A day had slipped by since the grueling mental trial, where Ezmelral had confronted the endless loop of her family's final moments. The previous night, she'd watched in awe as Raiking wove the five elements into a grand home—towering and intricate, with multiple floors and rooms branching like a living tree. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen, a fusion of raw power and elegant design that left her breathless. Before bed, he'd outlined her training schedule: Mondays for sword practice, Tuesdays delving into the past to witness corruption's spread, Wednesdays more blade work, Thursdays another journey through time, Fridays intensifying her sword mastery. Saturdays were reserved for the Shadow Realm, reliving that fateful night—the ultimate test to forge her mind and body through the week's trials, culminating in facing her deepest trauma.
But what Ezmelral anticipated most were Sundays—days of rest, as Raiking called them. They'd spend time together: wandering the forest, hunting game, sharing meals by the fire, simply living. And under the stars' watchful gaze at night, he'd promised to answer one question of her choosing—anything, so long as it didn't probe his identity, origins, or secrets to conquering the Shadow Realm trial. "That knowledge comes with time," he'd said.
Now, morning light filtered through the canopy as Ezmelral pushed open the door and stepped out of their elemental abode. In the open field ahead stood Raiking, tall and unyielding, his handsome features radiating the sun's warmth like a beacon—red eyes sharp, black hair tousled by the breeze. She shook her head, scolding herself inwardly. No improper thoughts about your master. It's taboo. Composing her expression, she yelled, "Master!" and dashed toward him, her footsteps light on the dew-kissed grass.
"You're late," Raiking observed, his voice calm but laced with a hint of sternness.
"Am I?" she replied, her eyes wide with feigned innocence, batting her lashes in a blatant ploy to dodge punishment.
He sighed, a faint flicker of amusement crossing his stoic face. "Shall we begin?"
Ezmelral bounced on her toes, her excitement bubbling over like a spring stream, the formation's faint hum still tingling in the air around them.
Raiking regarded her steadily, his crimson eyes calm as still waters. "What do you know about the combat levels?"
She grinned, holding up her small hands and counting off on her fingers with dramatic flair. "First—the Mortal Realm!"
In a blur of motion, Raiking vanished like a gust of wind, reappearing inches before her. His hand pressed gently to her forehead, and a surge of energy coursed through her body—warm, electric, sharpening her senses in an instant. She yelped, staggering back a step, but he urged, "Continue," as his fist shot forward in a testing punch.
Ezmelral's eyes widened—she could see it now, the strike unfolding in crisp detail. She dodged left with newfound agility, the air whistling past her ear. "Every Exar starts at this level, whether they train or not!" she exclaimed, breathless. "Average lifespan... about 100 years."
Raiking nodded approvingly. Without warning, he swept a kick toward her midsection. She raised her left leg instinctively, blocking the blow with a solid thud that vibrated up her bones. Stuck in the locked posture, he asked, "And the next?"
"The Transcended Realm!" she replied, grinning through the strain.
He withdrew his leg, then surged forward again—his strength amplified, movements thrice as swift and sharp. Before she could fully react, he bypassed her guard, tapping her forehead once more. Another surge flooded her, igniting her reflexes like kindling to flame. He threw two punches in quick succession, testing her anew.
This time, she tracked them effortlessly. With the back of her left palm, she brushed his right fist aside, the motion fluid as a leaf on the wind. Her other hand snapped up, catching his left fist mid-strike. "At this stage, we're three times faster, stronger, mentally sharper, and channel Essence way more efficiently!" she said, holding his gaze. "Transcended can live up to 200 years."
Raiking's approval showed in a subtle nod. He broke free and dashed toward the forest's edge, his form a shadow among the trees. "Keep up," he called.
She bolted after him, the chase invigorating—ducking low-hanging branches that whipped past like grasping fingers, flipping over moss-covered rocks that jutted like hidden traps. They reached a pair of towering trees, ancient sentinels piercing the canopy. Without breaking stride, Raiking leaped onto one, racing upward along its trunk as if gravity were a mere suggestion.
Ezmelral followed suit on the adjacent tree, her feet finding purchase on the bark, propelling her skyward. They burst through the shadowy branches, sunlight exploding across their faces like a warm embrace, landing atop the swaying crowns with perfect balance.
