*GONG!!*GONG!!*GONG!!
The heavy toll of the distant bells thundered across the halls like war drums echoing through a canyon.
The sound struck Jinn's ears with a sharp sting, jolting him out of the thin veil of sleep he'd barely fallen into.
His body flinched involuntarily from the noise, his eyes twitching slightly before they slowly cracked open, reluctant and drowsy.
Still groggy, he shifted his head to the side, his gaze drifting toward the window carved into the curved metallic wall.
There, the early light poured in—not harshly,
but softly,
gently,
as if the dawn itself was coaxing him awake.
Golden beams shimmered against the cold floor, casting faint shadows that danced slightly with the dust in the air.
He groaned under his breath and pushed himself upright with a grunt, feeling the stiffness in his back from the hard mattress.
It took him a few more seconds to stand fully and stumble toward the window to look outside.
And what he saw stopped him cold.
The skies above were no longer plated with cold steel and lifeless metal.
The dome that had once cloaked the heavens in iron gray had shifted, changed into a massive transparent arc that stretched across the entire region.
Through it, the real sky was visible—endless and open—bathed in hues of gold and soft amber from the rising sun.
Light flooded the entire facility with a warm brilliance that made the air feel different, almost serene.
He blinked slowly, then lowered his gaze to the courtyard below.
And there he saw him.
Zendrell.
The towering warrior stood alone, without his usual hulking armor or imposing cloak.
Instead, he wore nothing but a plain sleeveless tunic that clung tightly to his muscular frame.
His figure was cut from stone—broad shoulders, thick arms, scarred and worn like a weapon forged from war itself.
Jinn watched as Zendrell moved through his stretches with quiet focus—arms raised high, then twisted side to side with slow precision, his body loose yet powerful.
Each motion was controlled, deliberate, as if he were warming up to tear down a mountain.
Beside him, two training swords lay flat on the ground.
They were thick, dulled, and worn by time.
No golden trim.
No elegance.
Just raw, heavy iron forged for one thing—
training.
"Those have to be the training swords," Jinn thought to himself, narrowing his eyes at their chipped edges.
Then, as if he had sensed Jinn's gaze, Zendrell looked up.
He spotted Jinn watching from the window, and a wide, wolfish grin stretched across his face.
"Oi! Jinn-boy!" he bellowed, voice booming like thunder.
"Let's scrap!"
Jinn's eyes twitched at the volume, then sighed quietly under his breath. There was no escape. Not today.
He turned around, walking back toward the side table where his fresh training clothes had been laid out the day before.
*rustle!
He slipped into the fitted tunic, which hugged his leaner frame snugly,
*clack!
then buckled the leather straps tightly around his chest.
The black training pants were a bit heavier than expected, almost weighed intentionally to hinder weak legs from getting comfortable.
The final piece—a shoulder guard shaped to fit the mechanical structure of his synthetic arm—clicked into place with a satisfying snap.
*Thud *Thud *Thud!
He jumped in place a few times, testing the weight.
Then he rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles, and flexed his shoulder, ensuring nothing was out of place.
His gear felt secure.
Stable.
Balanced.
This was it.
The beginning of something new.
A day that would separate them—he and his friends.
Each would be sent away to different mentors, to walk their own paths, to be trained separately from here on.
Jinn knew it had to happen.
They must grow stronger if they were to walk forward from here on out.
This was part of the journey.
A painful step toward something greater.
Toward freedom.
And with that thought burning in his mind like fuel, he stepped forward, gripped the door handle, and pulled it open.
*creak...!
The aged metal hinges groaned in protest as the door swung wide, allowing golden morning light to spill across the hallway ahead of him.
He descended the steps, his boots tapping against the metal floor with slow, steady thuds, retracing the familiar path through Merilyn's house.
As he reached the main entrance, he saw them.
Merilyn, Zendrell, and his other friends.
They were all there—already awake, already waiting.
Each one had been cleaned up and dressed in new gear, their eyes wide with a mixture of excitement, dread, and curiosity.
"Took you long enough," Zendrell called out with that same smug grin, before stooping down to grab the two iron swords from the ground.
Without ceremony, he tossed one toward Jinn.
Instinctively, Jinn reached out and caught it.
