Chapter 16 – The Invisible Weight

The living walls of Bloodtrails Village loomed through the mist with the intensity of a presentiment. The rustling of the leaves, which had once murmured judgment, now seemed only to... listen.

Alvim crossed the gates first, like a guardian returning with relics. Shiro and Helster followed him in silence—not out of respect, but because the world still weighed heavily on their shoulders. Not guilt. But transformation.

The village creatures stopped. Cat-like eyes, corneas spiraling, the veiled people watched the two cross the center as if bearing a seal no one could see.

In the hut, Lysara waited for them. Sitting as always, near the cauldron, her dull eyes turned toward the fire. But upon sensing the presence of the two young men, the flames rose, hissing softly—as if the energy acknowledged their return.

"They entered the veil and came out whole," she said, without raising her head. "Not everyone returns with their soul in the same flesh."

Shiro bowed slightly. Helster merely nodded, but the gesture was filled with a new weight.

"Ez'Thirra has been defeated," Alvim said. "They both resisted the reversal. They won... and came back on their feet."

Lysara looked up.

—And with that, they are no longer apprentices. But they are not yet warriors.

Shiro frowned. Helster snorted lightly, but didn't respond.

“You think you fought against the veil,” Lysara said, rising. “But you still carry traces of it within you.”

She walked to a darkened shelf and pulled out two oval stones, dull in color, like old coal with faded veins.

— Last test before the complete blessing. No monster. No illusion. No scream.

He handed each one a stone.

— I want you to break this with pure energy. Just concentration. No blows. No explosions.

Shiro touched the stone. It was cold. Heavier than it looked.

Helster squeezed his and frowned.

— That's impossible.

Lysara smirked.

— It is. Until it isn't anymore.

Alvim crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

— When you get it, call me.

And before leaving, he gave one last look:

— The difference between breaking and transforming lies in calm. In will. And in silence.

The door closed behind him.

Shiro looked at Helster.

Helster looked at the stone.

And they both felt, deep down, that this would be the cruelest test of all.

The inside of the cabin seemed quieter than necessary.

Lysara sat, her eyes fixed on the stones in her hands—as if each held a secret too ancient to be named.

Shiro and Helster knelt in the center of the room, the stones draped over folded cloths in front of them. The texture of the stones seemed to suck the heat from their skin. They didn't reject it, didn't resist it—they just waited.

“Breathe,” Lysara murmured. “Forget victory. It’s already gone.”

The fire in the hearth danced slowly. No flurry. No whisper.

Shiro closed his eyes. The lion sword lay behind him, silent as a sleeping animal. He felt the energy moving within his chest—the white flame, constant. Over time, he learned to channel it… but until then, there had always been a target . An impact. An external sense.

Now, it was different.

Helster kept his shield leaning against the wall. His short sword rested on his lap. He inhaled through his nose, as Alvim had taught him: long breaths, anchored in his abdomen.

“Remember the stick?” he murmured.

“I remember,” Shiro replied, without opening his eyes.

It was Alvim's last lesson, weeks before.
Channel the flow of energy into the sticks until they were as light as dry wood. Force control of the essence without letting it escape. At the time, it seemed like a game of strength.

Now, they seemed like preludes to something they couldn't name.

“The difference,” Lysara whispered, as if reading his thoughts, “is that the staff was an intermediary. A translator.”

She touched one of the stones with her fingertip.

— Here… there is no translation. You are the channel. The blade. The question. And the answer.

Shiro swallowed. The flame inside him felt like it was about to explode—but he couldn't let it escape. He needed to control it without suppressing it. Feed it without letting it consume him.

The tension was invisible, but it was crushing.

Time passed as if it had stopped.

Outside, the village was still alive. Inside the hut, the world was reduced to what was at hand.

The stone.

The breath.

The memory of the stick.

Helster was the first to fail.

A flash of energy escaped his hand—and the stone slid across the cloth, intact. He swore under his breath, frustration on his face.

“Slow down,” Lysara corrected. “You’re not trying to break down a door. You’re trying to open a silk clasp.”

Shiro tried again.

He concentrated the flame in his palm. He visualized the structure of the stone. Not with his eyes, but with the flow.

And for an instant… he felt.

No heat.
No pressure.

Pulsation.

