THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS.
Damon and Daichi slowed as the land opened up wide and wild before them. Behind them, a jagged line of snow‑peaked mountains cut into the drifting storm clouds, the wind dragging long trails of mist off the ridges like the peaks were exhaling.
Down in the valley, the warm sun had broken through the clouds in a golden haze, spilling light across the vast green grassland. The wind carried it gently, brushing over the plains in soft waves that made the whole valley look like it was breathing.
There was also a calm silver‑blue river curved through the land, ignoring the idea of straight lines entirely as it shimmered under the sunlight.
Above them, the wind lifted small flocks of rare birds — bright, fast creatures with long tails that caught the sun in streaks of gold. A few gliders drifted higher, their wide, translucent wings bending the light as they circled lazily over the valley, riding the warm currents like they were part of the morning itself.
They both reached the riverbank, and the valley opened wide around them. The wind moved softly through the grass, carrying the warm touch of the morning sun across the water.
"So… where's Draven?" Damon asked curiously as Daichi hopped off his shoulder.
Daichi mumbled a lazy bark. "He technically didn't mention a time."
Damon stepped toward the river while Daichi dove straight in, splashing like he owned the place.
Damon calmly unstrapped the weighted vest from his chest and dropped it very slowly; even when it touched base, the land and riverbank shivered under the sheer mass. And at the same time, an orange fish spat a thin jet of water directly into his face.
Damon basically blinked the river water out of his eyes. The fish was bobbing in place, doing the closest thing to a laugh if fish could laugh.
"I'll take that as a welcome to the river," Damon muttered, wiping his cheek. He turned his head to the right, looking at the hound paddling a few meters away.
"Daichi. Get him," Damon pointed.
Daichi's eyes instantly locked onto the target. He dashed through the currents like a furry torpedo, and the moment the orange fish turned and swam away in sheer terror.
"And that's goodbye," Damon said with a smirk.
He turned around, his blue ocean of mirrors scanning the massive mountain looming behind them.
'Seriously though… where is this guy? Why's he always late? First time I got to Eternum, he was late for the gathering too. Wind's supposed to be a swift element.'
"Damon!" Daichi barked. "I got him!"
The hound paddled back with a wide, smug smile, completely contrasting the orange fish's look of absolute fear as it wagged helplessly in Daichi's grip.
Without even moving from his spot, Damon pointed a single index finger. Fwoosh. He shot a perfectly straight line of fire right across the water, hitting the orange fish dead-on until it was instantly roasted to a golden crisp.
Daichi tossed it expertly into the air, opened his jaws, and let it land right into his mouth, swallowing it whole.
'What are you gonna do now?' The dog asked telepathically, licking his snout.
Damon slumped straight down onto the soft grass, spreading his arms and legs out wide as he stared up at the sky. 'I dunno.'
'You could read,' Daichi suggested helpfully, before diving right back into the cool water.
Damon let out a lazy sigh. 'I'm not in the mood for that.'
As Daichi continued swimming in the river, Damon lay in the grass, feeling the warmth of nature beneath him and the calm of the sun above him with his eyes open.
He took a card from his pocket, and his mini-dimension opened with a quiet, rhythmic hum. Out of it, he took his phone and earbuds. While unlocking the screen with a complex pattern and scrolling down, he calmly raised an eyebrow.
'Where is it? Don't tell me I didn't download it at Natsuki's house...'
Right then, a cold drop of water hit his face. When he turned his gaze to the right, he saw Daichi playing with an odd, native creature. The wolf-dog was simply enjoying himself, but the creature seemed completely terrified, frozen under Daichi's massive paws.
Damon chuckled, wiping the drop of water from his cheek. He clicked the search bar to look for: "Just The Way You Are." He didn't even finish typing the phrase until he saw the song by Bruno Mars pop up. He clicked it, put it on repeat, and then gently placed the phone on the grass beside him.
As the familiar, smooth intro melody filled his ears, the calmly energetic world of Woewyn seemed to fade into the background. He closed his eyes, his mind drifting all the way back to Earth, back to the casual conversations, the shared laughter, and the simple chaos he left behind.
He remembered his gang back on Earth shortly—an image of Kuroshi standing confidently in front of the men at night, and Daigo, the massive member standing behind but looking bolder than all of them. Then came Rukito, probably drunk as usual, and the other members flashing through his mind shortly after.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as a quick memory flickered through his thoughts; that ridiculous moment when he and Daiki had sprinted down the street from an old man in torn briefs who was swinging a machete as he defended the honour of his car. Damon could almost feel the cold pavement under his feet again, the two of them laughing like complete idiots as they ran for their lives.
