*Rumble!*Thud!*Bang!
The ground trembled violently beneath Jinn's feet, each of Zendrell's thunderous strikes crashing down like meteors just inches from his body.
*Bang! *Bang! *BANG!
Every blow sent violent tremors through the training ground, and with every near miss, Jinn could feel the air itself shuddering, the soil buckling beneath his boots.
Clouds of dust burst around him with every swing, engulfing the space in a haze of sand and grit.
Jinn darted and dodged through the thickening fog, moving with an urgency born not just from fear, but from the primal will to survive.
"Move, worm—move!" Zendrell bellowed with savage glee, his voice roaring across the courtyard like a beast unleashed.
There was no finesse in his assault—no elegant footwork or traditional sword form—only raw, unfiltered brutality.
He was charging at Jinn like a living warhammer, his blade tearing the air apart with each reckless, merciless swing.
*Fwoosh!!
The edge of the blade passed inches above Jinn's scalp as he ducked and rolled beneath a devastating horizontal arc.
The sword's path ripped the air, its hum ringing in his ears.
But there was no time to breathe.
Just as his foot found solid ground again, a massive boot swung toward him from the side.
Jinn reflexively raised his sword.
The boot collided with his blade.
*CRACK!
The impact jolted through his entire body.
His feet slid back against the ground, heels digging furrows into the packed dirt.
The blow didn't break his bones, but it felt like it could've.
His arms shook violently, his grip on the sword faltering—
but never breaking.
Still, Jinn remained upright.
Barely.
His breath came in quick, sharp bursts.
His shoulders heaved with effort.
But his stance—though unstable—held.
His legs trembled beneath him, but they refused to collapse.
Zendrell's grin widened.
"Good!" he roared, his teeth gleaming.
"Now fight back—or I'll beat you until there's nothing left to break!"
His voice rang out like a command, like a taunt, like the spark that might light the powder keg within Jinn's chest.
Jinn's fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword.
Sweat poured down his forehead, stinging his eyes.
But his gaze never left Zendrell.
Because deep within—deeper than the fatigue, the pain, and the fear—
was a fire.
A flickering ember of defiance.
A desire to grow stronger, not just for himself, but for the ones he cared about.
*BANG! *BANG! *BANG!!
Zendrell kept swinging.
The brutal routine continued, relentless and overwhelming, like a storm refusing to pass.
Every strike came like a hammer from the heavens, shaking the ground and pounding against Jinn's defenses.
It felt like minutes—an endless onslaught—
but in truth, nearly an hour had passed.
.
.
.
By the time Zendrell finally stepped back, Jinn's body was drenched.
His tunic was soaked through, clinging to his skin, and his breaths were ragged, sharp, uneven.
His arms hung heavy at his sides, the weight of the iron training blade almost unbearable now, like lifting stone with each swing.
Yet despite it all—despite his exhaustion, his aching joints, and the blood on his lips—he still stood.
And more than that, he still stared forward.
His narrowed eyes locked on Zendrell without flinching, refusing to blink, refusing to yield.
Zendrell tapped the flat of his sword lazily against his shoulder, an approving smirk playing on his lips.
"Very good…" he muttered, his voice now low and almost amused.
"Now—let's take it up a notch, shall we?"
Then—without warning—
crimson light flickered at the edges of his body.
It danced and coiled like fire given form, racing across his arms and legs in arcs of searing red lightning.
Zendrell's muscles tightened, and in the next blink—
He vanished.
*WHOOSH!!
Jinn's heart skipped a beat.
One moment Zendrell was there—solid, grounded—the next,
he was gone.
The world seemed to freeze, the silence between heartbeats deafening.
*CLANG!!
Steel erupted against steel. Zendrell appeared mid-air beside him, his blade colliding violently with Jinn's raised sword.
The sheer force of the strike sent shockwaves through Jinn's arms and into his spine.
His knees buckled beneath the pressure.
"Urgh!!" Jinn grunted through clenched teeth, struggling to hold his footing.
But the clash was brief.
The next swing shattered Jinn's defense.