Or tried to.
*Bang!!
The sheer weight of the blade yanked his arm down the moment it touched his palm.
The sword slammed against the stone path with a loud metallic crash.
Jinn flinched.
"Urgh—my floor steps…" Merilyn muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose with visible irritation.
"Take it to the training grounds."
"You've read my mind, dear sister!" Zendrell laughed,
*clap!
clapping once before pointing east.
"Come, Jinn! I'll make you bleed by breakfast!"
Jinn exhaled slowly and turned toward his friends.
They met his gaze with quiet understanding.
"Good luck," he said, voice firm. "Let's get stronger—together."
He gave them a final nod, then turned,
*scrrrrrrrrrrrrk!
dragging the iron sword behind him with a steady scrape that echoed long after his footsteps had faded.
They watched him go, a silence falling over the group.
"There he goes again," Ophelia muttered, folding her arms. "Just like Jinn said… let's do our best to keep up with him."
"That's a no-brainer," Verhedyn chimed in with a shrug.
"The only thing I'm worried about is which psycho they'll assign to mentor me."
"It doesn't matter," Orin murmured, her eyes distant.
"They're all enemies in the end. We're just using them to grow stronger. That's all this is."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
But it carried weight.
"Whatever happens," Hector added, his fists clenched and his brows furrowed, "we follow Jinn. Like we always have."
And then—
"W-Wait, guys!" Kain cried, panic creeping into his tone. "You know I can't fight! Not like all of you!"
But before anyone could respond,
*clap!
a sharp clap rang out.
Merilyn stepped forward, her voice clear and commanding.
"Enough chatter. Time to meet your mentors."
Her smile widened.
"Now—let your training begin!"
===
While the others were escorted away to face the unknown under new masters, Jinn had already been led to the heart of the training compound—a large, open space surrounded by high walls and watchful eyes.
All around him, soldiers moved with calculated purpose, their sweat-soaked tunics sticking to their bodies as they struck metal dummies again and again with iron swords just like the one in Jinn's grip.
*BANG!
YARGHH!!
The sound of steel against steel echoed like a drumbeat, punctuated by the grunts of exhausted men, the screech of blades, and the clatter of boots against the sand-covered ground.
This wasn't a place for ceremony or titles.
This was a forge.
And Jinn had just been thrown into the fire.
"Welcome, Jinn-boy!" Zendrell roared from the opposite end of the training yard, grinning ear to ear.
"This is where I beat the softness out of you!"
His voice shifted, hardening.
His tone lost its humor, replaced by a deadly edge.
"From this moment on, you're not special. You're a soldier. You want to survive? Then forget the rest."
Jinn raised an eyebrow, scoffing lightly. "But aren't I technically still a slave?"
Zendrell smirked—
as silence filled between him and Jinn
.
.
.
before he suddenly lunged.
With no warning, he swung his blade in a wide, heavy arc.
*FWHIP!
Jinn's instincts screamed.
He raised his sword with both hands just in time—
*CLANG!!
The clash rang like thunder, and the weight of the blow nearly snapped his arms.
Zendrell didn't stop.
With one powerful step, he drove his boot straight into Jinn's chest.
*THUD!!
Jinn flew back, skidding across the dirt.
The wind was knocked clean out of him, his body hitting the ground with a heavy crash.
Dust exploded around him, clinging to his training clothes.
"I'm not here to coddle slaves," Zendrell said coldly, walking toward him with the calmness of a predator. '
"I'm here to forge warriors. And warriors—don't whine."
Jinn gasped for breath, chest aching, but he didn't lie there.
He moved.
He rolled to the side just as another strike smashed into the ground beside him—
*BANG!!!
The sheer force left a crater where his skull would've been.
Jinn scrambled to his feet, sword trembling in his grip.
His heart thundered—not out of fear.
But out of fire.
Out of fury.
Zendrell stood tall, sword resting lazily across his shoulder, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips.
"Get up, boy," he said. "Lesson one—never stop moving."
Jinn's eyes narrowed.
He wiped the blood from his lip, planted his feet firmly into the dirt, and raised his blade again.
His knuckle turned white as he gripped the hilt tighter.
"…Fine then," he growled.
"Bring it on."