Threads of Origin

   Ten days had passed since Duke Damian had supposedly whisked Varek and Lucian away to his domain for private training. In the palace corridors, Hina, Cecilia, and Kael gathered on their way to another brutal training session. At first, the sudden departure of their brother had raised immediate red flags. But when they pressed the issue, claiming their brother would never have left without saying goodbye, Princess Alena smoothly brushed it off.

   She claimed the Duke had dragged both boys away on an impromptu whim, giving Lucian barely enough time to leave a hasty note. Even the Queen herself had stepped in to offer reassuring words, effectively smothering any further questions.

   “Argh... Lucian was so much better than this new instructor they forced on me,” Hina groaned, rubbing her sore shoulders.

   “Right, they assigned you a new teacher,” Cecilia recalled. “What was her name again?”

   “Keith Jane. She’s an old hag who’s far too ancient to be tossing furniture around,” Hina complained. “She belongs in a retirement home, not a training hall.”

   “You two have it easy,” Kael sighed, wincing as he shifted his weight. “I end up with at least one broken bone every single session. Thank goodness for that knight with a healing-type Law, or I’d be a cripple by now.”

   Cecilia looked toward the distant spires of the castle. “I wonder how Var-nii is faring out there... Do you think he’s awakened his Eidon yet?”

   “They’ll probably inform us when it happens,” Hina murmured, her eyes darkening slightly as they reached the hallway junction. “Though... I’m getting more suspicious of them by the day.”

   “See you guys at noon,” Kael said, waving to his sisters before turning down the eastern wing toward the combat center.

   Inside the heavy iron doors, Commander Boran was already waiting, warming up by swinging a massive weapon framed in blazing yellow energy. Hearing Kael’s footsteps, he paused and grinned.

   “Ah, brat. You’re here.”

   Kael stripped off his heavy coat, revealing his sweat-stained tunic. “Of course. So, what’s on the schedule today? I’ve done nothing but pure physical training for a week.”

   “Heh. Kid, your body isn't anywhere near the baseline required for the Law of Kinetics,” Boran explained, crossing his massive arms. “The physical strain forces your soul and body into deeper synchronization. Without a high assimilation rate, unleashing the Law will simply tear your muscles off the bone.”

   “Right... assimilation,” Kael muttered as Boran fell into stride beside him, initiating their daily warm-up laps around the circular arena. “By the way... what’s your assimilation rate?”

   “Twelve percent,” Boran huffed back, maintaining a steady pace.

   They completed the gruelling run in silence. The moment they finished, Kael collapsed onto his knees, gasping for air.

   “Damn it... this is brutal,” Kael panted. “Hey, you mentioned someone else possessed the Law of Kinetics. Who are they?”

   “The Captain of the Lorica Knight Order,” Boran said evenly. “The only person I’ve ever lost to. But they’re currently on a mission, so you’re stuck with me. Now drop and give me a hundred push-ups.”

   “You lost?!” Kael groaned, his legs shaking like jelly. “Just how strong is this captain?”

   “Less talking, more push-ups, rookie!” Boran bellowed.

   Meanwhile, in the secondary courtyard, Hina was enduring a psychological ordeal of her own. Following Lucian’s abrupt absence, Princess Alena had introduced an old acquaintance to take over her instruction—Lady Keith Jane.

   The woman was short, withered, and had mean brown eyes hidden behind thick spectacles. Her sharp, crooked nose scrunched in disgust whenever she looked at Hina, treating the young hero like leftover trash.

   Currently, Keith was standing twenty paces away, hurling heavy desk items directly at Hina’s face.

   “Hey! Watch it!” Hina shrieked, ducking low as a solid brass paperweight whistled past her ear.

   “Crucial conditioning, young Hero,” Keith said smoothly, picking up an oversized leather-bound tome and launching it with frightening speed. “One way an Eidon manifests is under acute existential stress. With the Law of Stasis, stopping these projectiles is your only way to progress.”

   “You crazy old hag!” Hina spat, diving sideways. “How am I supposed to concentrate on inner energy while dodging lethal office supplies?!”

   “Sense your soul, girl!” Keith barked. “Feel the rift between your physical form and your soul, and bring them closer together! Only then will you be able to use the Law of Stasis on instinct.”

   “I’m trying—ouch!” Hina yelped as a hardback book clipped her temple.

   Keith stopped throwing, letting out a disappointed sigh as she began gathering the scattered objects. “Take a fifteen-minute breather. We will resume shortly.”

   At the same time, in the serene expanse of the royal flower gardens, Princess Alena was overseeing Cecilia’s training. Unlike Hina’s trial by fire, Cecilia sat cross-legged on a rock, attempting to initiate her first manifestation through deep meditation.

   “Look inward,” Alena instructed, her voice calm and rhythmic. “Feel the threshold where your physical vessel connects with your soul’s foundation.”

   Sweat beaded on Cecilia’s forehead. “Haah... I can feel something there, but it keeps slipping through my fingers. Is it supposed to be this difficult?”

