The faint light of morning crept across the Frontier ridge, painting the fog in pale silver.
Aren stood at the cliff's edge, his breath visible in the cold air.
The bow of voidlight rested in his grip—
stable, pulsing, warm.
Aren couldn't stop staring at it.
Not flickering.
Not breaking.
Not reacting on its own.
It was real.
It was his.
The Remnant emerged from the fog behind him like a silent mountain coming to life.
Its runes dim, controlled.
Its presence heavy but not hostile.
"You shaped your weapon."
Aren nodded.
"Barely."
"Barely is enough to begin."
The Remnant extended a limb and pointed toward the ravine below.
"Your first shot.
Aim."
Aren followed its gesture.
Down below, dozens of stone pillars rose like jagged teeth from the ground.
Some were short and broad.
Others narrow and sharp.
The kind of terrain that punished mistakes brutally.
The older operative squinted.
"You're not gonna shoot at us, right? Because I can still run."
The female operative elbowed him.
Aren took a deep breath.
The bow hummed in response—
like the void itself was listening.
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The Remnant spoke again:
"Voidscar Bow is not a normal weapon."
Aren tilted his head.
"What does that mean?"
"It does not shoot arrows."
Aren blinked.
"…Then what does it shoot?"
The Remnant tapped its chest.
"Intent."
Aren's heart skipped.
"Intent?"
"Void does not follow form.
Void follows will."
Aren lowered the bow.
"So if I intend to harm—"
"It harms."
"If I intend to cut—"
"It cuts."
"And if I intend to… kill?"
The Remnant paused.
"…Then be certain."
Aren swallowed.
This wasn't a weapon of force.
It was a weapon of decision.
A weapon that reflected the user's soul.
He steadied his breath.
"What should I aim for?"
The Remnant pointed toward the narrowest stone spike—
thin as a spear tip—
barely the width of two fingers.
"Strike that."
Aren stared.
"…With my first shot?"
"If you miss the narrow pillar…"
The Remnant gestured to the unstable cliffs at the base.
"…you will cause a collapse."
The operatives paled.
"So… no pressure," the older one muttered.
Aren ignored them.
He raised the bow.
He drew the string.
Void gathered—
shimmering—
coiling—
silent.
Aren whispered:
"…Work with me."
The faint arrow of voidlight formed—
not of mana—
but of his intention.
He focused.
Not on strength.
Not on speed.
Not on fear.
On purpose.
Hit the mark.
Only the mark.
Nothing else.
The Remnant watched him carefully.
"Loose."
Aren released.
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The arrow didn't fly.
It vanished.
No streak of light.
No sound.
Not even a ripple.
Just—
gone.
Aren's eyes widened.
"…Did I miss?"
The ground below trembled.
Then—
KRRRRK—
A perfect hole appeared in the center of the narrow stone spike.
No cracks.
No splintering.
A clean, silent puncture.
The top half of the pillar slid off gently—
fwip—
—and fell into the ravine.
The operatives stared, mouths open.
The female operative whispered:
"…He sniped it. From here."
The older operative muttered:
"That wasn't a shot. That was cheating reality."
Aren lowered his bow slowly.
His pulse quickened.
"…That was me?"
The Remnant nodded.
"Correct."
Aren smiled faintly.
Until the Remnant spoke again.
"Again."
Aren blinked.
"Huh?"
The Remnant gestured broadly.
Beneath the ridge—
dozens of pillars shifted.
Moving.
Changing height.
Rotating.
New targets.
Dozens.
All unstable.
All precarious.
"Hit every pillar."
Aren froze.
"…All of them?"
"Yes."
"I— that's impossible—"
"No."
The Remnant's runes flared.
"Impossible means you fear.
Possible means you begin."
Aren swallowed hard.
Then he drew the bow again.
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The next shot struck a pillar's edge, slicing the top off cleanly.
The next clipped a distant stone spike.
Then Aren missed—
barely—
and a shockwave shook the cliff.
The Remnant spoke:
"Focus, not panic."
Aren gritted his teeth.
He aimed again.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Fire.
THOOM—
A pillar shattered.
Another.
Another.
He found rhythm.
Not power.
Not speed.
Intent.
Each shot sharper.
Faster.
More precise.
Until—
Only one pillar remained.
The thinnest.
Farthest.
Barely visible in the fog.
Aren steadied himself.
He whispered:
"Just one more."
He drew.
He fired.
The arrow vanished.
Silence.
Then—
A single crack echoed.
The last pillar fell.
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Aren staggered, nearly collapsing to one knee.
His breath was ragged.
Arms shaking.
Voidscar burning like fire beneath his ribs.
Training wasn't over.
But he had done it.
The Remnant stepped closer.
For the first time—
it bowed its head slightly.
"You have struck marks even trained voidborn struggle to reach."
Aren blinked, stunned.
"I—I just followed instinct and will—"
"Exactly."
The Remnant straightened.
"Tomorrow… you learn to strike living targets."
Aren froze.
"…Living?"
"Yes."
Its runes dimmed.
"Voidscar cannot be mastered without consequence."
Aren's heart pounded.
Living targets.
Real combat.
The next step.
The dangerous step.
But he nodded.
"Tomorrow, then."
The Remnant sank back into the fog.
Aren sagged to the ground.
His hands trembled.
His vision swayed.
But he was smiling.
Because today he didn't just survive.
He aimed.
He chose.
And he hit.