Location: Temple of a Thousand Steps – Dawn Light and Physical Pain Edition
Time: [Cycle 5 : 06:07 : Local Drift]
The sun rose slowly over Vire-Laravé, casting a soft golden halo over the mountain's jagged edge. The temple's silhouette stood regal and peaceful against the backdrop of ethereal mist and sleepy bird-chirp sounds that were way too enthusiastic for how early it was.
Inside, Ren was very much not at peace.
"You're kidding me," Ren groaned, standing at the top of the stairs like a man staring into the mouth of Hell's driveway.
The old priest emerged from the temple, grinning like a cryptic grandpa who got way too much joy out of watching people suffer.
In his hands?
One bucket of lukewarm, questionably scented water.One brush the size of a dental pick.One single wobbly sandal that squeaked even when he wasn't moving.
"Time to begin your sacred service."
"Is this a joke? I thought I'd at least get a mop! A pressure washer! A—A holy Swiffer!"
"Too modern. We honor the stairs, not disrespect them with capitalist gadgets."
Ren dipped the laughably tiny brush into the water. It absorbed approximately four molecules of liquid.
He knelt at the top step and scrubbed.
One stroke.
Two.
"...This is gonna take twelve eternities."
FROST:
"You're not just cleaning stairs. You're sanding your soul with humility."
BLAZE:
"You missed a spot. Also your dignity."
CORE:
"This is character development. Embrace the pain."
Hours passed.
His knees ached.
His back made a new sound: "crrrrk-hhhrrrnnng."
At one point he tried scrubbing with both hands. Then his face. Then he had a brief emotional breakdown somewhere around Step #492 and started whispering to ants like they were old war buddies.
"You... little stone bastards better appreciate this spa treatment," he muttered, breathless.
The priest watched from a floating cushion, sipping tea.
"Good technique. I see potential."
"You see regret and spinal trauma."
By sundown, the stairs were gleaming. Shiny. Glossy like a divine runway for barefoot monks with glutes of steel.
The priest nodded, impressed.
"You actually finished. Most people collapse or fake their own deaths halfway through Step 800."
Ren lay flat on the top step, twitching.
"Do I get reincarnated now or what?"
The old man chuckled, then motioned for him to follow.
Ren, barely alive, dragged himself up and stumbled behind the priest — past the temple, through an overgrown archway, and into the hidden forest behind the temple grounds.
Birds chirped. Light filtered through the trees. Wind rustled leaves like they were telling secrets.
"Wait... there's a forest back here?!" Ren gasped. "I thought this temple just had stairs and sarcasm!"
"Most don't look past the suffering. That's their mistake."
They stopped in a mossy clearing, surrounded by carved stones and quiet fountains flowing with crystal-clear water.
The old man turned to him.
"You're raw. Clumsy. Your technique is a drunken giraffe's at best."
"Hey—!"
"But you kept going. With no reward. That's rare."
He crossed his arms.
"Stay here. For a week. Train. And if your legs don't fall off, maybe longer."
"What, like a disciple?"
"Like someone who wants to survive what's coming."
Ren blinked.
"...Does this come with snacks?"
"If you survive day one, yes."
"Deal."
Somewhere back in the temple, Lira finally stirred — still weak, but safe.
Outside, Ren picked up a training staff longer than his patience and stood in the clearing under the stars.
CORE (quietly):
"You're not just learning to fight. You're learning to carry something greater."
"Yeah, well..." Ren smirked, spinning the staff once, then promptly hitting himself in the shin.
"I'm learning to suffer with style."
The air folded once, twice—then Core stepped out, her body formed from glinting motes of fractured light and soft shadows.
She didn't wear armor. No robe. Just a simple fitted outfit with circuitry patterns glowing faintly across the fabric, like constellations stitched into silk.
She looked… calm. Poised. Not snarky.
"You're not wrong," she said. "But style won't protect the ones you care about."
Ren stood up, blinking. "Core?"
She walked closer, barefoot in the moss, leaving behind no footprints.
"Lira's condition is stable. But temporary. The fragment helped, but it's only a patch."
"She's still compressed, still locked."
She lifted a hand, and a faint golden shard floated in her palm — brighter than the rest. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat waiting to be handed off.
"I can give her this," she said. "A deeper shard. One from me. It'll unlock her fully — body, energy, memory."
Ren tensed.
"What's the catch?"
"You'll lose access to my abilities. Temporarily, maybe permanently. No more freezing time. No more bending gravity. No more slingshotting yourself through space like a cracked-up superhero."
