The air was crisp, carrying a faint chill that hinted at the approach of late autumn. My muscles ached from the endless drills of the past few days, but that dull ache had become so constant I barely noticed it anymore. Today, though, I wasn't headed for the training hall or the machine room. Instead, I was making my way toward the library.
I needed answers. Answers that fists alone couldn't give.
The halls were quiet, filled only with the faint echo of my footsteps, when suddenly—
Thud.
I smacked straight into someone rounding the corner.
Books slipped from their arms, fluttering like startled birds. I staggered back, stammering out an apology before my eyes registered who it was.
Lyra.
Her golden hair spilled like sunlight over her shoulders, and her pale blue eyes blinked up at me, surprised but not angry. She crouched quickly to gather her books, but I was frozen, like a fool, my mind suddenly blank.
"Uh… sorry, I—" My words tangled together. My palms sweated. This was my chance to say something smooth. Anything normal. Just don't screw it up.
"You… uh… your hair… it looks like… like noodles."
Noodles.
Not even fine noodles. Not glowing threads of silk. Just… noodles.
The world stopped. My soul left my body.
Lyra tilted her head, then… laughed. Not mocking, but a light, genuine laugh that made the tips of my ears burn hotter than a forge.
"Well, that's new," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes.
I wanted to melt into the floor.
"W-what I meant was—" I tried to recover, but before I could dig myself into a deeper grave, a voice cut in.
"—what he meant," Callan said smoothly, stepping up beside me with his usual confident grin, "is that your hair shines like threads of silver in the sun. Right, Zander?"
I shot him a look that screamed betrayal and gratitude at the same time. My tongue was tied, so I just nodded like a desperate idiot.
Lyra's laughter softened into a smile. "Thank you… both of you, I suppose."
If my heart had been pounding before, now it was slamming against my ribs like a war drum.
And of course, that's when Joren appeared.
His footsteps were confident, heavy, like he owned the ground he walked on. His crimson-tinged aura always seemed to shimmer faintly, as though flames licked just beneath his skin.
"Lyra," Joren said without hesitation, stepping closer. His smirk was bold, direct. "You should spar with me sometime. Beauty like yours should move with fire."
I clenched my jaw, jealousy and irritation boiling, but Lyra only sighed softly.
"Not interested," she replied with a calm dismissiveness that hit harder than any punch I'd ever taken.
Joren blinked, momentarily caught off guard, then chuckled as if brushing it off. "Another time, then."
I nearly exploded with relief. Callan gave Joren a sly smirk that said more than words ever could.
But Lyra wasn't done surprising us. As she shifted the books in her arms, one slipped. It should've fallen, but instead, it floated gently into place with the others, guided by an invisible force.
My breath caught.
Telekinesis.
She had awakened it.
The realization hit me like a thunderbolt. I wasn't the only one pushing forward. The people around me—Callan, Joren, Lyra—they were all growing, evolving. And Lyra… she wasn't just beautiful, she was extraordinary.
She glanced at me then, almost as if she knew what I was thinking, and gave a small smile before walking away.
I stood rooted to the spot, my mind a whirl of thoughts, while Callan clapped me on the back.
"Study the martial arts, Zander," he advised simply, voice low enough for only me to hear. "That's what helped me reach Master. Don't waste time."
Then he strode off, leaving me with my racing heart and Joren's smoldering presence.
I didn't wait for another word from him. I turned and marched straight into the library.
Rows upon rows of books towered over me, their spines whispering secrets of knowledge, history, and power. I scanned the shelves until two titles caught my eye:
The Science of SoundVibrations and Resonance: The Hidden Forces
Perfect.
As I carried them to a table, I couldn't help but think back to Lyra's floating book. Telekinesis wasn't just a power—it was resonance with the unseen. Could vibrations, sound, resonance itself be the key to bridging my own gap?
Two Weeks Later
The training was relentless. Days blurred into nights. I'd read until my eyes stung, then drilled the concepts until my body screamed.
Punch. Kick. Breathe. Feel.
Not just force, but how force flowed. How weight shifted through the legs, how vibrations carried through the ground. I began to sense faint tremors whenever my sparring partners moved, subtle signals of where their strikes would go.
It wasn't clear yet, not fully awakened, but it was there. A hint.
Finally, after two weeks of this grind, I stood before the force machine again.
I inhaled deeply, grounding myself. My fist coiled back, then snapped forward with every ounce of intent I could muster.
BANG.
The machine hummed. Numbers flickered on the screen.
9292 N.
A kick followed, snapping out like a whip.
10,120 N.
I stared at the glowing digits. I had crossed the Martial Master threshold. My force was undeniable. And yet…
I didn't feel like one.
Frustration gnawed at me. What was I missing? The force was there, but the spark—the awakening—was not.
That night, Sensei gathered us in the main hall. His eyes were sharp, his presence heavy with authority.
"In two weeks," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly, "the Lygari arrive."
Murmurs spread through the group. My pulse quickened.
"Next week, we will hold a scrimmage to decide the three who will represent us. Only the best will face the Lygari younglings."
He let the weight of his words settle before continuing.
"The winners will be granted a Resonance Vial."
Whispers rippled again.
"This vial is not like the Iron Will," Sensei explained. "It does not replenish the body—it sharpens the mind, the perception, the soul. It draws your essence closer to the laws themselves. But it works only for those below the rank of Tempered Master. Use it well, and doors that were once locked may open."
My chest tightened with a mix of anticipation and dread. The gap between me and Martial Master still lingered, and the scrimmage was so close.
Later, I stood again in the machine room, alone. The numbers from earlier glowed faintly in my memory.
9292 N. 10,120 N.
I clenched my fists.
"Still not there yet," I muttered to myself.
The determination in my voice surprised even me. I turned back toward the machine, eyes burning with resolve.
No matter what it took, I would get there.