Klein sighed, the bitter aftertaste of the system's words still clinging to him like a shadow he couldn't shake off.
The food before him sat untouched, steam curling faintly from it, but his appetite had fled. Thoughts churned restlessly, a storm refusing to still.
He toyed with the meal for a while longer, dragging his spoon through the stew as his mind churned with thought.
Finally, with a low scrape, he pushed the stool aside and rose. His bones crackled and popped, stiff from two days of idleness, the motion oddly loud in the silence of the room. He fastened the simple sash about his waist.
There were things to do. A trial awaited him. Even if the first step was nothing more than a walk into the wild unknown, uncertainty gnawing at every corner, he would not falter. Not now. Not ever.
When he opened the door, the corridor yawned before him, and there she stood.
Elora.
For an instant, Klein forgot how to breathe.
She no longer wore the black-and-white of a maid, the attire that had always defined her role. Instead, she was adorned in a dress of deep moss green, the fabric catching the faint light like forest leaves kissed by dew.
It clung gently to her shoulders before loosening at the waist, every stitch deliberate, embroidered with silver leaves so fine they seemed alive when she shifted. The neckline was modest, the sleeves tapering to her wrists, and yet she carried it with a quiet elegance that made the corridor feel suddenly smaller, almost reverent.
A stray breeze teased strands of her hair, and in that instant she was… breathtaking.
Klein's lips parted. He faltered. "You look—" He paused, forcing composure back into his voice. "Different."
Her gaze flickered, searching his face for an answer, for truth hidden beneath the word. "Do you not like it?"
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then his expression softened. "No. Quite the opposite. You look… stunning."
The word lingered in the air like a spark, and Elora felt her chest tighten, her heartbeat stumbling into unfamiliar rhythm.
She had never been one to care for beauty, never been taught to polish her appearance or chase admiration. From childhood, she had wielded steel instead of powder, trained under House Valemont's banner with blade in hand while others learned grace and charm.
Yet this single word, spoken so simply by Klein, struck deeper than all her years of discipline.
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, betraying her. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed at her own reaction.
Klein, steadying himself, spoke again. "I'm leaving. I plan to train—clear my head. The woods near town will do me good."
Her eyes snapped up, sharpened like drawn steel. "Thornmere Wood? Then I will come as well." Her voice was calm, eyes sharp like an unsheathed blade.
"No, you won't."
Klein's refusal came swift, hard. Training was just an excuse for the sin core trial, a secret he didn't wish to reveal to anyone, not even her.
Tension filled the air, taut as a bowstring. Elora's stare held him, stubborn, demanding answers unspoken.
Klein exhaled, softening his tone. "I won't venture far. I'm not suicidal. Only a bit of training. I've hunted beasts before, back at the estate."
It was a lie dressed in truth. The Valemont hunting grounds had been safe, their creatures tailored to match young heirs' strength, experts always lurking to intervene. Thornmere Wood was nothing like that.
But he spun the words with care, feeding her reassurance she didn't truly buy.
Her eyes searched him, reading every crease, every hesitation. Then, at last, she sighed—half surrender, half warning.
"Fine. But only because I trust you not to do anything reckless."
She lifted a hand, and with a subtle motion, a sheathed sword materialized in her grasp. She tossed it to him, and Klein caught it by reflex.
"Use this. I know you didn't bring yours. It was meant to be your eighteenth birthday gift, so don't think of giving it back."
Her cheeks blushed pink again, but this time she turned quickly, refusing to meet his eyes.
Klein's fingers closed around the hilt, the leather grip warm as if it had waited for him all along.
He opened his mouth—"Thank you."
But she was already walking away, steps brisk, as she hurried off in embarrassment.
Klein stood in the corridor, sword in hand, watching as Elora's figure vanished into the house, her last words echoing faintly in his mind.
His eyes drifted down to the sword she had pressed into his hands — his birthday gift, though given under the guise of necessity. A faint smile ghosted across his lips.
The weight of it was perfect, balanced as if it had been made for him alone.
He drew it slowly. The steel slid free with a clean whisper, and the blade caught the sun in a sharp gleam, a shimmer that promised blood if tested. The edge glowed pale silver, hungry, alive.
Klein gave it a single swing, the air singing around it, before he let out a low breath.
It fit him — not just in grip and weight, but in spirit. Elora had chosen well. Too well.
With care, he sheathed it once more, the leather scabbard thudding softly against his hip.
No more delay. Time was moving, and so must he.
The streets of Bronzebrook roared with life as he stepped outside. Carriages rattled over cobbled stone, their wheels clattering like a war drum.
Hawkers shouted over one another, voices sharp as they peddled roasted chestnuts, dyed fabrics, trinkets of bronze and glass. Men in fine velvet brushed shoulders with beggars in rags, a constant tide of humanity, all of them swallowed by the living artery of the city.
Klein walked through it like a shadow, his eyes fixed forward, his thoughts elsewhere.
The farther he went, the more the noise faded. The crush of people loosened, the towers and shopfronts thinning until the edge of the city bled into fields as the Thornmere Wood bled into vision.
It rose before him like a cathedral built for forgotten gods. Trees towered, their trunks gnarled and wide, their canopies blotting out the afternoon sun until only fractured beams pierced the gloom.
The air itself seemed to shift as Klein crossed the threshold — denser, colder, wrapped in the quiet weight of unseen eyes.
It was not a tangible thing, but a feeling, primal and certain. This was a place where death was ordinary, where fear had roots deeper than the trees themselves.
He pressed on. Thornmere was vast, endless in every direction. You could wander for days and never find another soul — or stumble upon horrors that would devour you before your scream left your throat.
That vastness was a curse and a gift. Dangerous, yes, but also secretive. If one wished to disappear, Thornmere would oblige.
Klein kept to the outskirts, never daring too deep. He was no fool; even here at the edges, predators lurked. But distance was needed — distance from the city, from Elora, from any chance of interruption. The trial demanded solitude.
After a time, he found it — a hollow beneath an old tree whose roots coiled out of the ground like the ribs of a sleeping beast.
He rested his sword against the trunk and lowered himself onto one of the roots, exhaling slowly.
His hand drifted to the pendant at his neck, the catalyst that would begin it all. Its surface was cool against his skin.
"System," he murmured, voice low. "How do I activate the trial?"
[Normally, you'd infuse mana into the catalyst and will it awake, but with your mana core so dry, you need only tell me when you're ready. I'll handle the rest.]
The system's annoying voice came with a low blow, which Klein simply ignored.
He frowned instead. That simple?
His thoughts tangled. If another touched it, poured mana into it, could they activate the catalyst? Or was it bound to him alone, tethered through the system that had marked him?
No answer came, and he dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. There was no room for hesitation now.
He stood, fingers curling around the hilt of his new sword.
"Do it," he whispered.
The pendant warmed. A pulse spread through his chest, radiating outward like fire in his veins. Light erupted — blinding, absolute.
The forest dissolved, reality unraveling in a single breath.
When his sight returned, the world was no longer Thornmere.
A meadow stretched before him, impossibly vast. Wildflowers bloomed in a thousand colors, their petals swaying to the rhythm of a gentle breeze.
Sunlight spilled like liquid gold, kissing every blade of grass. A crystalline waterfall cascaded nearby, the spray scattering jewels of light into the air.
The fragrance of blossoms filled his lungs, sweet and dizzying, so unlike the damp rot of the forest.
His shoulders eased. His heart slowed. For a moment, peace wrapped around him like a lover's embrace.
And yet—
Klein's brows furrowed. A cold thread of unease curled in his stomach.
Something was wrong with this setting.