Embracing the unwaking sleep, Altha dreamt of dirt, of misshapen stones, and of spiders weaving strings of crimson across a canvas of iridescent motes.
Before him was a field of white and ice and cold that fell from the sky. Behind him was a tombstone dwarfed by an insurmountable distance and ahead of him were compounding events, each a reality in itself bridged only by unconventional darkness.
Something incomprehensible, something unreadable, something... Immersed. "No peeking~" a voice rang out from that darkness stretching as far as the eyes could see. The voice was excited, curious, and absolutely free, but he felt such a voice could not exist.
---
Opening his eyes he saw the first beams of Sol crest over his face. To a bed to his left, Seth lay flat with one arm dangling off the bed. To his right, Solace snored into a pillow, his breaths rhythmic as he curled deeper into the blankets.
Sitting upright, Altha's bare feet met the wooden floor, its cold bite jolting him fully awake, rubbing the sleepy from his eyes.
Padding down the hallway, he quickly familiarized himself with the unfamiliar surroundings. Following his intuition he found the bathroom without delay. Upon entering, he found himself sitting on the toilet, trying to recall the night prior, but fatigue was far too heavy.
Splashing water on his face, the droplets sluiced sleep from his pores. Unable to avoid anymore he was face to face with his reflection—a ghost with smudged shadows under its eyes. "Did I even sleep?" He yawned and stretched his arms, "Heated water? We're in the middle of nowhere. Either they have a magic drum of sorts or a demon in the basement... Jokes aside, I should use it sparingly."
Squeezing a nurdle from the toothpaste, he looked over to the row of toothbrushes but didn't know which was supposed to be his. So, shrugging, he flicked a finger, and a blob of paste floated to his mouth. Making the substance smudge across his teeth at high frequencies, it formed into a froth, and just like that, ta-dah! A makeshift toothbrush.
Some might call it crude, but Altha calls it efficient. Life for him was about Efficiency over Etiquette after all.
Finishing he rinsed and took a shower. Steam curled around him as he washed, scrubbing away the residue of battle: dirt beneath his nails, the phantom ache of overused muscles.
Dressed and damp-haired, he walked into the living room, from which he heard sizzling coming from the kitchen or in the direction of what he thought led to the kitchen.
Upon entering he found a fragrant aroma racing past him. The figure of Cecily stood at the stove, her back to him, with a spatula in hand. Turning to look at him she smiled and said:
"Finally awake, huh?" Her voice was warm, but her eyes lingered on him a bit too long—assessing, always assessing. "Take a seat. For a while, I worried we might need a shovel. You sleep like a corpse."
Quietly chuckling to himself he took a seat and faced her, "Did you try digging?"
"Twice," she said, raising two fingers. "Feared I'd need dynamite."
"So I didn't stir..." He stated.
"Would you have preferred to?" Cecily arched a brow, sliding a plate toward him. Crisp bacon, golden toast, eggs gleaming like liquid sun.
"Do you feel rested enough for today?" She asked.
"If you're asking: 'Am I ready?'—Then no." Taking a seat, he continued, "Is anyone ever truly ready for anything?" Altha muttered, "When the future hangs in the empty spaces between thought and uncertainty."
The spatula stilled in her hand. For a heartbeat, the room held its breath.
He prodded the food with his fork. "I don't usually eat in the morning."
"Neither do I." Cecily sat across from him, her own plate untouched. "But today isn't 'usually.' Today, you learn to survive." Her tone carried the weight of unsaid things—a promise, a threat, a secret.
Sighing, Altha forced a bite, the flavours too bright, too 'alive'. "What if I'm not ready? What then?"
She smiled at him, and although she seemed genuine, he couldn't help but feel uneasy, as if the gesture somehow cut through him like a blade sheathed in silk. "You ask such excellent questions. Cherish that. Answers will come naturally should you last the day. Now eat, we have a long day ahead of us. I wouldn't want you falling at my feet halfway."
With a reluctant sigh, Altha complied.
Minutes later, he found himself on the porch of the cabin looking out into the clearing in form-fitting training gear. The grass was jewelled and wet with yesterday's rain. Fog rolled across the planes and somewhere beyond the mist, the sun strained to rise, its light fractured into pale shards.
Altha flexed his hands, the memory of the cube's weight still imprinted in his palms. Minutes passed in silence, sat on the stairs. The cabin door groaned open, and a familiar figure of a woman with jet-black hair and a streak of white on a section of her bangs nearly spilt onto the porch.
