Jiza always seemed different from the others, but that day the distance felt far wider. While the three robed figures sat neatly in their chairs, he lounged on the velvet seat as if the room belonged to him alone. One hand hung over the backrest, the other dropped loosely at his side. His posture was careless, but his eyes were not.
"I had waited long enough," he murmured.
He rose slowly, stretching his body. "Even before the Lady foretold it… I already knew this day would come." He straightened, continuing, "But it would be too late once it happened."
One of the robed figures responded. "Too late? That?"
Jiza lifted his gaze to the shadow-filled ceiling. "If that crystal was touched by human hands… and he survived. Its power would flow, and the soul bound to it would return, Paragon."
The room froze.
---
Jiza's blade hangs a handspan from Hiro's head—Hiro dodges instantly, far too fast for any normal human.
"You pathetic child," Jiza spits, springing up and snatching the sword before him, stance forming in a heartbeat. His tone isn't anger but disappointment, even offense. "Your life is nothing but pain, yet you still want to rise?"
Hiro stays silent. His face is blank, his eyes empty—no consciousness behind them. Someone else is using his body.
Jiza charges.
SPLASH.
Steel pierces flesh—but the wound refuses to stay open. It seals, tendons stitching themselves.
Jiza steps back. "Impossible."
When Hiro speaks, the voice isn't his. It seeps out colder than the river behind them.
"Why would I care about this boy?" His head tilts, his lips curling. "I've returned to life—that's all I think about."
Something shifts inside Hiro—not power, but presence. Someone occupies the depths of his subconscious.
Jiza raises his sword again. "Then it begins," he murmurs. "At last."
Hiro steps forward. "Then show me. Make my awakening worth it."
Jiza roars and strikes. Hiro slips under the swing, landing a flawless blow to Jiza's jaw. Bone cracks. Jiza doesn't fall—he counters instantly, a brutal vertical slash nearly splitting Hiro to the ribs.
Hiro staggers—then the wound closes again.
They trade blows—no elegance, no balance, just brutality. Hiro's fists break bone. Jiza's blade tears flesh that refuses death. Blood hits the ground, burns away, returns.
Finally Jiza drives Hiro into the earth, pinning his shoulder with a boot.
"Surrender," he commands. "I'll end it cleanly."
Hiro lifts his head, smiling faintly. "You missed something."
Jiza's eyes flick upward—his own sword floats above him, poised to strike.
He leaps aside, leaving the blade to bury itself between them.
Hiro rises. Jiza resets his stance, now unarmed.
"I'll fight you like a man," Jiza says.
Hiro nods once. "A fairer fight."
They charge.
---
The darkness thins.
I open my eyes and stare up at the treetops, the wind brushing my skin like a cold reminder that—somehow—I'm still alive. The river murmurs beside me. My body feels heavy but whole.
Too whole.
"What… happened?" My voice is rough. "Why am I not dead?"
Something small stands by the water.
"A cat," I mutter.
It walks toward me, drops a fresh fish by my leg, and stares at me like it's waiting for something. My chest tightens for no clear reason.
"Thanks," I whisper, picking up the fish.
The cat leaves, then returns with another one, dropping it with an irritated flick of its tail.
I skewer the first fish, spark a fire with two stones, and hold it above the flame.
The cat comes closer. I reach for the second fish—
It growls, offended.
"Relax," I say, still taking it. "I'm cooking it, not stealing it."
The cat swipes my hand.
A sharp sting. A bead of blood.
"I'll give it back," I mutter, rubbing the spot through my sleeve. "Just wait."
It meows once.
The fire crackles. Smoke rises.
And for the first time since waking, my breath comes steady.