Broken Balance

The morning was cold. Gloomy. Offensively early.

And Rokuro was already swearing.

It had been 7 days since they had arrived at Emberhold and somehow… the mornings weren’t getting any lighter.

Inside the canvas walls of their tent, he sat cross-legged in the corner, hair a mess. Beside him rested the heavy linen sack—the same one he’d materialized on Nero’s head a week ago. Its mouth hung open slightly, stuffed with supplies and palace rations from Portalia.

Rokuro reached in and pulled out a dented apple. Bit into it.

Crunch.

“…Tch. Still tastes like royal bullshit.” He looked at its red healthy sheen, “How’s this thing even edible?”

Across from him, Kagi finished lacing up her boots.

“Time inside the Keybox doesn’t pass normally.”

“Keybox…” Rokuro scoffed, “More like magical lunchbox.”

He chomped again, angrily this time. “My body’s still sore from yesterday. If I have to balance another bucket or avoid another invisible root line, I’m gonna snap.”

Kagi pulled on her gloves, standing with that same graceful efficiency as always.

“…Selka’s making me do tree therapy again today.”

Rokuro blinked. “Tree… therapy?”

“Don’t ask.”

They stepped outside.

And that was when the sky fell.

“LOCK OF LEGEND—PREPARE YOURSELF!!”

FWUMP—SPLAT—

A red berry exploded in front of him.

“The hell?!” Rokuro jumped back.

“Ambush formation engaged!!”

From behind a crate, Sana leapt out—scarf dragging like a cape, fists stuffed with berry-filled pouches.

“I bring you a challenge, grumpy gauntlet man!”

“…What in the blue hell is happening right now.” Rokuro blinked.

“Children,” Kagi replied flatly.

“I’m not a child! I’m Sana of the Rootward Resistance! And I declare war!”

Another berry whizzed past his ear. Rokuro ducked—then another. And another.

“Oi! Quit it!” he shouted, dodging frantically. “Are these even ripe—?!”

THWIP—SPLAT.

The berry didn’t hit him. It hit Kagi. Square on the cheek.

The forest went silent.

Kagi slowly wiped the smear away, eyes narrowing. Her eyes glinted with malice.

“…You wish to wage war against me?”

Rokuro panicked.

“I—it was reflex, I didn’t mean—!”

Kagi walked to Sana and extended her hand. “Give me ammo.”

“Heh! Roger!” 

And just like that—Rokuro was under siege.

Kagi struck with machine precision, every throw finding its mark.

Sana cackled like a gremlin, diving and rolling, berries flying in wild arcs.

Rokuro was caught in the middle—pelted, stained, nowhere to run.

“Get his face!” 

“I’m trying, he jumps like a goat!”

“I’M NOT A GOAT!!”

SPLAT. SPLAT. SPLAT.

He staggered back, dripping juice, finally collapsing to one knee.

“I… surrender.”

“Denied.” Kagi raised another berry for the kill shot.

“ALL OF YOU—STOP THIS NONSENSE IMMEDIATELY!!”

The shout froze them.

From behind a barrel stormed Sana’s caretaker, hands on hips like divine judgment.

Rokuro froze mid-flop. Kagi straightened like a soldier. Sana still held a berry mid-throw.

“Sana! What did I tell you about flinging food at neighbors?”

“…That I shouldn’t?”

“And what are you doing?”

“…Fighting for my people?”

The old woman scooped her up by the scarf, hauling her off like a sack.

“I’m sorry! But it was worth it!!” Sana giggled, legs kicking. “You should’ve seen his face!!”

Silence lingered.

Rokuro looked at himself—streaked with red juice, jacket dripping.

“…We’re gonna smell like jam all day.”

Kagi, calm as ever, wiped a splatter from his cheek with her finger, before tasting the berries.

“W-What are you—“ Rokuro stepped back, flustered.

“You deserved that.”

“…Tch.”

But even as he clicked his tongue, Rokuro watched Sana disappear around the bend, still giggling, her arms swinging as the old woman scolded her.

He watched for just a second too long as something in his chest stirred.

Just like that—

The morning was painted in a color eerily similar to what he had grown accustomed to back on Earth.

╒ 🗝 ╛

The buckets clanked as he stepped onto the narrow log.

It wobbled beneath his sneakers.

Rokuro tightened his grip, arms shaking under the weight.

Halfway across—

He leaned too far right.

Splash.

Cold water over his pants. He slipped, hit the ground.

“Again,” Lykos said.

He tried again.

This time he made it two steps before a gust of wind tipped one bucket.

His reflexes kicked in—he tilted left.

Overcompensated.

Splash.

“Again.”

Third time was the charm, right? Rokuro tried once more.

He gritted his teeth.

“I get it already—balance the damn water!”

One step.

Another.

He held the buckets tighter. Focused.

The log creaked beneath him.

Step.

The edge of the left bucket snagged on his jacket. He flinched—shifted his weight.

CRASH.

Water everywhere. Face first in dirt.

“Again.”

Rokuro was failing. Time and time again.

They moved to the next exercise.

The basin water hit him like knives.

Rokuro grit his teeth and plunged his face in.

One second. Two. Five.

He jerked back out gasping.

“Too short,” Lykos noted. “Again.”

This time he forced himself deeper. Ten seconds. His lungs panicked. He surfaced, coughing.

“Again.”

The third time he didn’t even try. His body refused.

Next was the blindfolded training.

“No sight. Navigate to the root ring,” Lykos said. “Use your instincts.”

Instincts, huh?

Rokuro tied the cloth over his eyes, took a step—

Immediately tripped on a root and smashed his knee.

He tried again, careful, hands out. Ten meters in—

—and fell into a shallow pit.