*BAAAAAAAAANG!!!
His sword flew from his hands—spinning through the air before crashing several meters away with a dull metallic
*thud!
"Argh—shit!"
Jinn stumbled backward, his arms numb, his fingers twitching from the impact.
His chest heaved, his breath broken and uneven, his limbs still humming from the force. Zendrell advanced calmly, pointing his glowing sword directly at Jinn's chest.
"Jinn-boy," he said with a cocked brow. "Are you forgetting something?"
Jinn's brows pinched together in confusion—until it hit him like a slap to the face.
His eidra.
He hadn't drawn it out.
His eyes widened with realization.
With effort, he steadied his breathing and slowly stood upright.
The chaos around him dulled as he closed his eyes and turned inward—reaching for the warmth that always stirred beneath his skin.
That fire.
That desire.
To protect.
To escape.
To live.
The feeling answered.
Crimson sparks ignited along his chest.
The sensation stung—like small needles—but it was awakening.
The energy crackled like fire through his limbs, flooding his nerves, racing through his veins with impossible heat.
He extended his hand.
His sword, lying on the ground, trembled.
And then—
*Brrr…!
His fingers closed around the hilt, and as they did, faint red fractures crawled across the blade.
Crimson light bled from the cracks, soft at first—but growing brighter as his eidra flooded into it.
The sword no longer felt like a lump of iron—it felt alive, fluid, natural.
It was no longer a burden to carry.
It was part of him now.
He lifted it again,
this time with ease.
Zendrell's smile returned, wild and toothy.
"Now that's more like it," he said, crimson trails snaking from the tip of his blade.
"Let's make this fun."
*Tap... *Tap... *Tap...
He began to circle Jinn, walking with a relaxed gait, like a predator toying with its prey.
His blade casually tapped against his shoulder as he paced—his eyes half-lidded, even looking away as if bored.
Then—
The calm shattered.
*FWOOOSH!
With a sudden surge of red energy, Zendrell disappeared and reappeared at Jinn's side, swinging his sword in a deadly horizontal arc.
But this time, Jinn saw it.
*FWOOP!
He ducked low—the crimson blade slicing mere inches above his head.
He didn't wait.
He turned on his heel and lashed out with a counter strike.
*CLANG!!
Their swords collided again, and for a moment, the air shook with the power behind their swings.
Zendrell had tilted his blade at the last second, deflecting the strike with almost lazy precision.
Then—
"That boy's got crimson eidra!" someone shouted from the sidelines.
"And his hair—it's red too. Does he belong to House Sorellia?"
"But he's wearing a choker… He's a slave."
A wave of murmurs spread through the soldiers watching nearby.
Their training had stopped.
Every eye now turned to witness what was unfolding.
A slave.
Wielding crimson eidra—the same energy tied to one of the noble houses.
And yet, Zendrell—captain of the Empire's warriors—was training him with real intent.
Zendrell, however, didn't care for gossip.
His blade flew again.
*CLANG! *BANG! *CRASH!
Every strike came faster, sharper, his movements accelerated by his surging eidra.
He was holding back before—
but no longer—well, at least by a sliver—enough to not actually kill Jinn.
Jinn met him, barely.
His arms moved on instinct now—parrying, dodging, barely keeping up as sparks rained down like fireflies in a storm.
"Come on!" Zendrell barked, his voice rising with the thrill.
"Come on, boy! Show me what you're made of!"
*Bang!
Jinn's knees dipped.
*BANG!!
His stance wavered.
*BANG!!!
His body was being pushed to its limits.
But he didn't fall.
Not yet.
Zendrell grinned again.
"Not just your sword!" he bellowed.
"Bring eidra to your legs! Your hands! Your eyes!"
And then—
*THUD!!
A heavy front kick struck Jinn square in the chest, sending him flying backward once again.
He tumbled across the dirt, dust rising in his wake.
Zendrell pointed his glowing blade forward.
"Fill everything with eidra—until you don't use eidra anymore."
He stepped closer, his crimson energy flaring violently now.
"Become eidra itself."