Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of a miniature heartbeat flickered through a dark space, one devoid of light, time, or even gravity.
It was the culmination of nothingness and the result of everything, a place where the absolute was merely conditional.
For it was the mind of Aaron Grimstall, the void inhabited by a being who did not speak, did not breathe, and did not even blink.
This thing was watching him constantly, even as he floated without consciousness within his own thoughts.
His mindscape was not truly his own, and his memories reflected such a thing.
Even once he began to stir from his drowsy state, and his eyes once again gazed upon the pitch-black darkness of his own soul, he could see but a fraction of what truly existed.
The nothingness had retreated, allowing distant regions of his mind to form with overwhelming emotion.
There was a pond, one reflecting his own floating form with his turquoise eyes glowing and his blond hair fluttering.
At the bottom, a feminine figure he could not identify clutched a weapon he recognized as Ocean's Bane; her pale fingers holding the shining blade against her torso as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
Beyond the place where the figure and the sword resided, there was another section cut out from the mindscape.
It was covered in blossoming orange chrysanthemums that smelled like the honeysuckle flowers of home, the only other distant trait being a floating black spheroid that he could clearly make out as the Naelith's last wish, that egg.
Unlike when it was in the physical realm, a faint heartbeat could be felt echoing from its form, shaking the mindscape with a power that the boy could only tell was far more ancient than even the Old Man's.
The roots of that region seemed to bore their way through the space, absorbing the darkness as nutrients and erasing any life that sought to grow on the outskirts of the meadow.
Further within his own mind, he could see the destroyed mast of a vessel covered in turquoise flames that did not burn out.
Engraved into each remaining shard of wood, a miniature crab shone in the fullest of luminosities beside what he could only assume to be a spear.
Finally, there was a place within his mind that he couldn't quite see or describe, the only thing guiding him towards it being the feeling in his chest.
He did not need a hint of what this might be, nor did he need images, pictures, or personifications.
It was an utterly unique presence that, out of everything he had ever felt, remained the most mentally draining.
The god that had bound his thoughts and restricted the once kind fisherman, Aaron Grimstall, to the boy whose fate was but fading droplets of sand in an hourglass.
The four regions occupied his mind completely, leaving almost no room for the most important of residents: himself.
There was nothing left for him to call his own.
But that wasn't an issue for him, not after the months he had spent as a pawn to the higher beings who governed his life.
The feelings of despair that clouded his mind were nothing, and he should understand that.
That was what he was seeing before him.
For there was no reason to despair when it was not his fault; it was not he who had killed the innocents of Sea Fallen.
It was not he who had slain dozens of convicts on the Bay of Thorn.
And it was not he who was responsible for the near killing of Akari Ayaka within the Lispentine Tournament.
Each weight that burdened him melted away like ice before a fire, allowing his mind to relax and his thoughts to stir.
The darkness that consumed his mind, plaguing it with endless despair, faded into a nothingness of its own, allowing the young boy to awaken once more.
…
"Hagh—"
Aaron's body shot up, his eyes darting around in a frenzy in search of Eleanor, who had collapsed beside him in the snow.
At the time, something had clouded his judgment, preventing him from noticing, or even caring about his own state, much less another's.
However, now, as he glanced around the strange room that was built from logs and was blistering with heat, he couldn't quite remember what had even happened.
Looking down at his form, bandages covered nearly any piece of skin that he had left; anything without a bandage was completely white, numb, and devoid of life.
Frostbite…
Leaping up from the bed using his metallic leg that was less affected by cold than the other, he hobbled to a wall where he propped himself up.
Overall, the chamber was nothing more than a storage closet with a bed; a boarded-up window, along with a fireplace, were the only two non-box-related objects within.
Holding out his right hand, he allowed Ocean's Bane to come to him; the sword appeared in a flash, with a flickering pain in the back of his hand coming alongside it.
I can summon the blade, but the connection to my core and Penelope is still suppressed… This is dangerous.
Not allowing the window that could be breached by a foe to go without extra security, he maneuvered one of the larger boxes against it, effectively double-boarding it.