He ripped off the blindfold, panting.

“This is stupid!”

Up next was the chopping block.

Axe in hand. Aether-thread shining like a dare.

He swung.

Too shallow.

“Again.”

He overcorrected. The blade hit off-center.

The log shuddered and vibrated wrong.

“Again.”

The third attempt was already doomed. The exhaustion was already hitting him like a truck. His grip was unsteady. Wrists too stiff.

THUD.

The axe bounced off.

“You’ve made no progress,” Lykos said flatly.

Rokuro just stood there, breathing hard, staring at the wood like it had insulted him.

What am I doing?

This is pointless.

Buckets? Trees? Blindfold mazes?

How’s any of this supposed to help me fight someone like Draven?

He had endured this absurd training for 7 days and nothing had come of it. Only frustration, fatigue and pain.

Lykos’s voice cut through.

“If you keep fighting like this you won’t be able to protect yourself, let alone those important to you.”

What did he just say?

Rokuro’s glare snapped. He had put him through his absurdity for days and he had the nerve to say that to him?

That was it.

Clank—

The axe hit the ground.

“You’re the last person I wanna hear that from, old man!” Rokuro said, eyes blazing.

He stepped closer. Face flushed. Chest heaving.

“You’re the one who left your family behind. They’re still waiting for you. They want to believe you’re alive. Hope you’re safe.”

Silence.

Rokuro’s voice dropped—cutting low.

“And here you are, lecturing me about protection like you didn’t run from the people who needed you most!”

Lyko’s jaw clenched yet his expression stayed neutral.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And you don’t either.” Rokuro growled, “So don’t talk like you do.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

He turned.

“I’m done with this bullshit! Kick me out for all I care! It ain’t gonna change a damn thing!”

He walked away.

╒ 🗝 ╛

Rokuro sat alone.

The clearing was quiet—just wind brushing through steel-tipped leaves, the hum of insects, and the faint ache in his ribs.

He didn’t remember exactly how far he’d run from the Emberhold training grounds. He just remembered dropping the axe, turning his back on Lykos, and walking. Fast. Angry. Tired.

Now he was here.

Knees drawn up, elbows resting on them, chin low.

Mud still stained his pants. A scratch bled slowly down his forearm. His palms were raw. His body screamed from training—but that wasn’t what hurt most.

“None of it’s working…”

Buckets. Logs. Blindfolds. Swing after swing after swing—

Nothing.

“How is any of that supposed to help me beat someone like Draven?”

“I’m not getting stronger. I’m wasting time.”

And the way Lykos looked at him—like he was a project to fix. Like a tool that hadn’t been sharpened enough.

Rokuro clenched his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to play student. I came here to stop the world from ending.”

And yet—

He’d said too much.

Brought up Lykos’s family. Threw words he couldn’t take back.

…Tch. I was right, but… damn it. Maybe it was a low blow after all.

Then came the creeping doubt.

“Am I really the Lock? Or just a guy with a magic glove and no plan?”

Rokuro muttered. How could anyone ever rely on him for anything? How could he hope to make good on the promise he made with the King of Portalia and save his family?

Then—

thunder.

No.

Not thunder.

Wings.

The ground trembled beneath Rokuro as a shadow swept across the canopy.

Wind whipped the branches. Leaves rang like dull chimes.

Then—impact.

Rokuro jumped up.

“WHAT THE—“

Steel claws sank into the clearing’s edge. A beast of silver unfurled its wings, eyes glowing faint beneath plated ridges.

An Aetheralyx. Yet smaller than the last he had seen.

A figure dropped lightly from its back. Nero. Calm as ever. He gave the creature a single pat along its flank.

“Thanks, Lami. You were great.”

The Aetheralyx let out a low hum—deep and echoing, like a hollowed bell.

Nero turned.

His usual half-lidded stare met Rokuro’s wide eyes.

“…What are you doing all the way out here?”

Rokuro was still catching his breath. “…You were riding a titan.”

“Test flight,” Nero said. “Wanted to see how Lami handles forest current.”

“…Right.” Rokuro exhaled. “Cool, I guess.”

Nero leaned back against a nearby tree, arms folded.

“Had a fallout with Lykos?”

“How could I not?” Rokuro scoffed.

“What’d he say?”

Rokuro looked away.

“Told me I couldn’t protect anyone the way I was. So I told him he shouldn’t talk about protecting anyone when he left his own family behind.”

Nero sighed through his nose.

The breeze passed between them.

Finally, he said—

“You don’t really know what happened to him, do you?”

Rokuro didn’t answer. He just looked down at his scraped knuckles, jaw clenched.

Nero glanced toward the canopy, where the filtered light danced through iron-laced leaves. Then he turned to the Aetheralyx—still standing silently behind him, wings folded like statuesque armor.

He placed a hand on her flank.

“What do you think…” he muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Reckon we could take him for a ride?”

Lami tilted her head—then let out a sharp, rising cry that reverberated through the clearing like a drawn bowstring.

Rokuro blinked. “Wait—what?”

Nero didn’t respond. He was already pulling himself back up onto Lami’s back with practiced ease.

“You’re serious?!”

“Come on,” Nero said simply, holding out a hand. “You’ve been looking at the ground too long. Time to see what the sky feels like.”

Before Rokuro could come up with a proper insult or excuse, he found himself pulled up—roughly—and seated next to Nero, gripping a scale-textured ridge as the Aetheralyx rumbled beneath them.

And then—

With a single beat of her wings, they were airborne. The forest dropped away. The wind hit his face.

Rokuro’s heart jumped onto his throat.

He didn’t scream.

“FUUU—“

But he definitely swore.