The night was restless. No matter how hard he tried, the young man couldn't sleep. His thoughts circled endlessly, weighed down by uncertainty and regret.
Eventually, the dim red light returned, painting the sky in its eternal, eerie glow. It was time to leave. The swordsman and his apprentice packed their things in silence. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Ever since their conversation, something inside the young man felt hollow, as if he had lost something before he even truly had it.
Just as they were about to set off, a voice called out from the depths of the forest.
"Wait for meee!!!"
A pale hand shot out of a bush, followed by the girl herself, her bow slung over her shoulder and a pack stuffed full of handmade arrows.
The young man blinked in surprise.
"You came?! What about yesterday?"
"Oh, I just went to… grab my things,"
she said, letting out an awkward laugh.
The swordsman looked at his apprentice with a disapproving glare, his expression unreadable yet heavy with meaning. I warned you… now you will bear the consequences.
But the young man barely noticed. He was just relieved that she had decided to come along.
They traveled for days, fighting countless creatures along the way. Through observation, the young man began to pick up on the girl's strange ability to curve her arrows. He realized that, consciously or unconsciously, she was infusing them with aura, then releasing it in bursts to control their trajectory.
Once, while battling a grotesque, fleshy abomination, he attempted the same technique with his sword. His first attempt was clumsy—what should have been a complete miss barely managed to scrape the creature's arm. But he refined it over time, learning how to propel his blade mid-air. It was far from perfect. Unlike an arrow, a sword was far heavier, requiring more aura to control. And since using aura for propulsion meant losing it, he couldn't sustain the technique for long. Still, it was a valuable tool, something that could give him an edge in combat.
With each passing night, he and the girl grew closer, talking by the fire while gazing up at the cold, starless sky.
But as their bond deepened, the swordsman grew more distant
He had seen this before. A warrior letting emotions lead them astray. He had warned the young man. Now, he could only watch as history threatened to repeat itself..
They still traveled together, still fought side by side, but something had changed.
They almost felt like strangers.
That night, they made camp near a lake of dark, almost void-like water. The swordsman was fast asleep, his presence distant even when near. The moon cast a strange purple hue, the only light in this cold and unforgiving night.
The young man and the girl sat by the lake, gazing at the eerie spectacle of twisted beauty. The water was still, reflecting the sky like a mirror to another world.
She broke the silence.
"Wanna go for a late-night swim?"
A bad idea in hindsight, but they didn't care.
The young man planted their torch into the ground, its dim glow flickering against the black water. Then, they submerged themselves.
The cold was shocking at first, but as they floated, hand in hand, their heads barely above the surface, the world around them faded. It was like drifting in a dark void—silent, endless—but they were not alone. They had each other.
They wanted this moment to last forever.
But eventually, the cold crept into their bones, pulling them back to reality. Shivering, they curled up near the torch, letting the flames chase the chill from their skin.
The girl's eyes met his.
Then, without warning, she pushed him down.
Their lips met, first hesitant, then desperate, as if they feared the night itself might steal this moment away. Their bodies pressed together, their warmth chasing away the cold.
That night, they shared no words—only their bodies
For the first time in his life, the young man felt something beyond survival. His fingers traced her skin, feeling a texture both alien and familiar—soft, yet subtly ridged, like scales hidden beneath a human guise. For a moment, a question lingered at the edge of his mind. But as she pulled him closer, it no longer mattered.
He didn't care.
The night carried them away, lost in a bliss neither had ever known, until the darkness finally faded into dawn.
Their bodies were slightly sore as they made their way back to camp. The morning air was crisp, and the weight of the night still lingered between them in unspoken warmth.
The swordsman sat near the dying embers of last night's fire, his gaze lifting as they approached. His eyes lingered on his apprentice with an indescribable expression—a mix of disdain, sadness, and something deeper, something colder.
Without a word, he picked up his sword.
The young man watched as his master moved, the blade cutting through the air with refined simplicity. Yet, there was something else, something beyond mere skill. It was as if each motion carried a touch of something ethereal—just like when they traveled through a spatial fold.
This was the Dimension-Splitting Blade.
But the swordsman's movements were not driven by patience, nor by the desire to teach. They were driven by pure necessity.
His voice was cold.
"You can't power this technique with normal aura."
The young man's brow furrowed.
"Then what can I use?"
The swordsman sheathed his blade with a sharp click.
"You'll see when we get there."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.