The silence in Itsuki's room was different from the peaceful quiet of home. Here, at Zenkai Dojo, even the darkness seemed charged with potential—as if the very air held memories of countless students who had struggled, grown, and transformed within these walls. He lay on his narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling where moonlight filtered through the window in pale geometric patterns.
Sleep should have come easily after the overwhelming day. The tour, the ceremony, Mizuko's divine presence—all of it should have left him exhausted and ready for the rest his body craved. Instead, he found himself wide awake, his mind churning with thoughts that felt too large for his skull to contain.
"Remember the feeling of standing at the threshold of your potential," Mizuko's words echoed in his memory, but alongside them came other whispers—fragments of conversations, half-remembered warnings, and the persistent sense that forces beyond his understanding were already in motion.
He turned onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable position, but his muscles remained tense. There was something electric in the air tonight, something that made his essence stir restlessly beneath his skin like water disturbed by an approaching storm. He'd felt this way before—during the trials, when Shion had disappeared, in moments when the world seemed to shift slightly out of focus.
The rational part of his mind insisted it was just nerves. First night in a new place, surrounded by students whose abilities far exceeded his own, under the shadow of expectations he wasn't sure he could meet. Of course he felt unsettled. Anyone would.
But rationality felt thin and inadequate against the growing certainty that something was watching him, waiting for him, drawing closer with each passing moment.
He sat up, running his hands through his white hair, and looked out the window. The training grounds were mostly empty now, lit only by the soft glow of the essence springs scattered throughout the complex. A few dedicated students still moved through solitary practice routines, their forms casting long shadows in the ethereal light.
Maybe I should join them, he thought. Physical activity might quiet whatever's stirring inside me.
But even as the idea formed, exhaustion finally began to creep through his limbs. His eyelids grew heavy, and the restless energy that had kept him awake started to ebb like a tide pulling away from shore. He lay back down, pulling the simple blanket up to his chin, and let his eyes drift closed.
Sleep came not gradually, but all at once—like falling through water into a deeper, stranger current.
When awareness returned, Itsuki found himself standing in a space that defied every sense he possessed.
It was white. Not the white of snow or clouds or painted walls, but a perfect, absolute white that seemed to extend infinitely in all directions. There was no floor beneath his feet, yet he stood firm. No ceiling above, yet he felt enclosed. No walls around him, yet the space felt intimate, contained.
He tried to move and found that he could walk, though there was no sense of distance traveled. The white remained constant, unchanging, as if he were moving through a dream of purity itself.
"Where am I?" he called out, and his voice echoed strangely—not off surfaces, for there were no surfaces, but through layers of existence he couldn't comprehend.
"You are nowhere," came a reply that seemed to emerge from the white itself. "And everywhere. You are in the space between spaces, the moment between moments."
A figure began to materialize in the distance—or perhaps it had always been there, and he was only now able to perceive it. As it drew closer, Itsuki saw that it was humanoid in shape but composed entirely of flowing light. Not harsh or blinding, but a gentle luminescence that pulsed with its own rhythm, like a visible heartbeat.
The being's features were indistinct, shifting between familiar and alien with each subtle change in the light it emanated. Sometimes it looked almost human; other times, it seemed to be made of stellar fire and cosmic wind.
"Who are you?" Itsuki asked, though some deep part of him suspected he wouldn't receive a straight answer.
"I am a messenger," the being replied, its voice carrying harmonics that resonated in his bones. "A herald of truths you are not yet ready to understand fully, but must begin to acknowledge."
"What truths?"
The being moved closer, and as it did, Itsuki felt the weight of vast, ancient knowledge pressing against the edges of his consciousness—not forcing entry, but making its presence known like a vast library whose doors stood slightly ajar.
"Your life will never unfold as you have planned it," the being said, and there was something that might have been sympathy in its luminous form. "From this moment forward, every choice you make, every path you walk, every relationship you form will be influenced by forces you cannot see and powers you do not yet comprehend."
A chill ran through Itsuki despite the absence of cold in this strange space. "What forces? What powers?"
"There are factions, Itsuki Naoya. Ancient ones and newly formed ones, patient ones and desperate ones. They move like currents beneath the surface of your world, invisible to most, but shaping everything."
The being gestured, and the white space around them began to show faint impressions—shadows of shadows, hints of vast conflicts played out across dimensions he couldn't fully perceive.
"One faction seeks to claim what you carry within you," the being continued. "They see your ability as a key to unlock possibilities that have been denied to them for eons. They would use you, shape you, turn your gift into a weapon for their purposes."
"And the other faction?"
"Seeks to protect you. But protection can be another form of cage, another way of denying choice. They would shield you from the dangers ahead, but in doing so, might prevent you from becoming what you truly could be."
Itsuki felt his heart racing, though he wasn't sure he had a physical heart in this place. "What am I supposed to do? How do I choose between them if I don't even know who they are?"