Now…
He turned his eyes toward the door, his slow hobble towards the exit of the room creating a flurry of weak taps that echoed through the chamber.
Propping himself up with the handle, he pushed out, allowing it to swing open and grant him access into the hallway.
It was far cooler, but no less cozy: soft carpet, tight halls, various rooms that spiraled off elsewhere, and what caught his attention the most, the sound of talking from the other side of the building.
Who is it?
From the place where he was, he couldn't tell whether it was even a man or a woman speaking, and such a fact contributed to his movement closer toward the source of the noise.
He kept his footsteps soft and his breath short, never allowing an imperfect sound to slip from his lips.
If he could access his mana, the Doppelganger ability could've allowed him to morph into a child weighing half of what he did to aid in his stealth.
Regardless of what could've been, as he approached the end of the hallway, sword in hand, he could begin to make out at least one of the voices clearly.
Eleanor.
There was no way to assess the situation currently without a clear line of sight; all he could see was that of a door propped open by a centimeter or so.
"Of… Course… He… Help… Beyond… God… Old…"
Listening quietly, he felt as if she wasn't in any immediate danger by the tone at which she spoke.
Not yet hearing the other part of the conversation, he bided his time, never allowing an unpredictable factor to remain.
Clutching the grip of his sword tightly, his resolve solidified within his chest, and a plan came to fruition.
Once I determine where the other person is and if they're a threat, I'll lock them into a—
"I see."
That voice, the one he hadn't heard before, resounded through his ears as if they were directly behind him.
Whipping his head around, he saw nothing but a dark hallway from which he came, the only difference in the state of the cabin being that Eleanor had stopped talking.
T-that voice belongs to…
The sword in his grasp fell away, dissolving into turquoise mist.
Then, after taking a short breath and collecting his expression, he, without an ounce of hesitation, pushed through the door and into the room.
He was met first with the face of Eleanor, who looked at him with surprise.
Like him, she was mostly covered in bandages with large patches of white frostbite, albeit hers partially healed through her rejuvenated supply of divinity.
However, in that room, she was not the one who drew his attention the most; rather, it was the figure who sat with his left leg on the ground and his right leg crossed over it.
Resting on the crossed leg, a sword that was the echo of the heavens themselves embedded itself deep into Aaron's soul.
Once more, the deity within his head overlooked it; whether it was intentional or not was left up to the boy's interpretation.
"You came with a friend. How surprising that it isn't that pink-haired swan."
Chuckling quietly, Masaru Kurogane extended his hand, gesturing for the boy to take a seat beside Eleanor.
Doing as he was told, the blond boy completed the action and then bowed respectfully to the man who could challenge Sea Kings.
"It's been quite a while, sir. I see that you are more acclimated to this environment than we are..."
He was referring to the attire that the exiled Marshal wore: a black leather coat that was draped over a tight black shirt that hid none of the muscles beneath, and a pair of work pants that might've been covered in either juice or terror guts.
Beside him, the blonde-haired girl was clearly tense, but after Aaron's arrival, some of that nervousness had faded, allowing her to whisper in peace to him.
"I'm glad you woke up so soon…"
She, like many in the world, had heard stories of the Sea Kings and Marshals of the Oceanic Association and Hunters' Guild respectively.
Furthermore, her repertoire of meetings with powerful individuals was second to none among humans, with the sole exception of the Old Man who prowled among deities as if they were rabbits.
But even still, amidst a totally unique and new conversation with a man who could kill her in the blink of an eye, she refrained from dropping her guard completely.
Of course, he knew of such a fear in her heart; it was something that he had seen many times over the many years of his life, whether it be during his time as an assassin or a Hunter.
"You are here for training, then? Both of you?"
Masaru spoke up once more, looking between both children.
Eleanor looked as if she wished to decline; however, the opportunity was already something she hadn't expected; the only goal prior to arrival being to help Aaron wherever she could.
"We are."
The boy answered for both of them, eliciting a calm nod from the swordsman across the room, who was pleased with the response.
"Then your training shall begin at Stormbreak."
He paused, taking a short and shallow breath.
"No sooner, and no later shall we start."