. Living weapon. Naturally attuned to combat. She passed the moment she existed.”

“Not exactly a compliment but I’ll take it.” Kagi muttered.

Nero leaned against a tree, arms crossed. “It’s fact.”

Rokuro clicked his tongue. “Great. So I’m getting into a brawl and she gets to skip class?”

“That’s the perk of being the one people actually trust,” Kagi grinned sadistically.

This little… Rokuro gritted his teeth.

Lykos beckoned with two fingers. “Ready yourself.”

And like that—

Hard.

He barely saw the strike. Just the faint blur of Lykos’s foot and the thud of dirt as his body bounced off the ring floor.

The leader’s right hand man was too fast for him. Too strong. Too calculating. While Rokuro charged head on without a single idea on what to do Lykos simply sidestepped him and delivered blows that kept Rokuro down for longer than he stood.

That was a fight Rokuro simply couldn’t win.

“Ooof,” Selka winced from the sideline. “That’s what we call a ‘spinal realignment.’”

“You mean a beating,” Kagi replied.

“Haven’t seen Lykos punch up someone with such vigor before.” Nero scoffed.

Rokuro pushed himself up again, legs shaking, pride clinging by a thread.

He had to land one hit.

Just one.

Was that too much to ask?

Another blur. Another hit. Lykos’s fist found its mark—again.

Of course it was too much to ask.

╒ 🗝 ╛

Rokuro’s eyes opened to light and pain.

His body ached. Dirt clung to his face. His ribs throbbed with every breath.

“…Tch.”

He slowly pushed himself up. The training grounds were… empty.

The crowd that had formed was gone. Everyone was gone.

Only two figures remained.

Nero, seated on a tree root, arms crossed.

And Lykos, standing nearby, unmoving—like he’d been there the whole time.

“…Where in the blue hell is everyone?” Rokuro muttered, wincing.

Nero didn’t even glance at him. “The match ended. You lost. Everyone left.”

“…Seriously?”

Nero shrugged.

“And Kagi…” Rokuro noticed one absence in particular. He had never woken up in this new world without her by his side, “Where… is she?”

“She went into the forest with Selka. Yanissa needed them for something. Something about aether surveillance.”

Rokuro blinked. “She just left?”

“She left you a message,” Nero said, deadpan.

Rokuro raised a brow.

Nero looked at him, expression flat.

“‘Try not to die before I’m back.’”

“…Of course she did,” Rokuro muttered.

Lykos stepped forward.

“You’re awake. Finally.”

Rokuro scowled, and pushed himself to his feet.

“No thanks to you old man.”

Lykos didn’t acknowledge the sarcasm.

Rokuro spat blood on the dirt, and readied his fists.

“Too bad everybody left and won’t see me beat your ass in round two.”

“Pffft.”

Nero spat with laughter by the side.

“There’s no reason for that.” Lykos shook his head, “You can’t beat me. And you know that too.”

“Tch.” Rokuro clicked his tongue. He was right on the money with that. But even if he couldn’t he had to try again. There was no telling what Lykos would force him to do if he got the upper hand…

“Enough of it. You start training today.”

Rokuro blinked.

“Training? Today?”

Lykos turned.

“I’ll shape you into something worth presenting to the Warden.”

Training… Rokuro looked down at his bruised arms and battered knuckles. Maybe… he really did need this.

“…You really don’t let up, huh.” Rokuro finally sighed.

Lykos didn’t answer.

He was already walking away.

“Good luck, newbie.” Nero scoffed, “You’ll need it.”

╒ 🗝 ╛

It began with buckets.

Two of them—iron, dented, filled to the brim with water from the stream.

Lykos stood beside a long, uneven log balanced across a pair of stumps. The whole setup looked like it belonged in a lumber camp. Or a torture pit.

Rokuro squinted at it.

“…Okay. What am I doing?”

“You’re going to walk across,” Lykos said flatly. “And not spill a drop.”

“…You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Nero leaned against a nearby post, arms crossed, gaze bored. He had nothing better to do apparently than to sit through Rokuro’s training.

“Don’t slip. The forest floor’s not as forgiving as Lykos.”

“Which means not forgiving at all,” Rokuro muttered.

He picked up the buckets—heavy—and wobbled once just lifting them.

Lykos stepped back. “Begin.”

Rokuro exhaled through his nose and stepped onto the log.

It creaked.

He took another step.

The left bucket tilted slightly, and he jerked instinctively to correct it—overcompensating.

The log shifted.

“Wha—?!”

THUD.

He landed flat on his back, water soaking into his jacket.

“…Goddammit,” Rokuro hissed.

“Again,” Lykos said without missing a beat.

╒ 🗝 ╛

Next was log-splitting.

Lykos handed him an axe and pointed to a thick hunk of dark wood. A faint line of silver shimmered through the middle.

