Zane didn't say anything in response.
'What a strange girl…' he thought, watching her from the corner of his eye. 'Earlier, I was sure she wanted something from me. But now, it turns out she's just helping me… with no strings attached. A clean heart? That's wierd.'
He decided not to ask any more questions just yet. She was right anyway—he needed more training. Even though he had trained earlier before resting, it clearly wasn't enough. Not if he wanted to stand a chance in this cruel new world.
"What kind of training are we going to be doing?" Zane asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Nothing too difficult," Onilia replied casually.
Zane immediately swallowed hard. That tone of hers? It sent a chill down his spine.
Without another word, she walked over to a corner and returned with a variety of strange, intimidating weights—some looked like they were made of stone, and others had glowing runes etched into them.
Zane pointed down at them, eyes narrowing. "Uh… what are we doing with these?"
Instead of answering, Onilia turned and walked toward two dangling strings hanging from a bar at the far end of the room. One string was red, the other blue.
"The number of times you pull the red string controls the gravity in this training space, pulling the blue string once will revert it." she explained. "Each pull multiplies the force of gravity—by that number."
Zane blinked. "Wait… so if you pull it twice, it's double gravity, and if you pull it three times, it's triple gravity?"
"No," she said with a faint smirk. "It doesn't just add. It multiplies the already multiplied gravity. So if I pull it twice, it's times two. But if I pull it a third time, it becomes times six. A fourth time? Times twenty four. You get the idea."
Zane's mouth dropped open. "That's insane. What does that have to do with—wait. Don't tell me..."
He didn't even get to finish the sentence.
Onilia, without flinching, yanked the red string.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Boom.
Zane's knees crashed into the ground like boulders. He groaned, his face almost kissing the floor.
'What kind of lunatic does this?! Who in their right mind multiplies this insane gravity six times over?!' His entire body felt like it had bricks stacked on every bone. Even breathing was a chore. He slowly tilted his head upward and saw Onilia strolling toward him like she was enjoying a peaceful evening walk.
"Your task is simple," she said, her voice calm, clear, and cruel. "Carry one of the weights on your back and try to touch me. That's it. I'll just be walking around. You're free to choose whichever weight you're comfortable with."
"Touch you?!" Zane grunted. "I—I can't even stand!"
'Under normal gravity, I'd still struggle to lift those weights. But now?! This feels like trying to bench-press a mountain!'
Still on his knees, Zane gritted his teeth. Then, with great effort, he muttered, "Onilia… I know I touched your breast earlier, but I've already apologized. So why are you trying to get back at me?"
Onilia paused mid-step and turned to look at him, her sapphire eyes gleaming.
"If I was trying to get back at you..." she said coolly, "I would've pulled the red string fifteen times."
Zane blinked.
'Fifteen?!'
His soul nearly left his body.
"Y-You're terrifying," he whispered.
"Then try not to offend me again," she said with a faint smile and resumed walking.
Zane clenched his fists and forced himself to move. Sweat rolled down his face like rain. His arms trembled, his legs shook, and every muscle in his body screamed at him to give up. But he didn't.
He couldn't.
Onilia walked around like she was weightless, hands behind her back, humming softly as if she was enjoying the breeze. Meanwhile, Zane fought just to lift one knee off the ground.
'What kind of gravity has she live under to be fine under this much force. Damn it… I swear even if it kills me… I will touch it... I mean her.' he thought looking at her chest.
'Damn, that other side of me is reacting again.'
And so, the real training began.
The fight to simply stand on his feet was already brutal, like trying to lift the entire world on his back. Every joint in Zane's body screamed in protest, every muscle felt like it was on fire. But that was just the first battle. The second one? Trying to lift one of the weights.
That was a nightmare of its own.
Zane quickly gave up on the idea of carrying anything right away. He figured he'd start with walking—get used to the gravity first before pushing his luck.
