After dropping off Alena's artifact at home, Rey headed towards Luria's militia barracks.
Villages and towns – regardless of size – have militias; both to reinforce local defenses and to find potential diamonds in the rough who can become Weavers in the future. This system is widely applied around the world, with their respective differences and nuances, of course.
Nevertheless, the case of the Autonomous Duchy of Elengar is special, since the country has its origins as a March of the Calanor Empire. This entailed separating a small portion of the Empire's territory at its southeast border to create a stronghold that would stand up to fend off the region's perils.
However, that was a long time ago.
Nowadays, the Empire neither depends nor needs Elengar to defend this border. Even so, their relations have remained cordial and Elengar has gained a lot of autonomy thanks to its extensive record of service to the empire, earning a status of near-independence to this day.
The point of all this is that Elenians – the people of Elengar – have developed a martial culture over the centuries, maintaining a rigorous training regimes in all their settlements.
Standing before the barracks' doors, Reygar took a moment to gather his thoughts, then walked through the open doors into the training grounds. There, children and teens wielded wooden weapons to spar among themselves or against dummies.
Supervising them closely was the stoic and eccentric instructor Sir Rither Wolver, a retired
knight of the Duchy. Despite his mature age, the man was still strong and full of vitality,
although the same couldn't be said about his hair.
'Here we go again… this old baldhead is already shooting daggers at me.' Taking a deep
breath, Rey calmed himself and approached the instructor.
With a slight bow, he said: "Instructor Rither, this foolish student returns to train and learn under your guidance."
The veteran instructor just stared at the boy, his gaze unwavering and piercing as always, making Reygar's soul feel as it was being ripped away. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.
"Don't expect a third chance, got it?" His voice was calm but firm.
Rey nodded vigorously. "Thank you, sir!"
The man shook his head. "Just grab a weapon and hit that dummy until you can't anymore. If you don't like it, you already know where the exit is. Understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!" Reygar hurried to pick up a short sword suited to his size and build.
Holding it with both hands, he stood in front of a dummy and began swinging.
Thwack. 'One.'
Thud. 'Two.'
He continued to strike, his blows slicing through the air from top to bottom.
A long while later that felt like an eternity…
"Five hundred," Rey uttered before collapsing onto the ground, exhausted, gasping as if he
had just finished a marathon.
Suddenly, the sun was eclipsed by a silhouette that shaded his face. Looking up, Rey saw
a light red-haired boy whose athletic build made him look more mature than he actually was.
The lad looked down at him with contempt. "Well, look who's come back — the idiot who likes to throw in the towel."
"Darius?" Rey, not knowing how to retort, looked away in shame.
"I didn't think you'd show your face here again," the redhead said, giving him a cold, dismissive look. "You better not waste the instructor's and all the trainees' time again."
Darius' gaze then shifted to Rey's hands and snarled, clearly bothered. "Really? Wielding a short sword with both hands?" He snorted and walked away.
'…I-I was just warming up…' Rey angrily punched the ground with his bare hand, scraping his knuckles. 'I hate so much when people look down on me like that! It's like… they judge me as a worthless–'
"!"
Out of nowhere, Reygar desperately clutched his chest with a tight grip as a familiar heat assaulted him.
'This again… T-There is a pattern, isn't there?'
His sorrowful expression quickly switched into a wry grin.
***
On his way home, Rey crossed paths with Eleanor, who reminded him that he had pending work to do with his father today, which Rey – as usual – had forgotten.
He changed direction and hurried to his father's workshop.
Reygar's father, Garrick, is a reputable blacksmith in Luria who runs his own workshop in the town. These days he had been swamped with work, so he planned to give the simpler — yet time-consuming — tasks to his son.
Reygar had learned quite a bit about blacksmithing from his father in the last years, and Garrick was glad that his son had taken a liking to this hard trade.
As Reygar entered the workshop, his rugged father, whose arms glistened with sweat, paused his hammering of red-hot iron to greet his son.
"Rey, you can start by sorting the minerals and coal, make sure to keep the flame alive with the bellows."
The sound of cold metal clashing against hot metal echoed through the workshop for a couple of hours. While taking a break, Garrick glanced at his son, his expression turning somewhat sad.
"How have you been, son? I heard about the diagnosis from that priest… I'm sorry, I know how much it meant for you to sprout, but don't–"
"It's okay, Dad. I'm not going to let that get me down… I'm gonna sprout somehow. No matter what others say." Garrick raised an eyebrow at his son's newfound resolve, and smiled.
"I like that attitude of yours, Rey." He paused before adding, "Never let anyone bring you down… Who knows if that priest mistook what he saw in your seed for something else?" Garrick said while wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"Yeah…" Rey nodded as a small, faint smile spread across his face, his gaze now fixed on the chunk of iron he was about to hammer.
His mind wandered as it lost itself in the intense, dancing flames… And then, that same fire he was already familiar with on the outside began to burn inside him in a way he couldn't describe.
'!'
'This feeling again… but this time… it's much more intense. Could b–'
Rey snapped back to reality when a sudden sharp pain assaulted him, followed by a scream of his own.
