Kuro skidded a few steps on the wet sand, coughing once.
Then he laughed. "Finally…"
The wind howled around them—answering Klaus's fury.
"You're not holding back anymore."Good."
Kuro's heel twisted into the earth, grounding himself.
The world around him began to ripple.
The sea receded, not by tide—but by fear. The sky above dimmed, as if drawn inward.
"Now it's my turn."
He raised a single hand—and the sand froze beneath Klaus's feet, hardened like obsidian.
"Domain Recall."
The air fractured.
Klaus moved—but the space bent the wrong way.
His form flickered mid-attack, momentum slipping through a warped axis.
Kuro stepped sideways—through a crack in nothing.
KRAK—
His fist connected. Not with flesh—but with Klaus's aura, and it shattered.
Klaus tumbled back, coughing, his wind spiraling out of control.
"I built this place from imagination, remember?" Kuro said, walking forward, cracks in the air healing behind him.
"Which means I can unmake the rules whenever I want."
Klaus stood, jaw clenched, blood at the corner of his mouth. His wind surged again—but it wavered.
Kuro pointed upward.
The sky bent.A thousand lines etched across it like glass under stress.
"The moment you stepped inside..."
"You started playing my game."
But Klaus didn't flinch.
He exhaled slowly.
Then closed his eyes.
The wind went still.
Silent.
Then—it turned violent.
Not wild, not desperate—focused. Deadly.
"Doesn't matter who imagined this place," Klaus said. His eyes opened—calm as a storm's eye."Because I'm done following the rules."
He stepped.
The world reacted.
"Void Style."
No form called.
Just movement.
Kuro grinned. "There it is."
They clashed.
Again.
This time—as equals.
The air rippled, unstable.
Kuro blinked.
Above them—tiny cracks shimmered in the sky, like fractures in stained glass.
He froze.
"…No way," he muttered.
Then, without hesitation—
Kuro used "Æther Sense: Full Bloom."
His pupil widened—a ring of shimmering runes spun behind his eyes, like layered constellations. The entire domain pulsed.
"Shit," Kuro whispered. "He's rejecting the realm itself."
The fight stopped.
Kuro raised his hands. "Alright, timeout. Flag on the play. Technical foul. The wind psycho's about to delete reality."
Klaus stood mid-step, wind curling around him like a storm that learned sarcasm.
Kuro stepped back slowly.
"Look, I'm all for dying dramatically, but not inside my own mind-palace, alright?"
Nothing.
Kuro sighed, pinching his nose.
"Also, you reek. Like moldy carpet and regret. Honestly, I think the air just gave up."
He muttered, walking away,
"Gods help me, I'm mentoring a wind elemental with the personal hygiene of a lightning-struck raccoon."
---
Later…
Kaen lounged on a broken statue base, surrounded by a graveyard of empty beer bottles. One boot was off. Why? No one knew.
Kuro sat next to him, bleeding, bruised, and regretting his life choices. Kaen handed him a beer.
They drank.
Silence.
Then—
Kaen grunted. "So… you finally found your heir to the throne of sarcasm and violence."
Kuro sighed."Yeah. Took long enough. Thought I was gonna die old, bitter, and yelling at clouds."
Kaen squinted. "So… basically your current personality, just with gray hair?"
Kuro side-eyed him. "You're one insult away from me Void-Spiking your liver."
Kaen chuckled. "C'mon, Master Kuro. Don't go full monk on me now. Gonna teach Klaus meditation? Whisper sweet nothings to the wind? Knit him a cloak with 'World Ender' embroidered on it?"
Kuro drank deeper. " If stupidity were a currency, you'd crash the economy."
Klaus approached.
Clean now. Shirtless still. Hair tied back in that messy bun.
Kuro snapped his fingers. A chilled glass of juice appeared next to Klaus.
Klaus sat between them, silently sipping. Peace.
For exactly three seconds.
Then—
Kaen leaned over. "Hey Klaus. You know your mentor once got trapped in a reality bubble for four days 'cause he was too proud to ask a talking map for directions?"
