Niko and Iri stood frozen amidst the floating debris, their eyes wide with disbelief, the hum of chaos still vibrating in their bones.
The hallway—or what was left of it—was in pieces. Chunks of ceiling hovered midair, cracks laced the sky above, and the ground was torn into jagged levels of ruin. The pressure of Juno's final strike still lingered like the echo of thunder after a lightning storm.
"…How did he do that?" Niko finally asked, voice low, awestruck. "That wasn't just a move. That was… something else."
Iri didn't answer right away. She was still staring at the spot where Juno had stood—now replaced by his unconscious body, sprawled out on the shattered stone.
She finally exhaled. "I don't know," she muttered. "But that boy sure isn't normal."
The House groaned again, deep and ancient, as if still reacting to what had just occurred.
Niko looked around. "What's gonna happen to the hallway?"
Iri glanced up. "It'll heal itself."
And as if her words had power—or perhaps, as if the House listened—the air around them began to ripple. The fractured stones slowly slid toward their original positions. The torn walls trembled, began mending at their seams. The giant scar across the hallway shimmered faintly as divine architecture began to reconstruct.
Niko blinked, watching the impossible unfold. "Just like that…"
Iri said nothing, only turned her eyes back toward Juno, still unconscious on the floor.
The silence returned.
"…What do we do with him?" Niko asked, voice quieter now. "He's just… lying there."
Iri didn't answer right away. She took a step forward, her movements slow—she was injured, the weight of the battle now settling in her muscles.
She reached him.
Looked down.
And then—
A flutter of movement.
In a blink, a figure appeared between her and Juno, kneeling.
Iri's eyes sharpened instantly, her stance shifting into defense.
Mena.
She wore her deep violet hair draped like a curtain over her blindfold. Her arms didn't raise in defense, no blades drawn, no words spoken. Just… silence. A calm kind of desperation.
Then she dropped.
Onto both knees.
Her voice cracked.
"Please… spare him."
Her head bowed. "Spare my master."
Iri stared, still on guard, waiting for a trick.
But none came.
Mena trembled, her voice barely a whisper now.
"He gave everything. That was everything."
Niko watched, stunned.
Even Iri hesitated.
Even if Iri had wanted to kill them, she wasn't sure she would have the strength to face the servant in front of her, Mena.
Iri narrowed her eyes for a moment longer… then scoffed.
"Tch."
Without another word, she turned, boots crunching against the fractured stone as she walked away.
Niko stood there for a second longer, caught between pity and confusion, before glancing once more at the bowed Mena and her broken master.
They didn't move. They didn't follow.
And then, just like that, they were gone.
Vanished into the drifting dark.
Niko sighed and jogged a few steps to catch up with Iri, the glow of the House slowly beginning to return around them as the structure finished mending. A distant wind carried silence now—no more echoes of combat, no more shaking walls.
Just the long, dim walk back to the ladder.
He couldn't stop thinking about that fight.
About what he saw.
He didn't know Juno. He'd never seen that boy before in his life. But to witness someone who looked barely older than him unleash something that powerful—split the hallway itself—and then collapse like it cost him everything… it rattled him.
And Iri. She held her own like it was just another challenge. Just another day.
And he—
He did nothing.
Walk, watch, react. That was all he did. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't a helper. He wasn't even a distraction. He was just there.
Like a shadow.
Like a burden.
"Iri…" he said again, finally breaking the silence.
She didn't answer.
"…Can you train me?"
She kept walking.
"No."
Niko blinked. "Wait—what? Why not?"
"Because you're not ready."
"I won't be ready unless I start," he shot back. "Please. I'm not trying to be a hero or whatever. I just—"
He stopped walking, fists clenched. She stopped too, slowly turning her head over her shoulder.
"I'm not asking for power to show off," he said, voice lower now, more honest. "I'm asking because I'm tired of being useless. I watched you almost get cut in half. I watched that guy destroy the entire House. If something had gone even slightly wrong, I wouldn't've helped. I would've just… died. Or gotten in the way."
He exhaled, breath shaky.
"I don't know who that guy was. Don't know his story, don't care. But if that's the kind of monster I'm gonna have to see in this place, then I'm done pretending I'm not afraid."
A pause. Iri stared at him, unreadable.
"I want to be strong," Niko said, more firmly this time. "Not tomorrow. Not later. Now."
Another beat of silence. The hallway gave a soft groan as the last few cracks sealed themselves behind them.
Iri finally turned to face him.
"You really wanna be strong, huh?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Yeah."