In one hand, she cradled a blue leather bound book and pencil, while in the other, she carried an easel and paintbrushes, its canvas nearly teetering over with each stride. The whole scene was a shambling mess.
Grabbing the easel and canvas, Altha leaned them against the walls of the house.
"Thanks, Altha... Uhh, why are you out here all alone at the crack of dawn?" Sumi asked, her voice croaky yet warm.
"Cecily called yesterday 'passable.' Said I fight like a tactician, not a warrior. Now she's cooked up a 'warm-up' before training."
"Hmm... well that doesn't sound like her." She said thoughtfully.
"Well, I'm paraphrasing. She said It only confirmed I was a tactical fighter but didn't display any of my martial skills." He clarified.
Nodding, Sumi placed the book down next to the steps, "Now that sounds like her." She said as she unfolded her easel. "You were pretty amazi- I mean you did well yesterday. Your fighting style seems ideal." She knelt, arranging paints. "You were… impressive. For your Rank."
"You don't say."
"Strategic. Adaptable." She dabbed her brush in emerald, eyes darting between canvas and forest. "But the Outer demands more."
Clasping his hands together Altha asked, "What's this training gonna be exactly?"
She glanced up, sunlight catching the white streak in her bangs. Sparing him a glance she smiled softly and said:
"If I had to guess I'd say... Lessons on Aethear Theory, the Spires, and How to not die in a realm where physics is a suggestion. Although I could be wrong."
"Aethear Theory? Hmm, sounds... Interesting."
Grabbing a brush, Sumi slowly let her hand glide across the canvas as she lost herself to the scene before her, and the beauty of it.
"Indeed, the Outer, as you've seen, is less than hospitable for the most part. Only "Great Bastions" and safe zones known as "Galvanized Regions" maintain safety in that forsakened place."
Altha sat in silence, occasionally glancing at the leather-bound book. "How come I've never come across these bastions and safe zones?"
Shrugging she dipped her brush in browns and greys. "One interpretation of Aethear Theory is the idea that the Outer expands faster than light. Spires anchor it—gateways to infinities. Most Galvanized Regions cluster around them. You? If you saw none then... You were… elsewhere." Scrutinizing the composition with her eyes, she scratched her head.
"Beyond infinity?" He asked.
"Or folded through it." She shrugged. "The Spires defy understanding. Just like you. Depending on who you ask they're either Judge or Jury."
"Beyond a possibly infinite distance away from these Spires... Which is why I didn't see any..." Altha parced his lips chasing away some grim thought.
"Who knows? The Spires are a mysterious thing, Altha, just as much a mystery as the Outer itself. Try as we may but we have barely scratched the surface of understanding what these forces are. They seem beyond the realms of our Classical, Quantum, and Arcane Sciences for now."
Altha was quiet as he turned over some thoughts in his mind, "Beyond infinity... Hmm, almost as if dimensionality and distance no longer matter." For some reason, the thought reminded him of his dream.
"Hey Altha, have you ever tried drawing?" She asked.
"Uhh Rarely, why?"
"Do you wanna try? Grab that book and draw something for me. If you want to that is." She said.
Hesitant at first he eventually grabbed the book. It had a richly textured cover and a rounded spine, the book felt easy on the fingers. Its pages were filled with spiralling galaxies, forests with roots that bled into rivers, faces half-rendered as if emerging from mist, and the like...
"Wow, you're really good at drawing. I might ruin your book by sketching in here." He said flatly.
"You won't; besides, I welcome you to draw in it. Draw as much as you'd like."
"But what would I even draw?" He asked.
"Anything you want. Draw anything that catches your eye. Express the world as you are." She expressed softly.
Flipping to an empty page, Altha hesitated to put pencil to paper, but once he'd started, the rest followed naturally.
Smiling, she returned to her canvas, the silence between them soft as the dawn.
---
Altha's pencil hovered over the sketchbook, his focus so absolute that the world narrowed to graphite and paper—until Solace's hands clamped onto his shoulders.
Altha's heart skipped a beat nearly dropping Sumi's sketchbook, yet his face remained neutral.
"Oh. Uhh... sorry. My bad." He said, grinning.
Solace was wearing black formfitting attire over his lean frame.
"Seems you're up early. So what's the occasion?" Sumi prodded.
"No clue," Solace yawned, stretching lazily. "But judging by Altha's outfit, Cecily's roped him into morning sparring."
"How astute of you," Cecily said stepping onto the porch. Sunlight glinted off the silver bracelet she tossed to Solace. "To the field, both of you. First knockdown wins. And 'you'—" she nodded at Solace, "—wear that. It'll level the playing field."