Kuro: "Kaen—"
Kaen grinned.
"Or when he tried to impress the Wind Monarch by wrapping lightning around himself and ended up looking like a toasted breadstick?"
Klaus snorted. Then SPAT.
"Wait—what?! You have a thing for a Monarch?!"
Kuro covered his face.
Kaen slapped Klaus's back.
"Oh yeah. Man was simping so hard the realm short-circuited. Wrote her a poem too. Rhymed 'storm' with 'warm.'"
Klaus nearly choked.
"You're joking—"
Klaus sipped his drink, watching Kaen and Kuro banter back and forth. His curiosity got the better of him, and he finally asked, "Kaen... what exactly are you to Kuro?"
Kaen paused mid-drink, glancing at Kuro before setting his beer down with a grin. "Me and Kuro? We go way back. When I first met him, he was all about the 'greater good,' acting like the peacekeeper of the group." Kaen laughed at the memory. "We'd be on the frontlines, and he'd try to give these speeches like he was gonna solve everything with words. Meanwhile, explosions were going off around us."
Klaus raised an eyebrow, amused by the idea of Kuro trying to negotiate in the middle of a battle.
"One time, he tried to talk down a whole army while we were surrounded. Guess how well that went?" Kaen chuckled, mimicking Kuro's serious tone. "'Let's talk this through.' Boom, battle started."
Klaus couldn't help but laugh, imagining Kuro in that situation.
Kaen leaned back, a bit more serious now. "But despite the jokes, Kuro's always been the one you'd want beside you when everything's going wrong. Calm, calculated, doesn't let anything throw him off. And me?" Kaen shrugged. "I'm the idiot who keeps it interesting."
Klaus nodded, seeing a side of Kuro he hadn't known. "Sounds like you two had some wild times."
Kaen smirked. "You have no idea. But hey, I made sure Kuro didn't take life too seriously."
Kuro, who had been silent until now, interjected. "Don't make it sound like we were some comedy duo, Kaen. You need me to keep you in check."
Kaen grinned. "Right, I needed you—after you nearly blew up our base with your 'diplomacy.'"
Kuro just smirked. "You're welcome."
Klaus chuckled, feeling a bit more understanding of their dynamic. Kaen may have been the chaos to Kuro's calm, but the bond between them was clear.
---
Morning.
The sky was gold with hints of lavender. Calm winds drifted through open windows.
In the kitchen, Kuro moved like a chef possessed—pan sizzling, spices tossed, eggs flipped midair and caught with precision. He wore an apron that said "Eat or Get Out."
As he worked, a soft hum escaped his lips, the rhythm matching the sizzling sounds around him. His movements were fluid, almost choreographed, like he was performing to some private soundtrack only he could hear. The music seemed to add an extra layer of energy to his cooking, his humming rising and falling with the rhythm of each flick of his wrist.
He muttered, "Can master wind and void, but somehow, these two degenerates can't master waking up."
In a nearby room, Kaen lay sprawled on a bed—blankets half-draped, one leg off the side, snoring like a broken engine. A beer can balanced on his chest.
Another room.
Klaus lay motionless, hair loose, shirt half-worn, breathing calm but ragged.
Every muscle ached. The spar with Kuro wasn't a full fight—but it was enough to feel like he'd been hit by a dozen storms.
His mind drifted…
"Chain Form Three… into Four... but he deflected it mid-air with just a shift."
He yawned—jaw cracking slightly—and the smell hit.
Spiced meat. Fried rice. Something sweet.
Kaen was already stumbling out of bed, still snoring somehow, heading toward the kitchen like a possessed sleepwalker.
Klaus followed, dragging his feet, eyes half-open. His hair a mess, his steps uneven.
Kuro turned around—plating the final dish—then spotted the two walking in like zombies.
He slammed a ladle on the counter. "BOTH OF YOU—BATH. NOW. Or I swear, I'm feeding this to the crows."
Kaen blinked. "Wait wha—"
"OUT!!"
Ten minutes later.
