The training grounds had gone quiet.
Jezebeth stayed on one knee, his hands shaking as he tried to catch his breath.
The strange distortion between his hands was gone, but the damage it had caused was still there.
Cracks ran across the marble floor, spreading outward from where he had been standing. Several pieces of marble had been torn loose and scattered across the ground. Dust drifted through the air while the faint markings carved into the walls flickered weakly.
Arahel stood a few meters away, staring at him.
For once, there was no amusement in his crimson eyes.
"You almost destroyed your own body."
Jezebeth looked down at his hands.
His fingers were trembling. The skin around his palms had turned red, and faint lines of pain ran up his wrists.
"I was trying to control it."
"I know."
Arahel walked over to him, his boots crunching over fragments of broken marble.
"That's exactly why you need to learn."
Jezebeth looked up.
"Then teach me."
Arahel gave him a small smile.
"I will."
He held out his hand and pulled Jezebeth to his feet.
Jezebeth nearly stumbled. His legs felt weak, and his vision blurred for a moment, but he forced himself to remain standing.
"But you're not going to master this in one day."
"How long?"
Arahel stared at him.
"Years."
Jezebeth's expression fell.
"That's a terrible answer."
Arahel laughed.
"You'll get used to it."
He turned toward the damaged training grounds.
The room had once been perfectly smooth, its marble floor reinforced with layers of protective magic. Even so, the force Jezebeth had released had left deep scars across the surface.
Several training pillars had been knocked over.
One of the walls had developed a long crack that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.
A metal training dummy had been thrown against the far wall, its body bent almost completely out of shape.
Arahel folded his arms.
"Starting tomorrow, your training is going to change."
Jezebeth looked at him.
"How?"
"You'll stop trying to make your power stronger."
Arahel glanced over his shoulder.
"And start working on making your body stronger."
Jezebeth looked at the cracks beneath his feet.
He got it.
His power wasn't the only thing that needed to grow.
His body had to catch up too.
If he continued forcing more energy through a body that couldn't withstand it, eventually there would be nothing left to repair.
Jezebeth clenched his hands.
"How strong do I have to become?"
Arahel's smile faded.
"Strong enough to survive yourself."
The answer stayed with Jezebeth.
He didn't understand it completely.
Not yet.
But he would.
---
The next morning, his training began.
And it was nothing like what he expected.
Jezebeth thought Arahel would immediately teach him how to use his abilities more effectively.
Instead, Arahel made him run.
At first, Jezebeth thought it was a joke.
It wasn't.
He ran around the mansion grounds until his legs became numb.
Then Arahel made him climb the enormous stone staircase leading to the northern wing.
Then he made him do it again.
And again.
By the end of the first week, Jezebeth could barely walk.
By the end of the first month, he had stopped complaining.
His training gradually became more demanding.
Strength.
Balance.
Reflexes.
Endurance.
Breathing.
Reaction speed.
Every part of his body had to improve.
Arahel refused to let him rely completely on his abilities.
If Jezebeth wanted to become stronger, he first had to become stronger without them.
Only then would Arahel allow him to push his manifestation further.
Years passed.
Jezebeth grew.
And so did his power.
---
Ten years later.
January 5, 2026.
Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Chronos Mansion.
The golden light spread across the polished floor and illuminated the enormous room where Jezebeth had spent most of his childhood.
The walls were decorated with ancient paintings of the Chronos family.
Generation after generation.
Kings.
Warriors.
Scholars.
Manifesters.
Each one stared down from their frames with the same cold, proud expressions.
Jezebeth stood in front of a mirror, fixing the collar of his academy uniform.
He looked completely normal.
Dark hair.
Normal skin.
Normal eyes.
Nothing about him showed what he had become.
His uniform was black with silver trim, the academy emblem stitched over his chest.
He adjusted his sleeves before stepping back from the mirror.
Sixteen years old.
Ten years had passed since the day he first manifested Ryoma.
Ten years since Arahel had given him five minutes and told him to attack.
Ten years of training.
Ten years of pain.
Ten years of learning.
The first few years had been the hardest.
Jezebeth had spent countless mornings running through the mansion grounds until his legs gave out.
He had trained his balance, his reflexes, his breathing, and his ability to withstand pain.
Arahel had made him repeat the same movements thousands of times until they became instinctive.
There had been days when Jezebeth couldn't lift his arms.
There had been nights when every muscle in his body burned so badly that sleep was impossible.
There had also been moments when he had failed so completely that he wondered if he would ever improve.
Arahel had never allowed him to quit.
