Kyle stood silently in front of the training ground, the distant clang of metal on wood echoing through the air as General Rean—his puppet soldier—moved with eerie precision, striking through the next dummy.
The quiet hum of corrupted mana still lingered faintly in the back of his mind from their recent excursion, but now, with a moment to think, he needed clarity.
He stepped forward, voice low but firm.
"Rean."
The puppet halted mid-strike, turning his head toward Kyle.
"Yes, young master?"
Kyle narrowed his eyes.
"Does this situation look familiar to you? The black mana, the divine corruption, the way the gods are moving behind the scenes again. Does it remind you of anything?"
Rean's eyes dimmed for a moment, a sign that he was accessing a deeper part of his fragmented memory. Then, slowly, he nodded.