Then, the memory shifted. He remembered the look on Natsuki's face when she gave him the bandage at her doorstep on that very same day, the way she tried to hide a slight blush while gently cleaning his wound.
He was unknowingly blushing in real life.
The memories swiftly blurred into Christmas night, the thick scent of cinnamon in the air as she moved swiftly to bite his bicep while he kneaded the sticky dough. And then, he remembered her purple eyes looking directly into his on a different occasion—serious, intense, and full of unyielding demand on the snow-covered park bench as she told him, "I want all of you, both the good and the bad."
A final image hit him. It was a vivid memory of lunch at school, him smoothly stealing something from his friend Daiki's tray while the boy tried freeing his curly hair from Natsuki's grip with a loud groan. He remembered the exact way Natsuki's eyes brightened and how she smiled when she finally let his hair go.
And right when her eyes fell on him in the memory—
Woof!
Damon snapped back to reality as a heavy weight crashed into his chest. He opened his eyes to Daichi barking happily and jumping all over him, soaking wet from the river and destroying the quiet mood, but Damon let out heartfelt laughter and lifted the hound.
Damon and Daichi instantly entered a soft wrestle, the dog trying to lick his face while wagging his paws, but Damon constantly shifted his face from left to right to dodge the wet tongue.
Suddenly, the grass beside them instantly had a black sweep over it like a shadow. They both stopped for a moment—Daichi still held in Damon's palm above his face—and looked up.
A great wyvern was flying quietly over them, its massive shadow blocking the sunlight. Damon shifted, sitting up as he and Daichi stared in pure awe.
The beast looked like it was formed straight out of ancient myth. It was a powerful, regal guardian, its broad, muscular body covered in layered scales of orange, gold, and white. Because of its massive, safe presence, several small, terrified local creatures clung desperately to its sides like a safety net, hiding from the predators in the sky.
Daichi let out a low bark. "What's that doing here? Aren't those meant to be outside the border?"
Damon chuckled. "Don't you remember? That's Solaren's bond."
Solaren, Damon's first light tutor, was currently lying flat on the wyvern's back as it drifted through the clouds and blue sky. Saliva dripped from the side of his mouth as he snored peacefully.
Instantly, the wyvern snapped its body like a wire across the blue sky. Solaren bounced violently, hitting his back against the wyvern's tail, almost sliding off, but he caught himself. He snapped his slightly red eyes open and groaned, "Brightclaw! How many times have I told you not to do that?!"
Brightclaw replied with a simple, low growl that resonated in the air: "Never. Your student is waving at you."
The wyvern tilted its body downward. Solaren shifted his weight, looking down to see Prince Damon lazily waving at him with Daichi's tongue hanging out. Solaren's reddened eyes instantly brightened. He waved back downward with a cracked laugh.
'What's he doing there?' Solaren thought. 'Also—Student? Pfft. Please. He outgrew me ages ago. He stopped being my student the moment he started scaring me. I can't believe he's already surpassed even me. I wish I had his powers...'
Then, Solaren instantly remembered the Trineum festival and the horrific way Damon's muscles had convulsed during his growth.
'Nope.' Solaren quickly shook his head, instantly changing his mind. 'No, no, no. The Purge is nightmare fuel. I wouldn't throw that at my worst enemy.'
Brightclaw rumbled, "Your eyes only turn like that for wine, and Serenya. When did Prince Damon join the list?"
"What are you saying?!" Solaren yelped, flustered. "My eyes don't turn like that for Serenya! I even—"
Solaren didn't finish his sentence. With a swift flick of its back, the wyvern launched the light user into the open air.
"Aghhhhh!" Solaren screamed, falling straight through the clouds. "BRIGHTCLAW!!"
Daichi, sitting right beside Damon on the grass, quickly stood up. "I'll go catch him."
Damon smirked as he stood up. "I mean, he can fly, but alright. Also, tell him his eyes definitely do go like that for Serenya."
"Surprised you heard his words from all the way up there," Daichi replied telepathically.
In a flash of light, the hound transformed, growing massive as he dashed forward, swaying the grass wildly beneath him.
'Alright, forget this. I'll just—'
BOOM.
A palm pressed like a blade thrust toward Damon's face from behind. His blindsight snapped open—Damon tilted right in one smooth motion, the strike ripping past him and blasting a burst of wind through the grass and river beside them. A thin line of blood opened across his cheek.