Not because he was cruel.
Because he knew Jezebeth would eventually need the discipline.
Jezebeth had learned how to control the strange force that had once nearly torn his body apart.
He had learned to use Repulsion to launch himself through the air, redirect attacks, and create defensive barriers.
At first, he could only release the force in short bursts.
A single mistake would send him flying backward or leave his arms numb for hours.
Over time, he learned to shape it.
He could focus Repulsion into his palms, feet, or the space directly around his body.
He could use it to change direction in midair, stop incoming weapons, and send opponents crashing backward without touching them.
He had learned Attraction too.
It was more difficult.
Repulsion was simple.
Push.
Attraction demanded precision.
Pull.
If he pulled too hard, things could move much faster than he intended.
If his concentration slipped, he could turn a controlled technique into a dangerous mistake.
During one training session, Jezebeth had attempted to pull a small stone toward himself.
Instead, an entire stone bench came sliding across the courtyard.
Arahel stared at him.
Jezebeth stared at the bench.
"...I meant to do that."
Arahel had simply walked away.
Jezebeth never tried that excuse again.
Years of training taught him control.
Eventually, he could pull objects toward himself, throw opponents off balance, and accelerate his own movements.
He learned to combine both forces.
He could pull himself toward a target and release Repulsion at the exact moment he arrived.
He could draw an opponent's weapon off course and send it flying in another direction.
He could use both forces together to create sudden bursts of movement that made his movements difficult to follow.
But Jezebeth knew he had barely scratched the surface.
His manifestation had changed over the years as well.
The first stage had been the Vessel Form.
It had taken him years to become comfortable with it.
Even then, it remained something he could only maintain during combat.
When it appeared, his eyes turned black, his skin became paler, and the presence of Ryoma became far more noticeable.
The transformation placed immense pressure on his body.
His heartbeat changed.
His breathing became slower.
The cold surrounding him intensified.
At first, even a short period in that state left him exhausted.
But eventually, he learned how to endure it.
Then there was the next stage.
The one Arahel had warned him about.
Jezebeth had reached it.
But reaching it had come with a price.
His skin became paler.
His lips turned bluish.
The first time he maintained the transformation for more than a few minutes, he collapsed afterward and spent days recovering.
He had learned quickly that every increase in power demanded something from his body in return.
That was why he no longer treated his manifestation like a shortcut.
It was a weapon.
And like every weapon, it could hurt its wielder.
There were still things he hadn't reached.
Things Arahel refused to explain in detail.
Whenever Jezebeth asked about the higher stages of manifestation, Arahel gave him the same answer.
"You'll know when you're ready."
Jezebeth hated that answer.
It only made him more curious.
He knew there were stages beyond what he had reached.
He knew there were forms that required far more control than anything he had attempted.
But he didn't know what they looked like.
He didn't know what they could do.
And Arahel had no intention of telling him.
For now, those mysteries remained exactly that.
Mysteries.
Jezebeth looked at his reflection.
Ten years ago, he had been terrified of what lived inside him.
He remembered the first time he had heard Ryoma's voice.
The darkness.
The pressure in his chest.
The enormous skeletal dragon staring down at him.
The strange feeling of something ancient opening its eyes inside his soul.
Back then, he had wanted nothing more than to get rid of it.
Now...
He wanted to know how far it could go.
He wanted to understand Ryoma completely.
More importantly, he wanted to understand himself.
A knock came from the door.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Arahel stepped inside.
Even after ten years, the man still had the same intimidating presence.
His crimson eyes remained sharp, and his expression carried the same calm confidence that had once made Jezebeth afraid to speak in his presence.
He looked almost unchanged.
Jezebeth, however, had grown taller.
He no longer looked like the small child who had once challenged Arahel in the training grounds.
Arahel looked him up and down.
"You're ready."
Jezebeth grabbed his bag.
"I've been ready."
Arahel raised an eyebrow.
"That's what you said when you were six."
Jezebeth paused.
"I was six."
"And you still tried to fight me."
"I almost won."
Arahel laughed.
"You couldn't even reach me."
"I got close."
"Three meters isn't close."
Jezebeth rolled his eyes.
"It was closer than anyone else got."
"That isn't saying much."
Arahel walked over and fixed Jezebeth's collar.
"Your first day at the academy."
Jezebeth nodded.
"Finally."
For years, he had watched other children leave the mansion to attend lessons, tournaments, and academy examinations.
He had remained behind.
Training.
Studying.
Improving.
The academy had always seemed like a distant place, something that belonged to other people.