He had hammered one of his fingers while daydreaming.
"This brat," Garrick muttered, shaking his head. "I told you to pay attention while hammering, but I guess you weren't listening." He set his hammer aside and walked to a corner to grab the first aid kit.
A while later, Reygar's swollen finger was fully bandaged.
"Okay, you can't stop now. Go home, and try not to trip over your own toes on the way." He laughed as Rey left, grunting.
After dinner, the sun was setting as the last rays of sunlight filtered into Reygar's room.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his hands playing with the Flask Artifact while his consciousness sank deep into his thoughts, reflecting on many things — but above all, on his recent, strange déjà vus.
Sighing, Rey stood up and walked over to his desk. He turned on the lamp powered by aether stones, sat down, and opened a book whose cover read: "Residual Aether Theory"
All living beings have a latent connection with aether, even if they have not sprouted their soul seeds. This means that small doses of aether could accumulate in any mundane being.
It could also explain the existence of some geniuses throughout time or even how Aetheric Beasts can control aether at will without the help of the Nexus, although how they do it still remains a mystery.
Unfortunately, this theory of residual energy has not been fully proven due to the difficulty of finding mundane people with this strange, natural affinity.
But that doesn't mean progress hasn't been made. At the Imperial University in the great city of Calan, a study was conducted with mundane volunteers, who had considerable sensitivity to aether.
Flips
After many studies and tests, it was concluded that a few subjects achieved — for brief moments — the manipulation of aether at will, but only when they were placed under great stress, experiencing the assault of strong emotions.
'Oh…? That's why it says "not fully proven." Maybe it's "half-proved." However… it's not like I didn't have my fair share of "strong emotions"…'
'Mmh?' Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention:
Although there was one mundane subject who could control aether at will with ease, though there were no possible explanations for this case, remaining as an anomaly.
"Hmph, lucky bastard… Why can't I be you?" He sighed dejectedly.
Moments later, Reygar closed the book and began to ponder deeply.
'...These weird sensations started with that very "realistic" nightmare a few days ago… and they're obviously related because that was the first time I felt that… "fire" bursting within me, when I was falling into that abyss.'
'...'
"You know what? let's try this."
He got up and walked to the room's door. Hanging next to it was a belt with a dagger sheathed in it.
Rey took it and unsheathed it.
The outline of a beautiful, short blade reflected in Reygar's pupils. Its sides were engraved with several patterns that glowed with a faint blue hue, and its sharp edge conveyed a cold sense of dread.
'Dad's dagger. Though he gifted it to me a long time ago, it never ceases to amaze me every time I see it.'
Nexus Artifacts are not the only relics on Loran. There are man-made ones that — although generally not of the usual, exquisite craft as those given by the Nexus — have nothing to envy to their counterparts. Plus, these don't require a Soul Link to keep them.
'...Because it constantly nourishes itself from the atmospheric aether.'
Reygar sat on his bed, holding the two relics — one in each hand — then closed his eyes and disconnected himself from the outside world.
Several minutes passed.
'Come on…'
Long thirty minutes transpired, and…
"..."
Nothing.
Reygar slowly opened his eyes, a large vein bulging on his forehead. He inhaled deeply and then burst into loud laughter.
"Again?! I swear… I'm gon–"
However, at that moment, his body suddenly froze, before crashing onto the bed.
"Agh!!"
His swearing was cut short by a muffled scream, leaving only a silent, empty gesture.
As pain invaded his very being, Rey could feel that mysterious fire inside him again. Now however, it was several times more intense.
The Flask Artifact lying on the bed began to warm up, stirring the water inside, and the dagger pulsed with a stronger blue glow, its engraved patterns shimmering like tiny stars.
The two relics seemed to resonate as a thread of aetheric energy sparked between them, and where these converged, a third thread emerged, surging towards Reygar's chest... piercing it.
'What's… happening?' All the burning torment began concentrating in his chest, throwing Rey into a cruel, silent agony.
His mind progressively shut down, as if to prevent him from suffering further, seeming to understand that the flame of his life began to slowly extinguish.
Reygar gritted his teeth tightly as his mind raced back to Darius' taunts, the priest's cold diagnosis, and all those glances of pity and disdain thrown at him.
He found an anchor in hatred to resist the harrowing pain that threatened to consume him.
'Damn you all!'
Rey cursed with an intensity and blazing desire he had never felt before.
All this happened in a few brief moments. For Reygar, however, it felt like an eternity.
Throughout all this torture, he kept his eyes wide open... He couldn't see anything though — until now.
While his vision slowly returned, he saw a glowing, ethereal octahedron hovering amidst an all-consuming, tar-like darkness. The enigmatic shape was alive, quivering as if trying to break free.
Making a titanic effort to focus, he could finally discern black, ominous threads of energy shaped like chains, wrapped all around the alien shape… They were dissolving, slowly burning away into nothingness, letting their prisoner breathe.
After watching for some moments the chains burn, a loud snap echoed, followed by that familiar, faint sensation of heat, but this time… it felt good.