She smiled, but there was a softness behind it — a rare one.
"She'll be whole. But you won't be."
Ren stared at the glowing shard.
Then shook his head.
"No."
"Why?" she asked, unreadable.
"Because she's strong. She doesn't need your pity. She needs space. Time. Her own strength. If I rob you to fix her, we're just replacing one chain with another."
There was a long silence.
Then Core closed her hand. The shard vanished.
"Spoken like someone who's finally becoming more than a pawn."
She stepped back, already fading into the dark.
"Stand strong, Ren Ishida."
Then—she disappeared.
BLAZE (awkwardly):
"Okay but... did she have to say his full name like that?"
FROST (flustered):
"Shut up. Don't act like your core didn't skip a beat too."
BLAZE (blushing):
"I was just surprised! That's all!"
CORE (from the void):
"Lying in stereo. Adorable."
Ren returned to his room. His body screamed for rest. His brain still spiraled from Core's offer.
And inside?
Lira was awake, waiting.
She sat cross-legged on the mat, a scroll opened in front of her. Her cheeks looked a little less pale. The stabilizer orb floated near her shoulder like a sleepy firefly.
"You're back," she whispered. "You look like you lost a bar fight with enlightenment."
"Stairs. Pain. Tiny brush. Monastic war crimes," Ren groaned, flopping beside her. "Did I miss anything?"
"Just this."
She rolled open the scroll fully.
Drawn in glowing ink. Marked with glyphs.
"It's a map of dormant Dimensional Cores. Not Aetherium — deeper. Hidden beneath this world. The last pieces of the true lock."
Ren stared at it.
"Wait. Those are real? I thought Core made that up as a metaphor for emotional baggage."
"They're very real," Lira said, voice low. "And we're going to need them if we're going to survive what's coming."
"I thought getting you back to full power was the endgame," Ren muttered.
"It's not," she said, eyes narrowing. "It's the beginning."
A massive bronze bell rang at 07:00 local drift sharp. No chime. Just one deafening BWOOOOOOOOONNNNNG that shook dust from Ren's eyebrows.
"WHY DOES THAT BELL SOUND LIKE IT REGRETS EXISTING!?"
The old priest served "rice" that jiggled like gelatin and may or may not have blinked once.
"Eat it. Builds discipline."
"I think it just whispered at me."
"Then it's working."
Ren: holding a stick, standing on a slick stone floor.
Priest: holding two sticks, smiling.
"Lesson one: clean and fight at the same time."
"What is this, domestic kung fu?!"
FROST:
"This is content I didn't know I needed."
BLAZE:
"At least he's finally learning something other than how to get hit."
As the sun climbed higher, Ren practiced — clumsy, determined, determined to protect Lira and uncover the truth behind the map.
Whatever came next —
He was finally ready to chase it.
Ren was halfway through balancing a wet mop on his foot (as ordered by the old man for "balance training," allegedly) when the air shifted.
Not the wind.
Not time.
The mood.
Even Blaze and Frost fell silent in his head — which was never a good sign.
From the misty forest trail behind the temple steps came a figure.
Silent. Controlled. Absolutely terrifying.
She moved like a whisper with purpose, each step hitting the ground without a sound. Her black combat suit hugged her form like a shadow, segmented with sleek armor patches that shifted seamlessly with her movements.
Tattoos of metallic ink ran across her neck, arms, and even under her jaw, glowing faintly like old contracts sealed in blood and starlight.
She had dual short blades strapped to her thighs, a multi-strap harness loaded with tools Ren didn't even have names for, and a long scarf fluttering behind her like she just walked out of a cinematic betrayal scene.
Her eyes?
One brown.
One glowing violet.
And both were sizing Ren up like he was a soggy sock someone left on the floor.
The old priest waved his hand lazily from a meditation rock.
"There she is. Your teacher."
Ren blinked, mouth hanging open.
"That's... a person?"
"Very much so. She's agreed to train you for one week."
"And... she didn't kill me on sight?"
"Don't tempt fate."
"Her name is Arix Vel'Nara," the old man said. "She's a specialist. Assassin class. Ex-rift agent. Ninja lineage. And possibly the most dangerous woman who's ever fought while chewing on dried fruit."
She flicked her wrist and three thin knives appeared between her fingers.
"I do not chew," she said coldly. "I absorb nutrients."
"...She's like the Amazon Prime version of death," Ren whispered.
FROST (breathlessly):
"I want her to stab me respectfully."
BLAZE:
"I want her to trip and fall for me accidentally. But also maybe still stab me a little."