He staggered like a newborn deer, barely able to keep his balance as he shuffled forward in tiny, clumsy steps. His feet dragged against the hard floor, and sweat poured down his face like he was walking through a desert. Every breath felt like he was inhaling concrete.
Still, he didn't stop.
He pushed himself to the far end of the training ground—then slowly made his way back. Then again. And again. Each lap took forever, but with every pass, his legs grew steadier. He was still shaking, but at least he could walk.
Kind of.
After what felt like an eternity, he wiped his face with his sleeve, took a deep breath, and turned to the weights. Among the monstrous blocks of stone and metal, he picked out the one that looked somewhat manageable—a smooth, round weight that didn't look as angry or deadly as the others.
"This one should be easier," he muttered.
He crouched, wrapped his trembling fingers around it, and pulled.
Nothing.
He tried again, this time gritting his teeth and putting his back into it. The weight didn't even budge.
"Come on…" he groaned.
Again and again he tried, but the thing may as well have been part of the planet itself. That stupid, smug-looking stone just sat there like it was laughing at him.
Behind him, Onilia stretched her arms overhead with a soft yawn.
"I'm going to sleep," she said casually, already turning around.
Zane's shoulders dropped, his face full of disappointment. "But I... I didn't even lift the weight…"
Onilia glanced over her shoulder with a small smile. "I wasn't expecting you to lift it. It's already been six hours, and honestly? You adjusted to the gravity way faster than before. That's progress. Be proud of that."
She waved lazily, then walked off into the distance, leaving him behind in the dimly lit training ground.
Zane stood there, breathing heavily, his body aching from head to toe.
'Six hours already?' he thought, surprised. Time had flown. Still, he couldn't help but look at her in awe.
"She trains like a monster… and carries the weight of her entire planet like it's nothing," he whispered.
He slowly sat on the floor, wiping the sweat from his brow, heart still racing.
"I'm nowhere near her level… but I won't stop."
He stared at the weight again, then clenched his fists.
"I'll train a little more… just a little longer."
And so, while the rest of the world slept, Zane stayed behind—limping, sweating, crawling if he had to. But he never stopped.
Because every second mattered.
"Vëlinë sova ārae, dărēnīth? Zho vërāl thraen, brē ān ixē vaen da Destroyer… Thronēs kælš œnä, brē năr veon hālē. Es særn vēn thrā?"
(What are we going to do, dear? We're up against the Destroyer. Our Apex ranked players are strong… but not even close to his level. Is there truly no hope left?)
Onilia had overheard them once—her parents. They didn't notice her standing just outside their chamber that evening. The air had been thick with worry, the kind that clings to your skin and makes the walls feel smaller. Her mother's voice was soft, almost fragile, the kind of voice one used when imagining the worst.
Her father had tried to sound strong, but even his tone wavered.
"Shāren ēnai, lūnāe. Vēl thrēn īaēn. Sōva ēna, Onilia… āshen kērēz hāi ōlā."
(Don't worry, my moon. Let's not give up. Our daughter—she always finds a way. She will again.)
Onilia didn't say anything then. She just stood there in the hallway, hidden by the shadows, listening as their quiet fears spilled into the night. That memory lingered even now.
She sighed deeply and lay back in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dim, lit only by a soft blue glow from the crystal lamp hanging above. Outside, two moons floated lazily in the dark sky, casting silver beams across the sleek, polished floor. She had just taken her second shower of the night, hoping to calm the tight knot in her chest—but it didn't help. The cold water had only made her feel more awake.
Her hair, damp and clinging to her shoulders, felt heavier than usual.
She curled onto her side, her arm tucked under her head.
"Vēl inär… shān ōlreth vï ër mā."
(I think… you might've been wrong about me, father.)
Her voice was a whisper, gentle and unsure, like the fading wind brushing past a dying flame.
"Shē æn thral sēth… mā ēl vëras ōn sārën, daen Destroyer. Nār ān."
(I can't see any version of myself winning against the Destroyer. Not even one.)
Her eyes fluttered shut.