Kazuya's brows furrowed in confusion; the new term completely perplexed him.
"Class 5?" Kazuya asked, his tone revealing his total lack of understanding.
Orin looked at him with a brow raised. "You don't know what that is?"
Kazuya shook his head. While Orin looked increasingly confused, Falk stepped forward to bridge the gap. "Master Orin, I haven't told you yet, but Kazuya here has lost his memories. He can't remember a single thing."
Orin's eyes widened behind his glasses. He adjusted them, leaning in slightly. "You really don't remember anything?"
Kazuya nodded affirmatively. Orin studied him for another long second before speaking. "If you don't know what a Class 5 is, then you probably don't know what a Foci is, either. Am I right?"
Kazuya shook his head again. "No clue."
Falk raised a brow. "But I mentioned Foci earlier and you didn't say anything. I assumed you knew exactly what I was talking about."
Kazuya offered a sheepish smile. "I just didn't want to overwhelm you with questions right away."
Inwardly, however, Kazuya felt a prick of dissatisfaction with himself.
I messed up. Because I knew what a Foci was back home, I didn't think to ask about it here. I have to be more careful. Every assumption is a potential slip-up. He mentally recorded the mistake, filing it away under his cautions.
Orin smiled, his academic passion beginning to flare. "Well, if you don't understand, I'll explain it for you briefly. Foci are sources of power that only a lucky few are born with. Because of their Foci, these people can wield supernatural abilities, ranging from the normal, like controlling flames or shaping the earth, to the exceptional, like manipulating gravity or influencing emotions."
He paused, letting the weight of the information sink in.
"Foci have levels of progression called Classes. They start at Class 6, which is the weakest, and go all the way to Class 1, the absolute peak of human strength. But don't think too highly of everyone with a Foci. Most stay at Class 6 their entire lives. Those who are stubborn enough, yet still ordinary, can barely scrape their way to Class 5. Class 4 and Class 3 are quite uncommon throughout the lands."
Orin's voice dropped an octave, becoming more reverent. "I don't know much about Class 2, only that they are extremely rare and highly respected. No one can defy them. As for Class 1? I have no clue. Only rumors and legends are told about them."
Kazuya's eyes widened, his heart hammering against his ribs. This is it. This was the knowledge he had craved. On the islands, the books in his possession were far inferior to this brief explanation from a village healer. But then...
His face returned to its calm, mask-like state, and he let out a silent sigh in his heart. It's no use now. I lost my Foci to the ritual. Even with this knowledge, I can't do anything anyway.
Driven by a lingering spark of hope, he asked, "Can someone born without a Foci ever dream of obtaining one?"
Orin looked at him in mild surprise, then slowly shook his head. "No. If you aren't fortunate enough to be born with a Foci, you can never get one."
Hearing that, a wave of melancholy washed over Kazuya. But after a few moments, he pushed it back into the depths of his mind. Even if it's impossible, it doesn't matter. My goal was always to leave the islands. Now that I'm free — with or without a Foci — that's all that matters.
Falk, seeing that Kazuya's questions had subsided, turned back to the map. "Master Orin, you said that in this forest on the map, two Class 5s fought. What makes the site of their battle so special?"
Orin turned his attention away from Kazuya, his eyes lighting up again. "When a Class 6 fights, aside from breaking some stone or wood, they have little to no effect on the environment on a deeper level. But a Class 5, and certainly higher Classes, can affect the surrounding world permanently."
"How?" Falk asked.
"It's minimal when a Class 5 does it alone," Orin explained, "but when you have a high-intensity battle between two of them, the area undergoes interesting mutations. You see new plants, strange vegetation... sometimes even new types of beasts, though that's much rarer."
Kazuya listened intently before speaking up. "But how can you be sure it was two Class 5s specifically?"
Orin pointed to a mark on the leather parchment, smiling as if he'd been waiting for the question. "Good question. I know because of this."
He pointed to a symbol that looked like a circle segmented into five equal arcs with small gaps between them. "This symbol means 'Class 5 conflict site.'"
He then pointed to the center of the broken circle, which contained a simple cross. "And this means 'two parties'."
Kazuya quickly connected the logic. If the circle had four or three segments, it would mean Class 4 or Class 3. And a cross—two lines—means two sides. If there were three parties, there would be three crossing lines.
Kazuya nodded almost imperceptibly as Orin confirmed his theory with a few more details.
"So, when are we heading out?" Falk asked.
Orin looked at the two young men and smiled. "When else but now?"
...
The forest was dense, a sprawling kingdom of towering trunks and tangled undergrowth. Birds with plumage the color of bruised fruit moved through the canopy, their calls echoing in a rhythmic harmony.
An elk moved through a clearing with the demeanor of a ruler. It was massive, far larger than any herbivore Kazuya had seen on the islands, and its antlers were not bone, but a substance like spun glass. As the filtered sunlight hit them, they fractured the light into a dozen shimmering rainbows. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty.
Crack.
At the sound of a single snapping twig, the elk's head snapped up in terror. With a desperate leap, it vanished into the brush.
Falk, the one who had stepped on the branch, stepped into the clearing and let out a mocking sigh. "Given its size, it's a bit of a coward, isn't it?"
Kazuya and Orin followed, both observing the surroundings with wary eyes. Orin was weighted down by a large, specialized backpack and wore thick black gloves, his hands hovering near his collecting kits. Falk kept his hand anchored to the hilt of his sword.
Kazuya, now acutely aware of his physical vulnerability, had asked for a weapon of his own. He now wore a standard iron sword at his hip. Though he had never received formal training, the weight of the steel against his thigh was a small comfort.