She caught her breath, wind tousling her hair. "The next realm is Ascended," she continued, steady despite the height. "Seven times more powerful in every way—faster, stronger, sharper. They can live up to 300 years."
Raiking exploded forward in a blur of motion, his form cutting through the air like a shadow given wings, the forest's canopy rustling in his wake. Ezmelral's heart raced—she responded in kind, her training kicking in as she leaped to meet him mid-air, the wind whipping her hair into a frenzy.
They collided in the clearing's center, a storm of strikes unleashing: blows raining down in relentless fury, each punch and kick met with a desperate block. Raiking's fist grazed her guard; she parried with crossed arms, the impact jarring her bones. She countered with a sweeping kick, but he twisted away, his elbow clipping her side. Block after block, the air hummed with the force of their clash—her reflexes honed but straining against his unyielding precision.
Then, a breakthrough: Raiking feinted left, breaching her defense with a swift palm tap to her forehead. A surge erupted through her body—electric, invigorating, like lightning threading her veins, sharpening every sense. The punches and kicks accelerated, faster now, a whirlwind of motion as they plummeted toward the ground, gravity pulling them into a spiraling descent. Trees blurred below; she blocked a knee strike, countered with an elbow, but he was relentless.
Raiking seized the opening, grabbing her arms in a vise-like grip and swinging her around with effortless power, her feet leaving the "ground" in a dizzying whirl. He released her mid-spin, sending her hurtling toward a nearby tree. Ezmelral twisted mid-air, bracing for impact—she landed crouched against the trunk, bark cracking under her boots, absorbing the force like a coiled spring. In an instant, she exploded forward, fist rocketing toward his face in a blur of speed and fury. He slid past with serpentine grace, the breeze from her punch grazing his cheek, ruffling his hair. In that fluid evasion, his left hand darted out, tapping her forehead once more.
This surge hit like a tidal wave—unlike anything before, a raw flood of power that ignited her core, flooding her limbs with impossible strength. Raiking pulled away then, rocketing upward as roots erupted from the earth in his wake, coiling like loyal serpents and trailing him skyward. He burst through the tree branches in a shower of leaves, ascending into the open blue.
Ezmelral's stomach lurched—she wasn't freefalling anymore. Her body hovered, defying the pull, a strange buoyancy lifting her like an invisible hand. "This... this is King Level," she realized, awe crashing over her as Essence pulsed through her veins, pure and commanding. With a fierce grin, she burst upward, chasing Raiking and his trailing roots, piercing the canopy in a rush of wind and light.
High above, she broke through the clouds, the world below a distant patchwork of green and blue. There he was—Raiking, hovering serene amid the wisps, two massive roots flanking him left and right like obedient guardians.
She faced him, adrenaline thrumming, the thin air crisp in her lungs.
With a casual palm chop, Raiking severed the root to his right—it tumbled downward like a felled giant. In a seamless spin, he unleashed a tornado kick, the force propelling the broken root toward her like a hurled spear, whistling through the clouds.
Ezmelral's instincts fired—she caught it mid-flight, her hands wrapping around the rough bark, the surge of her new power making it feel light as a branch. "Mine now."
In the next breath, Raiking chopped the left root, snatching it in his grip as he vanished—reappearing before her in a heartbeat, his speed eleven times what it had been below, a blur that defied sight.
She exhaled sharply, raising her root like a blade, meeting his strike head-on. The clash hung suspended for a breathless instant, the shockwave still rippling outward, carving a vast clearing in the clouds like a divine arena unveiled. Sunlight poured through the gap, bathing them in golden radiance as if the heavens themselves had recoiled from their fury, the world below a distant blur of greens and blues.
But as Ezmelral hovered there, heart pounding, the air thick with the ozone tang of unleashed power, Raiking's form remained steady amid the dispersing mists. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, appraising, unreadable—a silence stretching taut like a bowstring drawn to breaking.
"What sword style," he asked, his voice cutting the hush like thunder's distant rumble, "would you like to learn?"
The question lingered, heavy with unspoken promise—and peril—leaving her suspended not just in the sky, but on the precipice of a path that could forge her into legend... or shatter her utterly.