The being's light pulsed brighter for a moment, and Itsuki caught a glimpse of something that might have been a smile. "That is the right question, though not the complete one. The complete question is: what if you choose neither?"
"Is that possible?"
"All things are possible. Not all things are wise. The path of independence is the most difficult, the most dangerous, and the one most likely to end in tragedy. But it is also the only path that leads to true mastery—not just of your ability, but of your destiny."
The white space began to shift subtly, becoming less stable, as if their conversation was reaching its natural limit.
"Who are you, really?" Itsuki asked urgently, sensing that his time here was running out.
"I am no one of importance," the being replied, though something in its tone suggested a deeper truth hidden behind the casual dismissal. "I am simply one who remembers when choices mattered more than power, when wisdom was valued above strength."
"Will I see you again?"
"Perhaps. When you face the moments that will define not just your future, but the future of all who share your world." The being began to fade, its light growing dimmer and more diffuse. "Remember this, Itsuki: your ability is not your destiny. What you choose to do with it—that is your destiny."
"Wait!" Itsuki called out as the figure dissolved into the surrounding whiteness. "I need to know more! I need to understand!"
But the being was gone, and the white space was collapsing in on itself, becoming smaller and smaller until—
Itsuki jerked awake with a gasp that seemed to echo in the small room. Cold sweat covered his skin despite the mild temperature, and his heart hammered against his ribs as if trying to escape. For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was—the transition from that impossible white void to his mundane dormitory room was so jarring that reality itself felt questionable.
He sat up quickly, looking around frantically for any sign that what he'd experienced had been more than a dream. But there was nothing—just his small room, his few belongings, and the pre-dawn darkness pressing against the windows.
A dream, he told himself firmly. It had to be a dream. Stress from everything that's happened, from being in a new place, from worrying about Shion.
But even as he tried to rationalize it away, he knew it had been something more. The memory was too vivid, too coherent, too filled with details that his sleeping mind wouldn't have been able to construct. He could still feel the echo of that being's presence, still hear the harmonics of its voice resonating in his bones.
"Your life will never unfold as you have planned it."
He swung his legs out of bed and stood, his movements shaky but determined. There was no point in trying to return to sleep—not when his mind was racing with questions and possibilities he'd never considered before.
Moving to the small washbasin in the corner, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to ground himself in physical sensation. The water was real. The ceramic basin was real. His reflection in the small mirror above it was real—white hair disheveled, ice-blue eyes wide with lingering shock and confusion.
But the encounter in the white space had felt real too.
He dressed quickly in his training clothes, moving with the kind of automatic precision that came when the mind was too occupied with larger concerns to focus on mundane tasks. As he laced up his boots, he found himself analyzing every word the being had said, looking for clues, for context, for anything that might help him understand what was happening to him.
Factions. Ancient ones and newly formed ones. One that wants to use me, one that wants to protect me.
The implications were staggering. If the encounter had been real—and despite his rational objections, he was becoming more convinced that it had been—then his life was already caught up in conflicts he knew nothing about. Forces were moving around him, making plans that involved him, and he was utterly blind to their nature or intentions.
"What if you choose neither?"
That question felt like the most important thing the being had said. It suggested agency, the possibility of forging his own path despite the manipulations of these mysterious factions. But it also carried a warning—that independence would come at a cost he might not be prepared to pay.
He finished dressing and stood for a moment in the center of his small room, looking around at the few possessions he'd brought from home. His parents' gift—a small essence crystal that was supposed to help with meditation. His training journal, where he recorded observations about his ability and its development. A picture of his friends, all five of them together, taken just days before the trials.
Shion's face looked back at him from the photo, silver-blue hair catching the light, teal eyes bright with the enthusiasm that had characterized him before everything went wrong. Where was he now? Was he caught up in the same kinds of forces that were apparently closing in on Itsuki?
Maybe this is all connected, he thought. Maybe Shion's disappearance wasn't random. Maybe whoever took him is connected to these factions the being warned me about.
The idea sent a chill through him. If Shion had been targeted because of his friendship with Itsuki, if he was suffering now because of whatever made Itsuki valuable to these mysterious groups...
He pushed the thought away. There was no evidence for that connection, and torturing himself with guilt over possibilities he couldn't prove would accomplish nothing. What he needed was more information, a clearer understanding of what was happening and what he could do about it.
But who could he ask? Who at Zenkai Dojo would even believe him if he tried to explain what he'd experienced? Master Amari seemed wise and knowledgeable, but would he dismiss the encounter as a stress-induced nightmare? Himons had been kind during the tour, but was he senior enough to know about the kinds of hidden conflicts the being had described?
And what about his friends? Could he tell them what had happened without sounding like he was losing his grip on reality?
The questions multiplied without resolution, creating a tangle of uncertainty that made his head ache. Finally, he decided that movement was better than paralysis. He would go to the training grounds early, practice his forms, try to center himself through physical activity. Maybe in the familiar rhythm of exercise, he would find clarity.