The trio sat around the table. Plates full. A jukebox in the corner clicked to life—an old jazz loop playing faintly.
Kaen was already three bites in.
Klaus looked half-alive, but the food was too good to resist.
Kuro sipped tea, then spoke, tone calm:
"We head out today."
---
An hour later.
Klaus, now fresh, in new clothes, stepped outside. Sunlight hit metal roads and gleaming towers. Kaen leaned against a wall, chewing on a toothpick. Kuro adjusted his coat, wind catching the ends like a cloak.
Kuro drew his katana, its edge gleaming under the light. With a swift motion, he sliced through the air. A tear in the fabric of reality spiraled open, the edges rimmed with violet wind.
"Let's move."
They stepped through.
---
A city so massive it made kingdoms look like villages.Sprawling towers of arcane steel. Ships flew overhead. Bridges crisscrossed like webs of light. People of every rank, weapon moved with purpose.
This was Imperium Sanctus—capital of the Emperor's Empire. The heart of power.
Klaus's eyes widened.Everything buzzed—life, power, history.
Kuro glanced back. "Kaen and I got things to handle. Go have fun or something. Don't die."
Kaen gave a lazy wave. "Try not to get kidnapped."
And just like that, they vanished into the crowd.
Klaus stood there. Alone. Staring.
He turned toward the space they'd disappeared from. Blinked.
"…What the hell."
Then he sighed…And started walking.
Klaus wandered deeper into the city, the rising sun gleaming off golden spires and polished walkways. The breeze carried a thousand scents—spices, fresh bread, oils from roasted meat, and flowers in bloom overhead from balcony gardens.
He passed a row of vendors, each stall vibrant with color and noise.
"Fruit from the Cloud Gardens! Sweet as sin!"
"Arcane trinkets! Guaranteed only mildly cursed!"
"Throw a dart, win a dagger! Two wins gets ya a date with destiny!"
Klaus slowed at a small pastry stall. A wrinkled woman offered him a sample without a word.
He took a cautious bite—soft, warm, sweet enough to melt the cold edge in his expression. He looked up at her, surprised.
She winked.
Klaus awkwardly placed a few credits on the table and gave a small nod.
Then moved on.
At a small street play, a pair of kids in mismatched armor reenacted the "Trial of the Thunder General." Their swords were sticks. Their enemies? Puppets controlled by string and wind magic.
The crowd laughed. Klaus stood off to the side, arms crossed. He didn't laugh—but he watched.
When one of the kids fumbled their line, Klaus softly whispered the correction.
The kid caught it—grinned—and improvised, nailing the final swing.
The crowd cheered. The child bowed. Then looked at Klaus in the back, giving a sly salute.
Klaus smirked faintly and walked on.
Then he saw the flyer.
Bright red and gold, fluttering from a young man's hands as he passed them out with dramatic flair.
"THE ASCENDANT RISING! Tournament of Power, Pride, and Ruin! Three months from today at the Grand Ember Ring! No limits! No rules—only legends."
Klaus paused mid-step and caught one of the papers.
The design was explosive—illustrations of fighters mid-swing, fireballs, lightning surges, titanic clashes. The crowd in the background was drawn like a living sea.
He turned it over—"Anyone may register."
He looked up.
The man handing them out raised an eyebrow. "Hey, you look like the fighting type."
Klaus said nothing. But his grip on the flyer tightened.
The vendor grinned. "Biggest damn thing before the Emperor's Jubilee. Folks train all year just for a chance. No ranks. No power cap. Just guts."
"…Sofie might be there," Klaus thought suddenly.The image bloomed in his mind—her among the high nobility now. Seated in the box rows. Cheering. Watching.
Would she recognize him? Would she be proud?
He looked up again. "How do I register?"
The guy blinked, surprised. Then snapped to attention."Prelims are open for another three days. Head to the Ember Ring's southern gate. Show them that paper. You'll get in."
Klaus nodded once and turned.
As he walked, he tucked the flyer into his coat—gaze distant but burning with quiet focus.