The Old Man
Nyxlo woke before dawn.
The stone beneath him had taken every bit of strength from his bones making his body feel heavy, but his mind was already awake.
As Nyxlo never truly slept after the incident that occurred two days ago.
Nyxlo started to cough after inhaling the black smoke from trains moving past. He started to stand but fell as his body couldn't move from the level of hunger he was at, he was starving and had only eaten a piece of bread in the past days.
He urged himself to stand and he finally stood, without thinking, he walked back toward the alley.
Hoping that the old man was still there, but in fact the old man was not there, only crates and barrels. Nyxlo then crouched near the crate where he had eaten yesterday.
He thought he was going to starve and die here, but something caught his eye.
A marking in the crate.
Two straight lines crossing at a precise angle, it reminded him of the math problems his mother taught him in the past, and that thought made him interested, so without thinking he reached out and brushed his fingers over it hoping for something to happen.
For a moment something did—The surface sharpened unnaturally in his vision.
The wood grain separated into layers. Pressure points along the intersection of the carving became faintly visible —It was like the wood was a human body. And he could tell exactly where force would split it cleanly in two.
Then when he tried to stretch his hand more it disappeared, and suddenly the crate was ordinary again.
Nyxlo pulled his hand back slowly.
"You came back."
He turned.
The old man stood at the end of the alley, sack over one shoulder.
"I wanted to say thank you," Nyxlo said.
"You did."
Still, the old man started walking closer to him.
Up close, the scars on his hands were obvious now.
"Got anyone?" the old man asked.
Nyxlo shook his head.
A pause.
"Come," the old man said. "Carry this."
Nyxlo didn't argue.
The sack was heavier than it looked.
They walked through quieter streets.
Halfway down a narrow path, as they continued walking someone slammed into Nyxlo's shoulder.
Hard.
He nearly dropped the sack.
As he turned—
His vision shifted.
The world changed in his eyes immediately.
The man's body had sharpened in impossible detail. Beneath cloth and skin, Nyxlo perceived tension — the way muscle pulled against bone.
And there—
A faint silver contour along the body.
A pathway of blood circulation and where force naturally traveled. A point where pressure converged near the wrist.
Nyxlo's got intrigue by this scene which made him decide to touch the point in the man's arm, as he pressed on the point.
The man gasped and staggered back, clutching his arm.
"What's wrong with you?" the man snapped.
Nyxlo blinked.
The silver contour was gone.
Everything looked normal.
The old man had stopped walking.
His eyes lingered on Nyxlo longer than necessary.
"Careful," he said evenly. "This city is not the best place to stare at people."
They continued in silence.
Nyxlo's heart pounded.
He didn't even know what fully happened, he hadn't meant to hurt the man.
But he wondered why did he knew exactly where to touch.
And that thought made him question himself more than anything.
As Nyxlo was stuck in his thoughts he noticed that they had stopped walking and when he finally snapped back into reality and paid attention, he saw that they had stopped in front of a house, now the house was small but it looked nice. Nyxlo then stepped inside, once he stepped in he saw a sight that made him wonder. It was a sword hung on a wooden rack against the far wall.
It was long,black, with white ink flowers running along the whole sword. It's handle was just as beautiful with a black and purple design.
The old man followed his gaze.
"You know what that is?"
"Yes."
"Interseting most don't."
He set the sack down.
"What do you mean," he muttered. "It's a sword everyone should know."
He stepped toward the rack but didn't take the blade down.
"You hungry?"
Nyxlo responded quickly "Yes I am very hungry."
"Come sit then."
They then ate quietly.
Afterward, the old man stood.
"Stand up."
Nyxlo obeyed.
This time I want you to try something, the old man removed the sword from its place and held it out.
"Hold it."
Nyxlo hesitated, then accepted it.
It was heavier than expected.
His grip adjusted instinctively.
The old man watched closely.
"Have you ever held one?"
Nyxlo shook his head.
"Lift it."
He did.
His arms trembled slightly.
Then—
His vision tightened again.
The wooden table across the room sharpened. Subtle stress lines formed where the legs met the surface — points where downward force would snap it cleanly.
The chair beside it showed similar pathways.
Even the wall beams revealed structural tension.
Nyxlo's breathing slowed unconsciously.
The sword in his hand felt… like it was his servant.
The old man stopped circling him.
"What do you see?" he asked quietly.
Nyxlo's eyes flicked up.
"I didn't see anything."
"You need to, well not me."
Silence followed.
The old man then stepped closer.
"If you ever start seeing things," he said carefully, "you mustn't tell the wrong person."
Nyxlo's grip tightened.
"What you're experiencing is called Sora," the old man added.
The word settled heavily in the Nyxlo mind.
"In Luxia, if someone shows even a hint of it, they're taken to the Emperor."
Nyxlo swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because power without control becomes a threat. And the Emperor doesn't tolerate threats."
Nyxlo looked at the sword again.
For just a breath—
He started to perceive the old man differently.
He was strong and smart, but steady also.
Even without seeing silver contours of objects, Nyxlo understood something instinctively:
The old man knew where to cut objects with instinct.
The old man watched him closely.
"You'll stay here," he said at last.
Nyxlo didn't ask why.
He simply nodded.
Outside, The sight of Luxia made Nyxlo feel something inside like something was out there waiting for him.
He didn't know what it was but he knew it was dangerous and that he would soon have to cross paths with it in the future..