He opened his door and stepped into the hallway, moving quietly to avoid waking his dormmates. The corridors were dimly lit by essence-powered lanterns that provided just enough illumination to navigate safely. As he walked, he tried to organize his thoughts, to create some kind of plan for moving forward.
But with each step, the weight of the being's warning seemed to grow heavier. "From this moment forward, every choice you make will be influenced by forces you cannot see."
If that was true, then even his decision to go to the training grounds early might be part of some larger design. The thought was paralyzing and liberating at the same time—paralyzing because it suggested he had less control over his life than he'd ever imagined, liberating because it meant he wasn't responsible for understanding everything before he acted.
He reached the main entrance of the dormitory and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The pre-dawn air was crisp and clean, carrying the scents of mountain pine and the faint ozone smell that always surrounded places where essence was heavily used. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east, painting the peaks around the dojo in shades of deep purple and gold.
The training grounds stretched before him, mostly empty but not entirely deserted. A few other early risers were already at work—a girl practicing with what appeared to be crystalline projectiles that she could form from thin air, a boy whose movements left brief trails of silver light that lingered for several seconds before fading.
Advanced students, Itsuki realized. Probably Tier 3 or higher, working on techniques that required the kind of focus best found in solitude.
He chose a spot away from the others and began his morning routine—basic stretches to limber up his muscles, breathing exercises to center his essence, and then the fundamental forms that every student learned regardless of their specific ability. The familiar movements helped calm his racing thoughts, but they couldn't entirely banish the memory of glowing light and impossible truths.
As he moved through the forms, he found himself thinking about his ability—Abstract Shift. The power to alter the abstract nature of objects, to change concepts like weight or hardness or temperature into their opposites or variations. It was rare, possibly unique, and he'd always assumed that made him fortunate.
But what if his uniqueness was exactly what made him valuable to these mysterious factions? What if his ability could be used in ways he'd never considered, for purposes he'd never imagined?
"They see your ability as a key to unlock possibilities that have been denied to them for eons."
What possibilities? What had been denied, and by whom?
The questions followed him through his forms like persistent shadows, and by the time he finished his routine, the sun had fully risen and more students were beginning to appear on the training grounds. Soon it would be time for the first formal classes, the beginning of his real education at Zenkai Dojo.
But as he prepared to return to the dormitory to gather his supplies, Itsuki couldn't shake the feeling that his education had already begun in that white space between dreams and waking, in the presence of a being who claimed to be no one of importance but spoke with the authority of ages.
"Your ability is not your destiny. What you choose to do with it—that is your destiny."
Those words would follow him through whatever came next. The being had given him a choice, even if the full implications of that choice remained hidden. He could let himself be claimed by one faction or another, could accept protection or manipulation with equal passivity.
Or he could forge his own path, dangerous and difficult though it might prove to be.
As he walked back toward the dormitory, Itsuki made a silent promise to himself. Whatever forces were moving in the shadows, whatever factions sought to use or protect him, he would not be a passive piece on their board. He would learn, he would grow stronger, and when the time came to choose his destiny, it would be his choice to make.
Even if it meant walking alone into whatever darkness lay ahead.
Training grounds and the dormitory, the crisp morning air cooled the sweat on his skin. His mind was still on the promise he'd made to himself, the vow to choose his own path no matter what forces tried to shape it.
That was when the air tore open.
A soundless rupture shimmered into existence a few paces ahead of him—a jagged oval of swirling darkness, its edges lined with a color that wasn't a color at all, shifting like oil on water. The scent of scorched metal and damp earth poured out, and with it, something else.
It stepped through on two legs, but it was no man. Taller than any human he'd met, its frame was sheathed in shadowed fur that bristled as if alive. Its face was too long, jaw set with teeth meant for tearing, but its eyes… its eyes were almost human, and they fixed on him with grim purpose.
Instinct took over before thought. Essence surged to his hands as he shifted the air's weight, forcing it to slam like a wall into the creature's chest. It staggered, but only for a breath.
The thing moved with terrifying speed, closing the distance in a blur. Itsuki pivoted, altering the hardness of the ground beneath it to trip its stride, but the beast adapted mid-motion, swiping with a clawed hand that cut the air just inches from his throat.
He struck again, shifting the temperature of its arm to searing heat, but it only snarled and drove forward. A blow like a hammer caught him in the ribs, and the world tilted sideways. Pain flared, but he forced himself up, refusing to yield.
Another rift yawned open behind the beast, its depths pulling at the edges of reality like a tide. The creature lunged, not to kill, but to seize him. His essence flared one last time—weight, hardness, pressure—everything he could push at once. It wasn't enough.
A clawed hand clamped around his shoulder with crushing force. The portal's pull wrapped around him like invisible chains, dragging him backward into its impossible dark.
The last thing Itsuki saw was the sunrise bleeding gold over the peaks—then the light was gone, swallowed by the void.