The sun was slowly rising over Komorebi-no-Mura, spilling its light through the thick canopy of leaves that filtered the rays into gentle beams. The air smelled of damp moss and living bark. Amidst that paradise of green whispers, Arata was enjoying a simple breakfast—fresh berries and dried meat, offered shyly by Mia.
His body still carried a strange sensation of lightness. It wasn't fatigue or pain, but rather a lingering echo of the stone armor that had enveloped him the night before. It was as if his skin remembered the weight… or the lack thereof.
Despite the seemingly peaceful atmosphere, the eyes of the village followed him. Murmurs from branches and hushed voices wove into the forest's natural sounds. The elves looked at him with a palpable mixture of awe and unease. Some turned away when they passed him. Mumen, the most expressive in his distrust, kept his jaw clenched and his brow constantly furrowed whenever Arata was near. His eyes held no forgiveness.
The only one who truly wanted to be by his side was Mia. The little Faunir girl, with ears soft and long like moon-petals, never left him. Her eyes shone with genuine concern. She offered him more berries, adjusted his seat, made sure he rested. Her warmth was a balm amidst the invisible tension.
One day, just as the sun's rays were barely brushing the edge of the village, Satoru appeared.
"Your power…" the old elf said with a rough yet warm voice. "It is vast and complex."
He sat in front of Arata with the patience of a tree that had watched generations pass.
"What happened last night… that stone armor wasn't an attack. It was an early manifestation. Raw, clumsy—but real. The beginning of something still asleep inside you."
Satoru narrowed his eyes, as if he weren't looking at Arata, but at an ancient memory.
"The place where you sealed your pact… that is sacred land, Arata. According to the old songs, that is where the Celestial Dragon of the Void was born. Or at least, where its essence first descended to this world. The primordial gods—fourteen, according to legend—not only created the elements, but the legendary Familiars that embody them. You… are bound to one of them."
Arata's eyes widened in surprise. Even after everything he had experienced, it was still hard to accept.
"Ten'ryuu," Satoru said solemnly. "The Celestial Dragon of the Void. Its dominion is not brute strength, but Pressure in its purest form. Density, compression, gravity, weight… even the void between things. All of it falls under its grasp."
Arata clenched his fists. That very night, he had felt his very existence tremble beneath the weight of that name. Ten'ryuu. The one that crushes without touching.
"But such power cannot be controlled by force," Lyra added, appearing beside him as if the forest itself had delivered her. "It's like Earth to us. It cannot be dominated. It must be understood. Listened to."
From that day on, the training began.
Satoru didn't teach with orders, but with silences. He guided Arata to the subterranean rivers of Pressure, showing him how to listen to the weight of the world.
Arata spent hours in stillness, seated upon the earth. Breathing. Eyes closed. Trying to feel.
The first week, he felt nothing.
The second, he thought he sensed a feather fall. The third, a branch crack—not from wind, but from his own energy, his will. Or so he believed.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
One day, he managed to concentrate his internal pressure into a single point—his fist. The punch wasn't strong. But it shattered a rock the size of his head. Small bursts, like tiny explosions of compressed air, began to erupt from his body.
"You're beginning," Satoru said with a nod, showing no surprise. "But there's still a long road ahead."
And so it was.
One night, under the full moon, Arata wandered into a secluded clearing. He lay down on the grass, back facing the sky. The stars shimmered like holes in the fabric of the world.
He closed his eyes.
He remembered Lyra's words: "Familiars aren't just external entities. They are part of you. Part of your soul."
And he wondered—could he speak with Ten'ryuu?
He focused his energy on the black Mark upon his back. He felt the unmoving eye, vast, almost alive, carved into his flesh like a fissure to infinity.
And then, something happened.
It wasn't the crushing pressure he had felt at the altar. It was softer. More… ethereal.
Before him, in the middle of the clearing, a figure emerged from the mist. A woman.
She had no face. No defined body. Just a white silhouette, nearly translucent, floating like a sigh in the night. But her eyes… two warm orbs of light, serene and distant, gazed at him with indescribable kindness.
The voice he heard didn't travel through air. It caressed his soul.
—Arata…
It wasn't a greeting. It was a calling. A recognition.
—Your path is one of great weight. A shadow rises… and it is drawing near this forest. It comes seeking what it believes to be its own.
The voice was soft, feminine. But behind each word was a weight, as though time itself lent it strength. As though the gravity Arata struggled so hard to master flowed effortlessly from her very presence.
—It is not alone. And it will not come with mercy…
The breeze thickened. Arata's heart pounded, as if it recognized something his mind could not fully grasp. It was a warning—but also a prayer.
The figure faded as gently as it had appeared, like it had never been there at all. Only the stars remained, and the rapid beating of his heart.
"…That wasn't Ten'ryuu," he murmured. "But it was… someone."
He jumped to his feet.
And ran.
---
"A woman made of mist?" Lyra asked, frowning, after Arata had recounted everything, his face still pale.
"She didn't speak with words," he replied. "It was… like the air itself spoke to me."
Satoru listened with narrowed eyes, never interrupting. When Arata finished, the old elf slowly nodded.
"A warning," he said. "Perhaps not from a god… but certainly from a force watching over this forest. Or over you."
Lyra didn't hesitate. Within minutes, the elven scouts vanished among the branches like soundless shadows, heading north—toward where the vision had pointed.
Satoru placed a hand on Arata's shoulder.
"Be ready. Pressure doesn't only exist within. It will come from outside as well. And when it does, you'll have to endure it… or be broken."
Arata lowered his gaze.
Then lifted it.
And in his eyes—black as the void, irises like cosmic vortices—a faint spark of resolve shone.