'Huh? Who's this?' Damon thought, eyes narrowing as he traced the forearm beside his head, its aura dripping with killing intent.
The attacker in a dark green coat bent low, sweeping for Damon's ankle. Damon jumped skyward instantly, but as he jumped, time slowed for him.
'I can't sense his ki.' He smirked as he watched wind gather in the attacker's fist. 'I don't need to.'
A straight gust of wind fired toward him. Damon raised a simple shield of light and blocked it. He twisted mid-air, and the shield gracefully shifted into a piercing arrow right in his palm as he struck downward.
The attacker slipped left with a clean dodge, but Damon noticed a smirk flashing beneath the shadow of his hood. In a flash, the man grabbed Damon's forearm with his left hand. At the exact same time, his right fist blazed a brutal blow straight into Damon's gut.
FWOOM.
Damon caught the punch with his free hand and teeth gritted— the attacker immediately kicked his leg from behind, dropping Damon to a hard knee. A second kick pressed Damon backward, slamming him onto the grass with a thud.
SWOOP.
Damon gathered wind in his mouth and blew it upward, ripping the hood clean off. The sudden blast ripped the fabric away, revealing the charming, smirking face of Master Draven.
"Perhaps it's me… but I sense you're getting slow," Draven said, eyes calmly bright, voice cool. Sunrays drifted across his cheek as Damon looked up from the ground.
Damon smiled like he hadn't just been floored. "Dunno what you're talking about. I knew it was you the second I saw your wind."
"You should've known before I attacked," Draven replied, then flicked Damon's forehead with a single finger, knocking his head back into the grass. "That means I have to teach you echolocation too. The list is piling up, Prince Damon."
Damon pushed himself up, rubbing his forehead. "Are you complaining, Mr Draven? And why the dramatic entrance?"
"No. I'm stating a fact," Draven replied, shrugging off his coat. "Also, my entrance wasn't dramatic. You do understand you can never predict an enemy, right?"
"From what I've learnt, we learn every day."
"Did you come on foot?"
"Yeah. You asked me to. Unless I imagined that…" Damon muttered.
Draven chuckled lightly. "Let's spar for a bit. I need my own warm‑up."
"Wow. I dunno whether to be glad you think I'm strong enough to fight you… or offended you see me as a warm‑up," Damon coughed out a laugh.
"The sky is bright, and the sun is good, Prince Damon. Show some positivity even if this will end in your loss."
Damon rolled his wrists, and the moment he did, the calm air around the riverbank subtly shifted. The wind didn't kick up violently; instead, it began to coil lazily around his forearms like a calm phantom storm, dragging the tall grass down in slow, heavy ripples.
The trees swayed—not from the breeze, but in deference to the raw presence of the two warriors below. As if nature had felt the sudden change in pressure, the natural currents grew thick and expectant as the two predators locked eyes.
"Nah. It won't," Damon said as if he were confidently stating the time of day. "Limit your speed... and your strength. You'll see I'm better at hand‑to‑hand combat."
"Technically, your father is," Draven replied, stepping lightly as they began circling each other. "His core's bonded with yours. But you've changed his style to match yours too. You understand I will be going all out if I limit those two things?"
Damon smirked. "As your Prince, it'd be insulting if you didn't."
They both paused, their gazes locked. Then—
CRACK.
Their forearms collided, opposing forces slamming together with enough raw pressure to blast the surrounding wind outward in a perfect ring. The grass flattened instantly under the weight of their presence, yet neither side wavered. Both combatants still held the unyielding smirk of warriors.
Draven launched a blow with his free hand. Damon leaned back fully, dodged the strike by a hair, grabbed Draven's shirt, and launched his mentor backwards while driving his legs upward as an additional force.
Draven landed heavily, feet dragging across the dirt in a long skid, yet his expression remained completely unchanged as he faced down.
He looked up — and the next thing he saw was the sole of Damon's shoe flying straight toward his face.
Draven tilted aside and struck Damon's ribs, sending a sharp pain ripping through his side. Damon bounced off the grass instantly, but as he rose, Draven spun and sent a devastating kick square into Damon's chest, blasting the wind sideways and slamming the Prince into the bark of a tree.
CRACK.
'Ugh,' Damon thought, his teeth gritting as his back hit the wood with a heavy thud. 'Not too bad of a start—'
FWOOM.
Draven zoomed forward like a green blur, fingers pressed like a blade aimed straight at Damon's midsection. The tip of his fingers was only an inch from piercing Damon's skin before a sudden realization flashed in the Prince's mind:
'Shit.'