“Split the wood. Leave the Aether-thread untouched.”

Rokuro blinked. He crouched near the log, narrowing his eyes at the shimmering streak inside.

“…Wait a sec. This is… actual wood?”

He tapped the grain with a knuckle. It gave slightly. “I thought all these trees were solid iron.”

Nero’s voice came from behind him.

“They’re not. Just look like it from the outside.”

Rokuro looked over.

Nero didn’t move from where he leaned. Arms crossed. Face flat.

“Ironwood trees evolved with metal in the bark. Biometallic. Grows like armor.”

Rokuro blinked. “So the core’s… normal?”

“Dense. Tough. But yeah—wood. Especially these ones.” Nero tilted his head toward the silver line. “That thread is Aether. If you cut through it, the whole log destabilizes. Burns out or rots.”

“And you want me to cut this without touching that… thread?”

Lykos nodded. “Control. Not strength.”

“…Great,” Rokuro muttered. “So I either split it perfectly or destroy something valuable?”

“If you do it right,” Lykos added, “we reuse the log. If you don’t…”

He paused.

“We use it for firewood. Perhaps.”

Rokuro gritted his teeth and took the axe.

“Y’know, this forest really hates me.”

The amount of Rokuro could waste in a date could only be left to the imagination.

╒ 🗝 ╛

Then came the “Still Breath.”

A shallow, ice-cold basin near the outer roots of the Bellbark. Lykos pointed.

“Submerge. Hold your breath. Stay calm.”

“That’s it?” Rokuro frowned. “That’s easy.”

He stepped in.

Immediately flinched.

“…Ghh—this is freezing!”

He dunked his head under.

Ten seconds later…

SPLASH.

He came up sputtering.

“I c-can’t feel my face—!”

“You lasted twelve seconds,” Lykos said. “Again.”

Rokuro collapsed onto the grass. “I’m gonna die before that masked freak even finds me…”

“Nothing like making a hero lose hope…” Nero muttered.

╒ 🗝 ╛

The final trial was the worst.

A blindfold.

A winding trail through the forest.

And no instructions.

“You want me to run through this blindfolded?”

“Yes.”

“Without knowing where it goes?”

“Yes.”

“…Are there traps?”

“It remains to be seen.”

Rokuro stared.

Nero clapped once, slow. “Can’t wait.”

╒ 🗝 ╛

By the time the sun dipped behind the Elder Tree, Rokuro was soaked, scraped, half-frozen, and completely out of breath.

His clothes were torn. His knuckles were raw. His pride… somewhere back at the log.

Lykos, meanwhile, hadn’t broken a sweat.

He stood quietly, arms behind his back, as Rokuro stumbled back to the starting point like a defeated war veteran.

“…Is it over?” Rokuro croaked.

“For today,” Lykos said. “Tomorrow, we start again.”

Rokuro collapsed onto the dirt.

╒ 🗝 ╛

The deeper forest was quiet.

Too quiet.

Kagi crouched near the edge of a moss-covered root, one hand pressed against the dirt, eyes half-lidded in permanent irritation.

“…It’s pulsing here,” Selka said behind her, voice bright. “See how the Aether light flickers in the bark? It’s destabilizing.”

Kagi didn’t answer.

She just let out a slow, barely audible sigh.

They’d been out here for over an hour. Crawling through vines. Tracing lines. “Syncing emotional resonance with the natural frequency of Aether.”

She was a weapon. A sword forged to cut through lies and fate.

This?

This was tree therapy.

“…Now place your hand gently— on the crystal bloom,” Selka said, spinning in a little circle with a wide grin. “Don’t channel anything. Just breathe with it.”

Kagi stared at the pale blue flower blooming from a crack in the bark. It shimmered faintly with raw Aether. Admittedly, beautiful.

But the whole thing still felt ridiculous.

“Why am I even here?” she muttered.

Selka perked up. “Because the Ironwood isn’t just a forest. It’s… aware.”

Kagi raised a brow. “Aware.”

“Everything that dies here—people, animals, even old magic—gets absorbed into the Aether flowing through the roots. The forest remembers. Not as ghosts,” Selka added before Kagi could say it, “but as echoes. Feelings without a body. And Yanissa can hear them better than anyone.”

Kagi glanced around at the looming trunks, bark rippled like frozen steel waves. “So… a forest with mood swings.”

Selka grinned. “Exactly. Calm parts, angry parts, scared parts. Yanissa sent us to find the stable zones—places she can actually talk to without the forest lashing out. And you,” she poked Kagi’s arm, “are perfect for this. Your soul frequency’s basically a magical reset button. Just by standing here, you help balance the Aether.”

Kagi’s eye twitched. “…Remind me to ask the forest to pick someone else next time.”