The alarm on Ren's phone beeped over and over again.
Still half-asleep and thoroughly annoyed, Ren fumbled blindly at the nightstand, knocking over a glass of water before finally grabbing the phone. Honestly, if it weren't his, he might've thrown it across the room.
He groaned, silenced the alarm, and stared at the ceiling.
"Twelve hours of sleep and I still feel like I've been hit by a truck," he muttered. "What is this—Aika syndrome?"
He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then sighed and swung his legs out of bed.
It had been two weeks since the incident with Anya—who was still in the hospital—and since he'd asked Aika to train him.
And today, he was finally starting.
Aika had taken a few weeks off from her job just to focus entirely on him. According to her, she could only handle one exhausting job at a time—and right now, that was him.
Ren stood silently in front of his tall wardrobe, morning light filtering through the blinds and casting long shadows across the floor. He pulled on a deep blue hoodie, slightly oversized and soft from wear. He paired it with plain black sweatpants and slipped on his trainers. No armor. No gear. Just comfort and readiness.
He took a breath, exhaled slowly, and stepped into the hallway.
As he entered the lounge, the scent of coffee greeted him. Aika sat on the couch, one leg pulled up beneath her, a glass mug resting loosely in her hand. She wore loose grey sweatpants and a cropped hoodie that ended just above her waist, revealing a sliver of pale skin.
Her jet-black hair framed her face in a sharp, chin-length bob—each strand razor-straight. The ends curved inward like the edge of a blade, and her bangs fell neatly above her brows, still as if sculpted from ink.
She looked over her shoulder and lifted her mug slightly.
"Hey."
Ren nodded.
"Morning."
"You good?" she asked, watching him a second longer than necessary.
"Feel great," Ren replied.
Aika held his gaze for a moment, then gave a faint smirk.
"Good. I doubt you'll feel that way after our session."
Ren frowned.
"Huh?"
She stood and stretched.
"Let's go."
Ren trailed after her, watching as she disappeared around the curve of the lounge and into a quiet, unused hallway.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see," she said without looking back.
They stopped in front of a mirrored door — Sami's sanctuary. Aika pushed it open.
The room inside was lined with reflective glass from floor to ceiling. The air was cool and still. Ren had only ever seen Sami use it for meditation. It was quiet, spotless… and honestly, way too much glass for his comfort. Something about being able to see his reflection from five angles felt mildly cursed.
At the far end stood a delicate sculpture of a spider, crafted entirely from glass. Its legs curled inward like it was about to strike.
Aika walked toward it and twisted its abdomen.
With a soft click, the mirrors on the far wall rippled and split apart. A narrow seam formed, then widened into an open doorway. Faint lights flickered on inside, casting pale lines across a hidden stairwell that led to an elevator.
Ren followed her down without a word, glancing around like he'd just stumbled into a spy movie.
They stepped into the elevator. There was only one button—shiny, black, and etched with the symbol of a spider.
Ren stared at it.
"Okay… but like, does Sami have a spider fetish, or should I be worried for a completely different reason?"
Aika smiled.
"That's his path."
Ren blinked.
"He walks the path of a spider?"
Aika nodded once.
Ren raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything else.
The elevator descended in silence for a while, then opened—revealing a vast underground chamber.
The walls were smooth obsidian, etched faintly with runic veins that pulsed with Vira. Crystal lights hung high above, flickering like stars. The air was dry, heavy with the scent of scorched stone and old energy.
The floor was wide and open—scarred in places with impact cracks, burn marks, and deep gouges from previous sessions. Along the walls were broken training dummies, shattered weapons, and ancient relics of practice past.
"I didn't know this place existed," Ren said, glancing around.
"It's Sami's training room," Aika replied. "He used to come here when he needed to let out steam."
She stepped into the center of the chamber and turned to him. Then sat cross-legged on the floor, exhaling slowly.
"We'll start with the basics—first, your derivative, then the body of a water Viran. By 'body,' I mean the natural perks you get from your core element. The derivative is the more complex part, so let's cover that first. It's what we call the unique ability every Viran possesses."
She brought the mug to her lips for another sip, then let it rest in her hands, still half-full and warm.
"The way a derivative works depends entirely on the Viran's imagination," she said. "In fact, all of our strength is shaped by imagination and interpretation. That's the core principle behind our abilities—what you create, how you use it, what you're bold enough to invent."
She looked at him.
"You could have two people with the same derivative—say, glass—but one might be leagues stronger simply because they thought bigger. They weren't confined by limits. Their imagination was broader. Their insight, deeper."
She pointed at him now.
"You need to do more than just use your derivative. You need to learn from it. Let it speak. Let it show you what's possible—what abilities it can give you access to. It should be part of everything you do: your defense, your movement, every strike."
She paused, then her tone shifted—low, steady, controlled.
"Derivatives aren't powerful on their own. What completes them—what makes Virans truly dangerous—is the Laws they command, granted by the derivative through their path. And believe me, some of those Laws are terrifying."
Ren swallowed as he stood listening to her. He'd thought about it before—how not one, but two of his Laws could suppress the abilities of other water-type Virans. It was proof of just how dangerous Laws—and the concepts behind them—could become when wielded through a derivative.
Aika went on, her voice calm.