Closing the sketchbook Altha placed it back where he'd found it and followed Solace.
"The bracelet throttles your strength," Cecily called after them. "No shattered bones today. Just skill. Oh—and the loser scrubs dishes." Her smirk sharpened. "Begin."
The two combatants looked at one another; the wind rustled the leaves, and the strands of grass danced all around them. Solace settled into a fluid stance, all coiled grace. Altha mirrored him, lighter on his feet, tension humming in his joints.
His short, silver-white hair swept back messily, framed his sharp, delicate features, a few loose strands falling over his furrowed brows. His light, almost translucent eyes gazed forward.
~Thud~
Solace blurred forward, a sweep kick slicing the air. Altha pivoted, aptly countering with a 540 hook kick crashing into Solace's forearm and echoing into the forest like booming thunder. The force staggered Solace back a few feet.
Sumi's brush froze mid-stroke. "Careful, Solace," she murmured, though her eyes sparkled. "He still has a full day of training ahead."
Solace circled him, grinning wider.
"Decent," he conceded before surging again—two jabs like strikes of lightning, of which one he had no choice but to deflect off his forearm and narrowly weaved the other while trying to maintain his footing as Solace bridged whatever distance was left between them.
Undeterred he unleashed a palm strike aimed at his centre of mass but Solace turned his body and let the attack push past him, however expecting that Altha chambered a leg forward then turned 360 degrees pivoting onto his opposing leg and extending a roundhouse kick, then turned 180 degrees to chamber his opposing leg as he jumped off his support leg, unleashing a devastating hook kick, chasing Solace away a few feet.
In those few seconds, he tried to gather himself, but Solace was already on the move.
"Adapt, Altha!" Cecily barked, her voice nearly cracking. "Anticipate, don't react!"
With a 360 spin in the air, Solace delivered a swift hook kick but fell short as Altha ducked below it. Unphased, as soon as his foot touched the floor, he easily transitioned into a sweep kick.
Altha jumped to the side to avoid it only to then feel a sharp phantom pain where his liver was. Blocking, he prevented what would have been a devastating liver shot from Solace, amped by him pushing himself off the ground into an upward kick directed at his liver. Altha staggered back a few feet.
Without skipping a beat, Solace was upon him, steeling himself. Altha extended his hand for a punch, causing Solace to put up his guard, only to find out it was a feint used to load power for his spinning back kick. Hitting Solace in his side then transitioning into a high back kick that he narrowly missed before switching to an improvised axe kick that webbed the ground beneath in cracks.
Recovering Solace feigned a punch, then spun—a back kick aimed like a battering ram. Altha ducked, the air snapping where his skull had been. Altha lashed out with a desperate hook kick. It grazed Solace's ribs, but momentum carried him backwards.
Sumi set down her palette, captivated. "He's… unbelievable," she breathed. "It's as though he's painting with his body. Such a solid defence what fighting style is that."
Cecily said nothing, but her gaze narrowed—calculating, hungrily.
"Trying to use my own move against me, huh?" Altha said, his breaths deliberate as he did.
Solace chuckled, "What can I say, it's good adapting different fighting styles into your own just to see what works and what doesn't"
"Well they do say mimicry is the best form of flattery." Altha stated
Smiling Solace pressed, relentlessly, his strength rising with each impact. A spinning hook kick. A feint. A crack of colliding shins. And eventually Altha's breaths came ragged, but his eyes burned with cold focus.
"Solid defence?" Cecily murmured, answering Sumi's earlier remark. "No. That's survival. And survival," she added softly, "is the first lesson."
The fight unravelled in fractured seconds. Solace's movements blurred—a storm of feints and pivots—until Altha's heartbeats rampaged in his chest, his muscles screaming.
"Things are looking relatively… grim right now. Guess we'll be washing the dishes tonight." He thought as he parried a jab, his guard faltering, as Solace's fist found its mark: a hammer blow to his ribs that landed with a sickening crunch. White-hot agony spiderwebbed through his torso, dragging him to his knees as he gripped at his sides.
"Shit—Altha!" Solace dropped beside him, all cockiness dissolved. "I- Sorry- I didn't mean to—"
Turning, Cecily was already there, her voice slicing through the haze. "Focus. Look at me." Her fingers pressed to his pulse, cold and clinical. "Sumi's fetching the healing serum. Stay. With. Me."
"Universe what have I done that deserves this much warranting?" He thought, the irony bitter as blood on his tongue. Cecily's face wavered above him, her usual composure fractured by a flicker of—'concern?'
Slowly the world faded to black as Altha felt all feeling slip away from him.