I never truly trained my body on the islands, Kazuya thought, his lips thinning. I was so focused on my Foci that I saw no meaning in physical labor. Who would have thought I'd be thrown out of my home and stripped of my power in the same breath?
He almost smiled at the irony. Fate seemed to enjoy a good joke at his expense.
As they moved deeper, the canopy grew so thick that the midday sun was reduced to a dim, greenish twilight. The air grew damp and heavy with the scent of mold and old blood.
"Stay alert," Falk whispered, his easy-going demeanor replaced by a sharp stillness. "It's the moment you think you're safe that the world tries to—"
Gasp!
Falk's warning was cut short as a shadow detached itself from the trees. A beast lunged, its body a blur of gray fur and corded muscle.
Clank!
Falk's sword was out in a flash. He caught the beast's bite on the flat of his blade, but the sheer momentum of the creature slammed him onto his back. He grunted as he hit the dirt, the beast's hot and rancid breath inches from his face.
It was like a hound, but its body was unnaturally dense, and its teeth were made of a dark iron. One successful snap would have sheared a limb clean off.
Kazuya's hand flew to his hilt, his heart steady, but then he stopped. He noticed Falk wasn't panicking. Despite being pinned, the orange-haired youth pulled his knee tight to his chest, wedging it beneath the beast's belly.
Fwoosh!
With a sudden, violent heave, Falk rolled to the side. Using the sword jammed in the creature's jaw as a lever, he flipped the massive hound onto its back and scrambled on top of it.
The beast growled, its iron teeth grinding against the steel, but Falk held it down with a strength that belied his lean frame. He gripped the hilt with both hands, his knuckles turning white.
"Ahhh!"
With a guttural shout, Falk drove the edge down. Kazuya watched, eyes wide, as the friendly boy he had walked with vanished. In his place was a ruthless combatant. Falk was trying to sever the beast's head directly through its open jaw.
Blood sprayed across the grass as the blade bit deep. The hound thrashed in agony, but Falk didn't let up until the resistance ceased. With one final slash, the upper half of the creature's head fell away.
Falk slumped forward, breathing in heavy gulps. Restraining that much raw muscle had clearly drained him. Kazuya walked over and offered a hand. "Are you okay?"
Falk looked up, wiped a streak of blood from his face, and took the hand to stand up. "Yeah..."
Kazuya looked from the mangled corpse to Falk, staying silent. Orin, however, merely smiled. "Thanks for the hard work, Falk."
Orin wasn't surprised. This was routine for them. Kazuya, however, saw Falk in a new light. Part of him respected the strength, but another part turned cold and wary. If Falk was this capable, he was a potential threat to Kazuya's secrets.
The trio pushed on. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest transformed into a world of shadows and strange sounds.
Ssssst.
Kazuya ducked as a dark blue bird streaked past his head, emitting a piercing and metallic chirp.
"Be careful!" Falk shouted, drawing his sword again. "Whistlers make that sound right before they strike. Rely on your ears!"
Ssssst.
Kazuya heard the chirp and dove, but he was a fraction of a second too late. A whistler's talons grazed his cheek, leaving a thin red line.
"Kazuya, are you okay?" Falk's voice came through the dark, laced with concern.
Careless, Kazuya chided himself, pressing a palm to his cheek to hide the skin as it fused back together.
"Yeah," Kazuya called back, his voice steady and deceptively calm. "It missed. I'm fine, don't worry about me."
There were three of them, darting through the trees like feathered daggers. Falk and Orin moved with practiced ease, but Kazuya was learning on the fly.
Ssssst.
The sound came from directly behind him. Kazuya didn't hesitate. He gripped his iron sword with both hands, spun on his heel, and swung with everything he had. The blade connected with a crunch, shearing the bird in mid-air. Its hot blood splattered across his face.
By the time he wiped his eyes, Falk had finished the remaining two.
"You're pretty good," Falk chuckled, sheathing his sword. "For a first-timer with no memory, that was impressive."
Orin nodded. "Perhaps you were a swordsman before your accident. Having you with us will be a great help."
Kazuya laughed sheepishly, playing the part of the modest survivor. Too bad it's all a lie, he thought. I don't have amnesia, and I don't intend to stay here. I didn't leave the islands just to be bound to a village healer.
"That's it for today," Orin announced. "We'll camp here and continue at dawn."
As they built a small fire, Kazuya looked at the dark forest. "Won't the whistlers come back while we sleep?"
Falk held up one of the dead birds. "Watch this." He placed the three corpses in a wide triangle around their bedrolls. "Whistlers are terrified of death. If they see their own kind dead, they assume something much more dangerous is lurking here. They won't come anywhere near this spot."
"The only downside," Orin added, "is that whistler corpses decompose with unnatural speed. They'll be nothing but bone and rot in less than twelve hours. We'll need to be moving long before then."
Falk sat back. "I'll take the first watch, I've got the most energy left. I'll wake you in two hours, Kazuya. You take the second, then Orin takes the final stretch until dawn."
Orin nodded and settled into his bedroll, falling into a deep sleep almost instantly. Eventually, the fire burned low. Falk sat a few paces away, silent and watchful, but Kazuya lay awake.
He stared up through the gaps in the canopy at the stars, distant diamonds in a black velvet sky. His eyes were impossibly dark, as if they were swallowing the very starlight they watched.
His mind drifted back to his family on the islands.
He lay there motionless as his thoughts turned toward his current state.
He was powerless now, a commoner with a borrowed sword, but the mystery of his home burned in his mind.
How laughable, he thought as sleep finally pulled at him. Only after I was kicked out did I start caring about the truth of my home. Only after I lost my power did I realize how much I needed it.