As if the stone had a heart. A rhythm. An echo.

Connected.

And then—a crack.
Thin, almost imperceptible. But there.

He sighed.

Helster glanced sideways.

- What it was?

Shiro lifted the stone. A thin line cut through its center like a scar of light.
He smiled. Not with arrogance—but with relief.

— I heard her heart.

Helster laughed dryly.

— Of course you heard. He's the protagonist.

Shiro handed the cracked stone to Lysara.
She held it like one receiving an ancient scroll.

— First mark. We're off to go.

She turned to Helster.

- And you?

Helster snorted, placed his hands on the stone itself, and closed his eyes.

— Shield doesn't break. But it doesn't run either.

And he tried again.

Helster's eyes were still closed, sweat dripping down his temples. The stone beneath his hands vibrated, but wouldn't budge. Frustration made his jaw grind. Until Lysara, for the first time since testing them, raised her voice.

- He arrives.

Helster opened his eyes, confused.

— But I still haven't…

—You won't make it in here. You weren't made to stay still. Your energy moves. It demands movement, breathing, the world.

She turned and walked to the door. The cold wind entered the cabin like an ancient whisper. Lysara glanced over her shoulder.

— Take the stones.

Helster and Shiro looked at each other.

— Where to? — asked the boar.

— Through the village.

Alvim, who had been watching in silence until then, let out a small laugh.

- Again?

“Again.” Lysara shot him a sideways glance. “But this time… with destiny.”

She looked directly at the two young men.

"You will cross the entire village. Street by street. From the north gate to the house at the back. And you will do this by channeling energy the entire time."

Shiro could already feel his stomach sink.

— Without losing control?

"It's not about losing," Lysara replied. "It's about keeping. The stone will break the moment the channeling reaches the point of communion. Not before. Not after."

Helster sighed.

— Just like the training with the sticks, when we climbed the hill with Alvim.

"Similar," replied the Bear. "But now the staff is your soul."

The sky was gray when they left.

The villagers watched with silent eyes. The pair passed through the narrow streets, each with a stone in their palms, feeling the world around them magnify their own limits.

Shiro's energy wanted to run free like a flame.
Helster's weighed down like a wall rising from his stomach to his shoulders.

“Short steps,” Shiro murmured.

“Breathe,” Helster replied.

They smiled. But every step was torture.

At a bend, Helster's energy surged to his chest—it nearly exploded from his shoulders. He gritted his teeth, pulling back, pushing the force into the center of his body. The stone glowed for a second. Then it dimmed.

Shiro felt the flame vibrate in his neck, trying to escape through his eyes. He lowered his focus to his hips, concentrating the heat there, as if he were going to light the ground with his feet.

His stone got hot. But it didn't break.

On the street of the forgers, a village child looked at them with golden eyes and said:

— They're sweating without running. Are they daydreaming?

The mother pulled the child close, muttering something about "who carries stones with souls."

At the end of the third street, Helster stumbled. He nearly fell to his knees, but his hand gripped the stone as if holding a truth. Channeled energy hummed within the invisible shield—the stone emitted a faint crack.

Shiro stopped, panting. His arm was shaking.

- Not yet.

“It’s close,” Helster replied, panting.

And they continued.

At the north gate, they turned. They began the final path—a trail through living roots and vines hanging from the rooftops. This was the oldest part of the village. The part where, according to Lysara, the energy was densest, where truths were best heard.

There, the pressure got worse.

But also… more intimate.

Shiro felt the stone vibrate as if it were breathing with him. Each step resonated like a sacred drum.
Helster felt the inner shield reverberate against his palm, channeling like an underground river.

On the penultimate curve, without warning…

Shiro stopped.

The stone in his hand split in half , soundlessly, as if he had just exhaled.

He fell to his knees, exhausted, but smiling.

— I heard… everything.

Helster stopped a step later. His stone trembled too, veins opening like living cracks. He fell to his feet, holding the last thread of energy as if it were his final breath.

The stone broke.

Two halves. One for each side of the hand.

He laughed. Long. Hoarse.

— Finally.

From the top of the trail, Alvim watched, arms crossed. Lysara beside him.

“And now?” he asked. “Shall we name it?”

Lysara smiled softly.

— Now… they are ready for the world.