Now he was finally going there.
Arahel stepped back.
"You've spent most of your life inside this mansion."
"I know."
"The academy will be different."
Jezebeth looked at him.
"How different?"
Arahel's expression turned more serious.
"You're going to meet people who don't care that you're a Chronos."
Jezebeth frowned.
"Good."
"You'll meet people stronger than you."
"Good."
"People smarter than you."
Jezebeth paused.
"...That part's unnecessary."
Arahel laughed.
"And people who'll want to test you just because of your family name."
Jezebeth adjusted his bag.
"Let them."
Arahel stared at him for a moment.
Then his expression softened.
"Don't underestimate them."
"I won't."
"And don't show them everything you can do."
Jezebeth looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because not everyone needs to know what you're capable of."
Jezebeth slowly nodded.
He understood.
The Chronos name carried weight.
Some people would respect him because of it.
Others would hate him for the same reason.
A few would try to provoke him simply to prove that the heir of the Chronos family wasn't as powerful as everyone believed.
Jezebeth had no intention of giving them everything they wanted.
Arahel put a hand on his shoulder.
"Your strength won't decide what kind of person you become."
Jezebeth looked up at him.
"Then what will?"
Arahel smiled.
"Your choices."
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
The words settled between them.
Jezebeth had spent ten years learning how to control his power.
He had learned how to fight.
How to endure.
How to survive.
But perhaps the most difficult thing he would ever learn was how to decide when to use all that strength.
Arahel took his hand away.
"Come on."
Jezebeth followed him out of the room.
They walked through the huge corridors of Chronos Mansion.
Servants and guards bowed as they passed.
Jezebeth barely noticed.
He had walked these halls his whole life.
He knew every turn.
Every staircase.
Every window overlooking the gardens.
Every corridor where Arahel had caught him sneaking away from training.
But today, they felt different.
For the first time, he wasn't walking through them as a child.
He was leaving them behind.
As they moved through the mansion, Jezebeth caught glimpses of his past everywhere.
The training room where he had first lost control of Repulsion.
The library where he had spent years studying manifestation theory.
The courtyard where Arahel had forced him to fight in the rain until he learned how to maintain his balance on the slick stone.
The long hallway where he had collapsed after his first serious attempt at the Container Form.
Each place held a memory.
Some were painful.
Some were embarrassing.
A few were precious.
He had grown up inside these walls.
But he no longer felt trapped by them.
The mansion had been his entire world for so long that stepping beyond it felt almost unreal.
Eventually, they reached the massive entrance.
The doors slowly opened.
Morning sunlight poured into the hall.
Jezebeth stopped.
Beyond the mansion gates was a black Bugatti.
He stared at it.
Then at Arahel.
Then back at the car.
"Tf."
Arahel's mouth twitched.
"Consider it a parting gift. Now run along."
Jezebeth walked closer to the car, looking over its polished body.
"You bought me a Bugatti?"
"You're going to the academy, not war."
"Could've fooled me."
Arahel laughed.
"Get in."
Jezebeth opened the door.
Before getting inside, he looked back at the mansion one last time.
The enormous structure stood behind him, its towers reaching toward the morning sky.
For sixteen years, it had been his home.
His training ground.
His sanctuary.
Everything he knew.
Jezebeth turned away.
He got into the car.
Arahel stood outside for a moment.
There was a strange look in his eyes.
Pride.
Concern.
Maybe both.
"Don't embarrass the family."
Jezebeth smirked.
"No promises."
Arahel laughed.
The car began to move.
Jezebeth leaned back against the seat.
For the first time in his life, the road ahead was completely unfamiliar.
He didn't know who he would meet.
He didn't know what kind of students attended the academy.
He didn't know what awaited him inside those walls.
But he knew one thing.
He was ready.
Deep inside his soul, a familiar presence stirred.
A low laugh echoed through the darkness.
Ryoma.
Jezebeth's eyes narrowed slightly.
The voice was faint, but he could feel the amusement behind it.
For years, Ryoma had remained mostly silent, appearing only during training or moments when Jezebeth's control began to weaken.
But now...
The presence seemed more awake than usual.
Jezebeth smiled.
Ten years had passed since their first encounter.
Ten years since fear had been the only thing he felt whenever Ryoma spoke.
Now, he wasn't afraid.
He was curious.
The academy grew closer with every passing minute.
And somewhere beyond those gates, an entirely new chapter of his life was waiting.
Jezebeth looked through the window.
His smile widened.
This was only the beginning.
The academy was waiting for him.