Mid-flight, Draven's blade-hand instantly coiled into a dense fist and drove straight into Damon's gut.
BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM.
A non‑stop barrage of blows hammered into Damon's stomach, turning him into a literal punching bag pinned against the tree. The sheer velocity and force made every limb the prince carried look useless under Draven's perfect form.
Without seeing Draven's face, anyone would've thought he was completely enraged; on the contrary, his features carried the subtle look of someone thoroughly enjoying themselves.
'So—this is what it's like—fighting my own speed and strength,' Damon thought, with teeth gritted and eyes clenched as each strike cracked through him.
'But... It's mine. Therefore… I can predict it.'
Damon's hand snapped forward on pure, synchronized timing, catching Draven's incoming fist. Draven's second punch followed automatically, as if Draven were unconsciously repeating the motion, but Damon caught that one too.
Draven tried to pull away, but before he could even attempt it, Damon tucked his knees in and dual‑kicked Draven straight in the chest, launching them both across the riverbank. They skidded across the ground, tearing up dirt and grass.
They didn't stay down for even a heartbeat.
Both sprang back to their feet like rubber bands — and jumped straight back into the fight.
Damon spun his entire body in a forward thrust and launched a strike straight to Draven's gut. Draven blocked it cleanly and used the same hand to shove upward, turning the block into a rising punch aimed at Damon's face. Damon ducked under it by a hair and swept in with a kick to Draven's leg.
Draven only stepped back once.
Damon spun, practically walking on his hands as he delivered a chain of spinning kicks. Draven blocked the first few, his expression calm but his eyes holding a tense flicker of surprise — so he switched to dodging them all.
One of Damon's spinning kicks was right on target to land, but Draven caught his leg mid‑spin and fired a kick straight into Damon's chest while the prince was upside down. Damon hit the ground flat on his stomach with a light groan.
Draven didn't wait.
He jumped — then spun downward in a complex spiral, channeling all the force into a single foot and slamming it toward Damon like a falling hammer; even as he came downward, the trees nearby swayed in opposite directions. Damon lifted his body off the ground, summersaulting away, landing farther down the riverbank — right in front of Draven.
The next thing that greeted him was the shockwave from Draven's kick slamming into the floor, blowing both their hair back; even Damon's headband snapped off instantly.
Draven stepped back, his eyes tracking his student as he thought, 'Did he get stronger again? I limited my speed too much... clearly. His adaptability… It's almost as if he's targeting even the slightest openings that can cause me pain. He's almost like a scalpel. How much of his father's experience has he gained? If I wasn't so strong… I'd definitely feel it. In fact… we might be on par.'
Damon stayed in a low squat from the summersault, thinking at the exact same time.
'What's the point of this? He limited his speed and strength, but his durability is off the charts, so my offense is useless. I'd target weak points, but average soldiers get their weak points hit every day, not to talk of this guy. The only way I win is if I get him in a hold where he can't move. It'd be his strength against mine, but I'd be relying on him completely limiting it.'
He shifted his weight, resetting his focus. 'It's best to assume he's unpredictable, so I'll set that as a side quest. This is training; no one will limit their power in real life. It doesn't matter what I do to him; all that matters is...'
Damon dashed forward, almost clearing the gap between them instantly. He launched himself high into the sky, completely blocking out the morning sun from Draven's point of view.
'If I can prevent him from doing anything to me. That's the only benefit I get from this training: Absolute denial. Imperviosity.'
BOHM!... BOHM! BOHM! BOHM! BOHM! BOHM!
High in the sky, without creating any visible wind or elemental fire of his own, Damon punched the raw air itself, firing silent, invisible shockwaves straight down at his mentor.
Draven stepped back, dodging with hair‑whipping speed, each dodge leaving a crater where his foot had been a second earlier.
Draven's hair whipped wildly as he now continuously summersaulted backward, barely dodging the invisible concussive blasts that left jagged craters where his feet had been seconds before.
'I see he really has gotten stronger,' Draven thought, pulling off a tight maneuver to clear the destruction.
Draven summersaulted, barely slipping past each shockwave until Damon's feet dropped back to the ground. Damon launched himself forward the instant Draven landed from one of his flips, and as if he timed it perfectly, he thrusted both fists into Draven's gut.
Draven flew backward, skidding on the grass, but recovered completely fine, casually standing up and dusting off his midsection.
'If we were physically on par… would I be able to beat Prince Damon?'
At the same time, Damon slid into a defensive stance, 'From here on… it's defense.'