The next morning, the mist still crept across the trails, when Alvim called to them—without words, just with a dry gesture of his claw.

Shiro and Helster, tired but in one piece, followed him.

The path took them beyond the Bloodtrails wall, past black-barked pines and rocks covered in ancient moss. No other sound accompanied them—only the sound of their own footsteps, as if the world around them held its breath.

They came to a clearing where two immense stones , broken from the ground, stood like columns of a forgotten temple.

Alvim stopped in the center. He pulled from his cloak two simple staffs, dark wood with golden veins—as if the blood of the earth ran within them.

— Do you recognize it?

Shiro picked one up. He immediately felt the pent-up pulse—the same as the one he'd trained on days ago… but now alive .

Helster held the other, feeling the weight shift as he channeled.

"These are the sticks they used on me," Alvim said. "But they're not the same. And you... aren't the same either."

He pointed with his claw at the standing stones.

"That over there is Veil stone. Hard as shame, cold as fear.
Break them. Not with brute force. But with living, directed energy.
With Daishi."

The two looked at each other. Shiro took a deep breath, feeling the white flame rise from the base of his spine to the center of his hands.
Helster channeled from his abdomen to his arms, his invisible shield realigning itself, his shortsword now a memory.

"A staff isn't just wood," Alvim murmured. "It's a mirror. If you're still lying…" he doesn't answer.

Shiro ran first.

The flame gathered at the base of the staff, and it spun in the air like an extension of his arm. On the final step, he channeled it all—and as he touched the stone…

CRACK.

The rock split open with a dry scream.

Not an explosion.

A clean cut.

Helster stepped forward wordlessly.

The staff in his hand was as heavy as a thunder hammer—but it moved gracefully.
He stopped two feet from the other stone, drew in the energy… and released it like a deep breath.

TCHAAK.

The second stone cracked in two, falling gracefully to the sides, as if it had accepted defeat with respect.

Alvim made a deep sound in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a stifled laugh.

- Now yes.

He looked at them with more than approval.
With acceptance.

"You two broke stone without breaking your soul.
From now on, you can choose weapons, paths, or war. But if you forget what you learned with the staff... none of that will matter."

Shiro looked at Helster. Helster, at the sky.

And together, they knew:

the apprentice cycle ended there.

The village seemed more alive that morning. The eyes that had once watched now merely watched.
No smiles. No words.

Just recognition.

Shiro and Helster stood in front of Lysara's hut.
Behind them, Alvim was already waiting with his arms crossed, patient as a stone accustomed to the wind.

Lysara stepped out of the shadow of the threshold and stared at them with her dull eyes, firm as a root that does not bend even in time.

“You expect words,” she said. “But too many words weaken the gestures.”

She walked over, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

—Shiro. Your sword is your reflection. But it only shines when your heart is firm.

— Helster. Your shield carries more than defense. It is a vow. A silent promise.

She looked at both of them.

— They're waiting for a prize. But the real ones already carry it with them.

Shiro touched the hilt of the lion sword. Helster steadied his hand on the shield.

There was nothing more to say.

Lysara turned. Before reentering the cabin, she murmured,

"If you survive what's coming... come back. The village will still need you.
And I... perhaps I still have something to teach."

The door closed. The wind blew.

And the town's cycle ended.

Hours later, now outside the limits of Blood Trails, Alvim stretched out his arms as if he were truly breathing again.

— Ready. They've already done their part with veils, veins, and ancient veils.

Helster took a deep breath, his steps still marked by training.

— Are we going straight to the training camp?

“Yes, it will,” said Alvim. “But…”

He held out a small parchment made of vegetable bark with two symbols drawn on it: flame and shield.

— Keep channeling.
All the way.

Shiro and Helster froze.

— Again?! — they complained simultaneously.

Alvim smiled for the first time that day.

— If they broke the stone with energy, now I want to see what they do with road and exhaustion.

And he walked.

The two followed him, grumbling, adjusting their breathing, steadying their steps.

Channeling was the new walking.
Breathing was the new fighting.

And between one sigh and another, Helster murmured:

— If I had known that becoming strong hurt so much, I would have stayed selling vegetables.

Shiro laughed breathlessly.

—And missed the chance to see me shine?

— Oh, go to hell.

The trail stretched on.

The field awaited them.

And the world… too.