   “We manifest Eidons during childhood through pure emotional impulse,” Alena explained, absently plucking a flower petal. “As adults from another world, your Eidons are basically dormant. But you will pierce the veil eventually.”

   Cecilia closed her eyes, plunging her consciousness back into the quiet void of her mind. Deep within the pitch-black abyss, she caught sight of a tiny, flickering reddish spark.

   There.

   Gritting her teeth, she reached out with her spiritual perception and extended her hand to grab the glowing spark. An intense shudder ran through her, making it feel as though she were moving through liquid cement. Heavy pressure held her in place, but with one final surge of effort, her fingers grazed it.

   BOOM!

   A violent shockwave of crimson energy erupted from Cecilia’s body, tearing through the quiet garden air and blowing back the surrounding flora in a radiant aura of power.

   Lucian had insisted they stay in the village for at least two weeks. Lucian’s caution proved to be right: on their fifth day in the village, two disguised people sent by the Princess arrived posing as a merchant’s errand boys to confirm that the job had been done. Lucian had spotted their disciplined posture immediately and kept himself and Varek concealed in the infirmary until the spies moved on. Lucian had even splashed animal blood in the forest to make it look like the Murras had consumed them, which satisfied the agents completely.

   During those fourteen days, Lucian harvested rare forest berries, combining them with a specific type of leaf to create a chemical reaction that temporarily dulled eye pigment into a naturally different color every time—a trick normally used by entertainers to perform for crowds.

   “These will last us for roughly two months,” Lucian stated, cinching off a leather pouch. “Each dose lasts twenty hours. We’ll only consume them before entering any major settlements.”

   “Got it,” Varek grunted, securing a heavy travel pack loaded with dried meat and water bladders. He looked at Lucian, leaning against the timber frame. “Honestly, I don't know what I would’ve done without you. I probably would’ve died three feet past the treeline.”

   “If you are truly appreciative, awaken your Eidon already,” Lucian replied flatly.

   “Hey, we’ve been trying every single day,” Varek groaned.

   Indeed, during their stay, another unexpected event had cleared their biggest lingering doubt: Did Varek even possess an Eidon to awaken?

   It had happened a week prior when the Old Doc overheard their frustrated, hushed arguments inside the infirmary cabin.

   “I might be able to offer some insight,” the Doc had interrupted, stepping inside while wiping his hands.

   “H-huh? How long were you standing there?” Varek stammered.

   “From the beginning,” the Doc replied casually, taking a seat opposite Varek. “I think I can verify whether your soul possesses an Eidon.”

   Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “How? Even my analytical scanning could not confirm it.”

   “My Law is the Law of Origin,” the Old Doc explained. Pale yellow light began to radiate from his palms as an ethereal crest materialized behind him—a crescent moon cradling a blooming sapling. “I unlocked it in my youth to cure my mother’s illness. It allows me to discern root causes and structural anomalies. With this, I might even be able to determine the reason your Eidon isn’t manifesting.”

   Lucian’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “A Yellow-colored Law of Origin... That is exceptionally rare, so I did not factor this variable into our experiment.”

   “Close your eyes, young man,” the Doc instructed, channelling the yellow energy up Varek’s arms.

   Varek obeyed, expecting a surge of power. Instead, the yellow light travelled up to his wrists and suddenly halted, trembling violently.

   The Old Doc recoiled, breaking the connection as sweat broke out on his brow. “Hmm... This is troublesome. My Eidon... it refuses to go inside you. It is reacting as though... as though it’s terrified of something in there.”

   He looked at Lucian with an apologetic grin. “My apologies. It seems I put on grand airs for nothing.”

   “No, this is a massive discovery,” Lucian corrected, his mind rapidly computing the implications. “If a Yellow-tier Law of Origin is instinctively terrified to encroach upon your soul, it proves something resides there—likely an Eidon originating from a higher, supreme Law—or something else entirely.”

   Varek’s eyes sparked with excitement. “Wait... so I really do have some OP power sleeping inside me?”

   “The probability is still extremely low, but it’s better than zero,” Lucian smirked slightly. “Thank you, Doctor. Your diagnosis was invaluable.” 

   With their doubts dispelled, the two packed the last of their supplies.

   “Our next target is the city of Elbirah,” Lucian said, tying his cloak shut. “My family’s private estate is located on the outskirts. My private library there is far vaster than the royal library. If there is a method to awaken an Eidon forcibly, we will find it there.”

   After saying goodbye to the villagers, the two of them left on foot. They travelled through the grasslands, with Lucian suggesting they follow the Kryx River until they reached Count Bims' domain. Since Lucian had a complete map indexed in his head, Varek readily agreed. They didn't encounter anyone while traveling along the river, surviving off the occasional fish they managed to catch for dinner.

   After traveling for almost three straight weeks, they were nearly out of food when they reached a dense thicket marking the border of Count Bims' domain.