"No Viran is truly invincible," she said. "You could be so feared that others whisper your name like a curse—because of your derivative and the Laws you command—but that won't save you from someone whose abilities can nullify yours, rendering you completely powerless.
You see, in our world, even the strongest can fall… all it takes is one person whose concept targets your exact weakness."
She looked at him, steady.
"They're called counters—abilities that exist to shut yours down."
She took another sip of her coffee.
"This is why a Viran needs to be more than just their derivative. Facing another Viran—even one at the same stage—is always a fifty-fifty gamble. Especially if you don't know what kind of derivative or Laws they command."
She lowered the mug slightly, her tone firm.
"That's where the body comes in. You need to know how to use every part of yourself—your perks, your instincts, your brain. Everything you've got. That's how you survive when things get messy."
She glanced into her mug—still some coffee left. With a quiet sigh, she stood and walked across the marble floor to a spot just off-center in the training room.
"We'll start with hand-to-hand. Get you familiar with your body first."
Ren, who'd been listening in silence, nodded and moved to stand a few meters in front of her.
Aika tilted her head slightly.
"You ready?"
Ren took a breath, lifted his arms into a light guard, then nodded.
"Yeah."
Aika gave him a small, unreadable smile.
Then—without warning—she hurled her coffee mug at his face.
"What the—?"
He flinched, raising his arms just in time as the mug shattered into a burst of ceramic and scalding vapor. But through the blur of shrapnel—she was already on him.
He barely caught a glimpse of her foot before it slammed into his stomach like a battering ram.
WHUD.
Ren flew backward and crashed into the wall. The impact rattled the lights overhead, dust shaking loose from the ceiling.
He groaned, vision spinning. Then looked up—
She was already there. Crouched over him.
Aika grabbed the front of his hoodie and hauled him effortlessly to his feet.
"I thought you were ready," she said, voice cold.
Ren winced, breathing hard.
"What the hell, Aika?"
"I'm not going easy on you," she said, shaking her head slightly.
In one fluid motion, she spun and threw him across the chamber again. He slammed into the far wall with a bone-deep crack, cracks spiderwebbing across the stone behind him.
She stepped forward, eyes like steel.
"Virans who are tossed back into their element after fatal injuries—and given enough Vira—can heal. Pain is a tool. I'll break you, then fix you. In order to grow, you have to change."
Ren forced himself up again, coughing.
"You're a water Viran," Aika said. "Your strength isn't just in destruction. It's in fluidity. Redirection. Flow."
As she spoke, she dropped into a crouch. The floor beneath her fractured in a radial burst as she surged upward—leaping.
She twisted midair, tucking into a silent spin—and descended toward him like a falling spear.
Ren rolled just in time.
Her heel hit the floor with a thunderclap—BOOM—and the shockwave cracked a crater into the stone. Dust burst outward in a circular wave.
Ren stumbled, gasping as the impact rattled through him. His knees buckled beneath him, chest heaving. Behind him, the floor was split wide open—a spiderweb of shattered tile where Aika's kick had landed. If he'd been a heartbeat slower, his ribs would've cracked just like that floor.
He glanced up, sweat stinging his eyes.
"Hey, Aika," he panted. "How are you so strong?"
She didn't answer right away—her body was already shifting. One foot slid back. Fists curled. Shoulders dropped, fluid and precise, like she was about to draw a blade that wasn't there.
"You keep forgetting, Ren," she said, her voice steady. With each breath, faint mist coiled from her lips, curling in the air like smoke.
"You're not human. Virans are something else entirely."
She lunged again.
Fast. Faster than Ren could track. One moment, she was in front of him—
—then she wasn't.
Then—
CRACK.
Agony exploded through his ribs as something slammed into his side with bone-snapping force.
His body skidded across the marble floor, arms flailing like a ragdoll. He crashed down hard, tumbling onto his side. The world tilted, blurred by pain.
His ribs screamed. Something was definitely cracked—maybe worse. His lungs wouldn't expand properly. Every breath was a jagged, burning struggle.
Through gritted teeth, he groaned. "I didn't even… see…"
"Our bodies adapt, Ren." Aika's voice echoed—flat, dispassionate, but not unkind. "We can shift our weight, adjust our momentum—amplify force or soften impact. That's what allows us to flow through battle like water… or cut through it like a blade."
She tilted her head, her sharp bob casting a shadow across one eye.
"So why are you letting my punches land? Why are you even letting them reach you?"
Ren winced and looked up. Aika's gaze had turned cold.
"What… do you mean?" he asked.
"Have you still not figured out how to use your perks?" Her tone was bored now. Dismissive.
Ren blinked. Then his mind clicked—of course. Siren's Perception—his sensory field. He still hadn't figured out how to shift his weight or use his body to redirect force, but if he used his perception, he might at least be able to react in time.
He reached inward, letting his awareness stretch outward, engulfing half the chamber—sight, sound, sensation.
The colors around him began to shift.
Then the world sharpened.
His field of vision widened unnaturally—sweeping outward, nearly 300 degrees. Within his sensory field, time seemed to slow.
He could feel everything: the echo of steps, the weight of silence, the faint stir of breath.
Aika's stance adjusted, subtle but sharp and dangerous.
"Brace yourself," she said.
Then she moved again.