He looked straight into her eyes.
"More than anything."
Her gaze lingered on him a few seconds longer. Then she turned without a word and kept walking.
Niko followed in silence, heart pounding not from fear—but from something closer to hope.
Eventually, they reached the base of a long, towering shaft—the ladder leading upward, out of this ring. Niko looked up, eyes scanning the height. The top was so far it seemed to vanish into the ceiling.
He remembered this ladder.
Last time, it had taken him almost fifteen minutes to climb it. His arms had burned. His legs had nearly given out. It had been hell.
So when Iri stepped forward…
…and jumped—
His mouth dropped open.
She shot up like a bullet, vanishing into the darkness above in a matter of seconds. No hesitation. No struggle. Just pure control.
He blinked, stunned.
"…She was holding back against that guy," he muttered with a weak chuckle, still staring upward. "She had to be."
As he took a step forward, trying to psych himself up for the climb, something fluttered down from above.
A glowing rune.
It drifted lazily through the air, landing right at his feet. Faint golden letters shimmered across its surface like light on water.
Teleport to Iri.
"…What the—?"
The moment he read it aloud, the rune flared—
And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
No wind-up. No sensation. Just a snap of reality—
And suddenly, he was there.
Standing beside Iri at the top.
Niko barely had time to adjust to the sudden shift in space before his feet touched solid ground again. They were in a quiet, darkened room at the edge of one of the upper rings—a place sheltered from the chaos below. Dim blue light flickered from a single hanging lantern, swaying gently overhead. The room was simple: a bed, a low table, a small shelf stacked with old scrolls and tools. Not a place of comfort—more like a resting post in the middle of war.
Iri walked to the bed without a word, collapsed onto it with a soft thud, and exhaled like someone who'd just carried the weight of the world up the ladder.
Then, flatly, she said, "Do 1,000 pushups. Then go out and fight someone."
Niko blinked, thrown. "Fight someone?"
"Yes."
"Like… now? Out there?"
She didn't even look at him. "There's no training more valuable than real experience. Life and death—that's the only teacher that matters."
Her voice was cool, matter-of-fact, like she was telling him to fetch water or sharpen a blade. It wasn't cruelty—it was clarity. That was just how things were here.
Niko stared at her. "What if I lose? Or… die?"
That finally made her glance over at him. Her eyes were like ice in the dim light—tired, but sharp.
"Then I guess you weren't cut out."
The room went still. She turned her back, pulled the blanket over her shoulder, and with one flick of her fingers, snuffed the lantern out. Shadows reclaimed the room.
Niko stood in the dark for a moment. Processing.
Then—without a word—he lowered himself to the floor.
He started the pushups.
One.
Two.
By ten, his arms already shook. His breathing grew ragged. His muscles screamed.
Every part of him wanted to stop.
To lie down. To rest. To convince himself that he'd "start tomorrow."
But then he remembered.
He remembered watching Iri and that boy—Juno—trade blows like they were gods wrapped in mortal skin.
He remembered standing still, too scared to speak, too weak to help.
He remembered the look in Iri's eyes when she said then you weren't cut out.
He clenched his teeth.
"Eleven."
"…Twelve."
The floor beneath him was cold. His arms felt heavier with every rep. But he didn't stop. Not tonight. Not again.
Because if he ever wanted to stand on that battlefield—not as a witness, but as a warrior—this was where it started.
Not with power.
But with pain.
Two hours later…
Niko's arms trembled violently as he lowered himself one final time, sweat dripping onto the stone floor beneath him.
"…One thousand," he gasped.
And then collapsed onto his back.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, lungs burning, every muscle aching like he'd been crushed beneath a mountain. His vision blurred. His body had never been pushed this far—not even close.
But he did it.
He stayed there for a moment, heart pounding in his ears, then slowly turned over and sat up. Legs crossed. Eyes closed.
He focused.
Let the breath guide him.
Energy, faint and thin, moved in and out of his body. With each inhale, it entered—cool, slow, steady. With each exhale, it drifted outward, carrying fatigue with it. His fingers tingled. His chest lightened. His core pulsed, faint but growing stronger, steadier.
He didn't know if this was real technique or just instinct. But he kept going.
Minutes passed.
The soreness faded like mist.
The aching dulled.
His arms, legs, and back still carried the weight of what he'd done—but he wasn't broken.
Not anymore.
He opened his eyes.
Thirty minutes had passed.
He rose to his feet.
Still sore. Still exhausted.
But ready.
It was time to learn.