Zephyr woke up to the same familiar chaos that greeted the camp every morning. The shouting of mercenaries, the clanging of metal, the constant banter—it had become the camp's strange version of a lullaby.
Nearly a month had passed since the sky split open and swallowed him into this strange world. A month where much had changed, yet he still felt like an outsider among these hardened men.
Despite the passing days, Zephyr couldn't wrap his mind around the rules of this brutal realm. It was like being thrown into a deep ocean without knowing how to swim—just kicking, gasping, trying not to drown.
The mercenaries were rough, their laughter loud, and their language filthier than a sewer. Their presence both irritated and amused him. He still hadn't fully adjusted.
And the desert…
Oh, that damn desert.
He remembered something Arlund once said with grim finality:
"Only two types of people survive this land… the seasoned, and the lucky."
And it felt disturbingly accurate.
The first type had learned to live with the sun's wrath, with venomous creatures, and illusions that devour the mind.
The second type… they were simply kissed by fate.
Spared from the sting of scorpions, saved from sinking sand, and overlooked by spiders lurking under rocks.
Zephyr knew one thing for sure—he wasn't the lucky kind.
And the mercenaries? They weren't lucky either. They were men shaped by fire, drawn to the chaos of war not for glory, but survival.
But they had one advantage: Zakrox.
Zakrox—the silent guide, the veteran who knew when to stop, where to camp, when to light the fire, and when to smother it.
His decisions often seemed random, but time always proved them right.
No venomous creatures, no sneak attacks, no crawling horrors ever made it past the perimeter.
Because Zakrox could hear the whisper of the sand.
Zephyr rose sluggishly, still sour from the failure of the previous night—his first attempt at gathering Ascension Energy.
But sulking wasn't a luxury he could afford. Not here. Not around mercenaries.
He made his way to the camp's center and ate his usual bland meal when—
Jones appeared, the fat man waddling up with that same grin plastered across his face.
"You look constipated, kid. Rough night?"
His voice was teasing, as always.
Zephyr sighed deeply.
"Of course. Mercenaries. If they say three words, one of them has to be an insult."
He remembered a disgusting moment from a few days ago—
Two mercs were having a contest to see who could piss the farthest.
He shook his head, trying to purge the memory.
"I tried to gather Ascension Energy last night," Zephyr muttered. "And I failed."
Jones didn't show a hint of sympathy. He simply shrugged.
"So what? You're not the first, won't be the last.
Ascension's a long road… You've got your whole life to walk it."
He scratched his bald head, which gleamed like a lantern in the sunlight.
Strangely, Jones' casual words lifted some of the weight off Zephyr's shoulders.
"You're right… It's not the end of the world."
Then Zephyr noticed something strange.
"Wait… are all mercs here bald? Jones… Arlund… two more I've seen…
Is this some sort of initiation ritual? I've got to ask Arlund one day."
Zephyr hopped onto the wagon behind Jones as usual, and the caravan rolled across the dunes.
The harsh desert slowly began to fade behind them, replaced by flatter, smoother terrain.
The landscape hinted at a shift… a new horizon.
A world beyond sand and sun.
Nightfall.
Zephyr stood once again before Saryn, as he had for the past two nights.
Hand-to-hand combat training. Brutal. Unforgiving.
He launched forward with all the speed he could muster.
His body had changed over the past few weeks—more flexible, more responsive.
But against Saryn, he was still a cub fighting a lion.
A heavy punch flew from Zephyr's right hand.
Saryn dodged it effortlessly—but Zephyr had planned ahead.
He twisted and sent a kick soaring toward his opponent's head.
Saryn raised an arm, blocking it with ease, then grabbed Zephyr's extended leg.
"You're repeating the same mistake. Your center's wide open. Like a gift."
His voice was calm and cold.
Then, lifting Zephyr by the leg, he prepared to slam him—
But Zephyr reacted, firing off a surprise kick with his other leg.
"I know what I'm doing!" Zephyr shouted.
Saryn blocked the strike, but had to release him.
Zephyr flipped back, landing on his feet, shifting into a defensive stance.
Saryn nodded, mildly impressed.
"Good. Sometimes, retreating is just another form of attack."
No time to celebrate. Zephyr charged again.
Kicks, punches, rapid feints.
Saryn moved like a whisper, parrying, dodging, correcting.
But experience couldn't be faked.
Saryn saw his chance, caught Zephyr mid-lunge, and slammed him to the ground.
Straddling him, he pinned him with practiced ease.
Zephyr panted, chest heaving. But a small smile tugged at his lips.
He was improving. A lot.
Arlund's voice came from the shadows. He had been watching.
"Well done, boy. If you fought your past self now, you'd kill him in the first minute."
Zephyr chuckled.
"Feels like I've lived months, not just one."
But Arlund cut in, voice stern:
"Don't get cocky. This is just training.
Out there, every mistake is your last."
Zephyr nodded. "I understand."
"Then sit straight. Focus. It's time… for your next attempt."
Zephyr sat cross-legged, spine straight.
He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.
Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale…
Until his heartbeat was like distant drums.
Ba dum… ba dum…
He released his mind and imagined the world around him—not as it was, but as it truly was.
Particles of light floated in the darkness, glowing like miniature stars orbiting his presence.
In this stillness, he felt like the center of a tiny universe.
He searched…
And found it.
One shimmering particle, small and hesitant.
He focused on it.
It moved.
Timid, trembling…
But slowly, it drifted toward his skin.
It hovered.
Then—
Pain.
A sharp sting, like needles piercing flesh.
But Zephyr endured it.
The particle pressed forward, sliding into his skin, following the energy channel inward.
As it went deeper, the pain intensified. The channel narrowed. It felt like the walls were closing in on the energy itself.
But he gritted his teeth.
"Endure it… just a needle… just like medicine…"
And suddenly—
It passed through.
The particle exited the other side of the energy channel…
And entered his bloodstream.