Draven dashed forward and sent a flurry of strikes straight into Damon's chest. Damon parried each one with both hands, but Draven slipped past his guard and chopped the side of his right hand toward Damon's neck. Damon ducked away, trying to backflip out, but Draven caught his leg mid‑air, forcing him upright again like he was correcting a stance.
Draven drove a fist into Damon's gut. Damon caught it with his palm.
Even so, the force pushed him an inch back, scraping the grass beneath his feet; though the grass didn't bend, didn't tear, or even react. Damon's body took all of it.
Draven followed with a heavy blow toward Damon's cheek. Damon caught that hand with both hands and rolled it outward, twisting Draven's arm and leaving his entire front open.
Damon moved desperately fast, thrusting blows toward Draven's chest, but Draven matched him. Every punch Damon sent, Draven's fist met it exactly, though Damon's force still lifted Draven off the ground with each clash.
Draven used the height to his advantage. He kicked Damon's jaw mid‑air.
It knocked Damon for a moment, and before he could recover, Draven wrapped his leg around Damon's neck, dragging him down so Damon's throat was pinned between the back of Draven's right leg while Draven knelt.
Damon tried to pry the leg off, but Draven caught his palm and pressed his fingers like a blade right between Damon's eyes, stopping an inch short. The wind from the halted strike blew the grass flat and sent a ripple through the air around them.
They both paused in utter stillness. The warrior's smirk they held earlier vanished, replaced with a quiet, sharp focus.
Then Draven felt it behind his neck. A cold breath of fatality. Two of them.
Under the sunlight, Damon's mythical blades made by his aunts floated behind Draven like leashed beasts ready to thrust, eager, hungry. Draven noticed — but he didn't turn. His eyes stayed locked on Damon's.
"I thought we were training hand‑to‑hand combat, Prince Damon," Draven said calmly.
"A borderline wise guy once told me you can never predict an enemy," Damon replied.
Draven laughed silently. "Borderline?"
Damon rolled his eyes dramatically. "Well… yes. Borderline. If not, he would've mentioned not to use weapons. But I think he just forgot the range of his student's gear."
Draven stayed still, restraining Damon, though Damon wasn't even struggling. Beneath the calm exterior, an unexplainable wave of pride washed through Draven's eyes as he thought:
'Almost. He's almost a better fighter than me. By the time he has the next purge... he will be.'
"I know you're impressed," Damon said the moment Draven finished the thought. "I can see it in your eyes."
Draven released him with a chuckle. "As I said… I'll be impressed if you learn to bend sound by yourself."
Draven lent Damon a hand to pull him, and Damon accepted it while checking his jaw with his other hand.
"So, what's the actual training for today?" Damon asked, brushing a thumb across the edge of his mythical blades as they dissolved into light.
Draven didn't answer immediately. He looked around, eyes drifting across the valley until they settled on the closest mountain: a massive, dark giant looming right beside the river.
A staff formed in Draven's palm, metal dark‑silver and impossibly clean, not a single scratch on it. A wing was engraved across the length, almost alive with faint motion.
"I wouldn't exactly call it training, Damon." Draven's voice stayed calm. "It's more of a… shackle rupture."
The moment he said it, he struck the mountain with the staff.
CRACK!
The entire mountain instantly crumbled into a storm of debris, dust exploding upward like a volcanic breath. Damon and Draven both formed swirling ovals of condensed wind in front of their bodies, shielding themselves from the avalanche of stone.
Draven's face stayed normal. Damon's eyes, on the other hand, were widened with lips slightly parted. When the shaking stopped, Damon's eyebrows dropped flat.
"Why in the world would you do that? It was a mogger of a mountain!"
Draven turned around, a subtle confused guilt in his eyes. "Mogger?"
Damon facepalmed while shaking his head, "The point is, it looked nice. So, why did you do that?"
Draven turned back to the shattered land and stretched out his hand. A green circle appeared in front of his palm, patterns rotating inside it.
"Don't worry, Prince Damon. It was only a demonstration."
Instantly, every piece of the mountain — every rock, every grain of dust, every microscopic fragment — floated upward and reassembled itself. The mountain rebuilt piece by piece until it stood exactly as it had before. Even the sunlight felt like it snapped back into place.
"I can heal nature. It's my gift," Draven said.
"Oh," Damon muttered quietly. "That's a lot cooler compared to mine."
Draven smiled. "Anyway. As I said — merely a demonstration."
He zoomed right in front of Damon, staff swinging above his head with a heavy brutality ready to strike down.
"Prepare your body... for the sustained force."
BOOM.