CORE (appearing briefly in his mind):
"Focus, loverboys."
Arix finally stopped in front of Ren, her violet eye glowing brighter as it scanned his stance, his posture, even the mop.
"This is the subject?"
"Yup," the priest said. "He's flexible. Clumsy. Full of untapped power and emotional baggage."
"Great," Arix muttered. "Another soft-souled chosen one. I can smell the 'I-don't-know-my-potential' vibes already."
She leaned down to Ren's face.
"Listen carefully. Tomorrow morning, you will not cry. You will not run. You will not call me 'sensei' unless you're being sarcastic. You will do exactly what I say. If you complain, I cut off your mop hand first. Understood?"
"...Can I blink?"
"Once."
As she turned and vanished toward the upper forest quarters, Ren just stood there, mopping in hand, soul slightly vibrating.
"That's my trainer?"
"Yes," said the priest, sipping his tea. "Her nickname is 'The One-Woman War.' And she's single, but I'd advise against it."
Location: Temple Grounds – Training Sectors (From Forest Line to Temple Roof)
Time: [Cycle 5 : 07:32 – 18:44 Local Drift]
Ren was dreaming about fried noodles when—
WHAM.
A foot struck the door of his room with the force of a goddamn angry timeline. It slid open with a crunch.
There stood Arix Vel'Nara, in full gear, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised like she just broke in to end his whole career.
"Up. You've already wasted twelve minutes breathing soft."
Ren, drooling and half-wrapped in a blanket, sat bolt upright.
"Wh—what time is it?"
"Stab o'clock."
"Coolcoolcool. Just checking."
They started in the forest clearing. Morning light filtered through the leaves. Birds chirped.
And Ren was on the ground, face-first, in dirt.
"What did I say about blocking low?" Arix muttered.
"To… to do it?" Ren mumbled through moss.
"To not die, idiot."
She circled him like a wolf assessing a lost tourist.
Her training style? Brutal.
She combined martial strikes, blade feints, shadow-stepping footwork, and pressure-point pokes that made Ren temporarily forget his own name.
"This isn't about elegance," she snapped, sweeping his legs. "It's about surviving against someone faster, stronger, and meaner than you."
"I've met my reflection. I get it."
Drills included:
Rolling from prone under fake arrow traps (she threw real ones at one point).Silent takedowns on mannequins rigged with noise crystals (Ren failed four times and got zapped).Balance training on spinning logs ("If you fall, you run back up the stairs. All of them.")
"Stop thinking about form," Arix snapped. "You're not a ballet dancer."
"Yeah, well, you're not my mom!"
"If I were, I'd have killed you for being born unbalanced."
FROST:
"That was savage. I'm crying for you."
BLAZE:
"I think I love her."
Arix handed him twin daggers.
"You won't be using them often. But you should know how to make people fear them."
She attacked without warning.
Ren blocked—once.
Slashed—missed.
Fumbled—and got disarmed in four seconds flat.
"Your hands move like frightened jellyfish," she muttered, catching both blades mid-spin and tossing them back with pinpoint precision.
"Sorry, I didn't grow up with assassin ballet as an extracurricular!"
She threw a blade past his ear, hitting a falling leaf.
"Don't get snarky. Get faster."
Ren learned five basic parry patterns, two lethal counter-routes, and how to pivot silently using the balls of his feet — which mostly felt like pivoting on marbles while dying.
He did get in one lucky block by sunset.
Arix nodded once. Once.
"Not bad."
"You blinked. That counts as praise."
"Say 'sensei' and I break your foot."
As the sky turned orange, they moved to the temple rooftop, where the wind blew hard, and the moon slowly edged into the sky.
"You did better than I expected," Arix said, arms crossed. "But you fight like someone afraid of what they'll become."
Ren exhaled hard, chest heaving.
"I'm not afraid of becoming powerful. I'm afraid of not knowing what to do with it once I am."
She stared at him.
For the first time, her expression softened — only slightly.
"Good," she said. "Hold onto that. Because tomorrow, we start on shadow techniques. You'll learn to vanish between seconds."
"...Is that possible?"
"Only if you stop being the loudest person in the room."
As she leapt off the roof, vanishing into shadow, Ren collapsed back on the tiles.
Bruised.
Exhausted.
But burning with new resolve.
"One day down. I think she likes me."
CORE (dryly):
"She called you 'salvageable.' That's basically a love confession in assassin speak."
BLAZE:
"My favorite part was when she stepped on his pride."
FROST:
"She didn't step. She parried it."