   “Alright, now that we’re here, we just need to travel a little to the right to reach a nearby town,” Lucian said, examining the edge of the woods. “We’ll have to travel along the border. To be honest, it’s going to be hard to get there in our current physical condition.”

   “Obviously. We’ve been doing nothing but walking for three weeks straight,” Varek complained.

   “Don't worry, we might meet someone willing to give us a ride,” Lucian sighed. “There should be merchants or adventurers traveling our way.”

   They filled their water bladders and stepped into the thicket.

   The ground was slick and damp, as though rain had fallen recently. Soon, the last rays of sunlight filtering through the dense canopy flickered out completely, leaving them to stumble through the darkening path.

   Then—the faint smell of burnt wood drifted through the trees.

   “Ah, there may be people up ahead. Let’s go—perhaps they’re traveling to the same destination. Night will fall soon, so we need a place to rest anyway,” Lucian huffed.

   He reached into his pouch. “Here.”

   Lucian handed Varek a berry wrapped carefully in a leaf before popping one into his own mouth. As the bitter juice went down, both of their eyes shifted, dulling into a light shade of hazel.

   Exhausted to the bone and completely unaccustomed to such relentless physical strain, the two pressed onward toward the rising smoke, desperate for a place to collapse.

   Following the scent, they eventually broke into a small clearing.

   Sitting alone beside a crackling campfire was a single man, absently poking the glowing embers with a stick. Lucian’s face instantly fell—there was no sign of a horse, a carriage, or any transport whatsoever.

   The man wore shabby, threadbare clothes, framed by unkempt brown hair and a long, messy beard. As he looked up, his gleaming amber eyes locked onto them with sharp, unmistakable hostility.

   A heavy leather bag rested by his side.

   Lucian and Varek immediately raised their hands in the air, offering a gesture of peace.

   “Hey, look—we’re not here to harm you. We just want to share the fire,” Varek said, pointing toward the flames. “That alright with you?”

   The man stared at them in silence for a few tense seconds before giving a quiet, curt nod. Without another word, he returned to poking the fire.

   Exchanging a glance, the two awkwardly set their gear down and huddled near the heat.

   “Even though it's scorching hot in the morning, it gets surprisingly cold at night,” Varek murmured, rubbing his hands together over the warmth.

   “Since this is the southern region, it stays hot due to the equator. However, because there are Zal-Kesh around here, their very influence causes the temperature to drop at night,” Lucian muttered back.

   The hair on Varek’s arms stood up immediately.

   “What do you mean?... Zal-Kesh? Here?” he whispered in terror, shooting a paranoid glance at the silent stranger across the fire.

   “Yes. You see, a Zal-Kesh can manifest far from civilization, or in places where there’s no one strong enough to eliminate it.” Lucian smirked, the flickering flames casting a dark, eerie shadow across his features. “Those wild Zal-Kesh roam free, slowly increasing their assimilation rates while hunting down unfortunate lost souls... like us.”

   “Hey man, not funny.” Varek’s face remained completely deadpan. “If we’re dying, I’m throwing you to them first.”

   “It’s still true, though,” Lucian shrugged nonchalantly.

   Across the hearth, the strange man continued to stare, the silence between them growing increasingly suffocating.

   Varek cleared his throat, attempting to break the heavy tension. “Hey, uh... what are you doing out here?”

   The man offered no answer. Feeling a sudden chill, Varek averted his eyes, unable to shake off the creepy sensation settling in his gut.

   Before long, Lucian gave up on conversation, lying down on the damp earth and dozing off the moment his head hit his pack. That left Varek trapped in an excruciating, awkward silence with the stranger.

   Time crawled by. The crackling fire slowly flickered down to a bed of glowing embers as the dry logs burned away into grey ash.

   “Um, we should probably get more wood, or the fire’s going to die out,” Varek said, glancing around the dark forest floor for fallen branches.

   Once again, the man remained dead silent.

   Then suddenly, he reached into his worn leather bag and pulled out a sleek, bone-white flute. It looked extraordinarily expensive—its surface adorned with intricate, sweeping patterns of deep sapphire blue.

   Without a word, the man raised it to his lips and began to play.

   A hauntingly ethereal melody echoed through the dark woods. The notes were so impossibly delicate and beautiful that Varek froze, completely mesmerized.

   “Wh-what are you doing? The flames are going to—”

   Varek’s voice trailed off. As the song reached its main refrain, his eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock.

   He recognized this song. He knew every single note. No way... "Sadness and Sorrow"? From Naruto?!

   Varek stared at the stranger in utter disbelief, his mind spinning as he became increasingly lost in the sorrowful melody.

   A dense, unnatural fog began to roll into the clearing, clinging to the damp ground and smothering the last dying embers of the campfire until total darkness enveloped them. Yet Varek just sat there in the shadows, paralyzed, listening to the soft, heartbreaking tune echoing through the mist.

   A heavy, irresistible fatigue settled over his body. His eyelids grew impossibly warm and heavy. As the man played the final lingering note, Varek’s vision faded, and he slumped forward into a deep, unconscious sleep.