Early the next morning, Arke was already inside the hidden room at Velvet Hall with Basti.
"You messaged me yesterday that you can summon your weapon now," Basti said, arms crossed.
Arke gave a nod.
"Show me."
The air in front of Arke stirred, followed by the rise of red mist. The dagger appeared, hovering in front of him. In one swift motion, he grabbed it mid-air.
Basti let out a satisfied breath. "Uh-huh. Nice."
He pointed at Arke's arm. "I'm guessing the marks have spread more now?"
A black sports arm sleeve covered Arke's forearm. He pulled it down slightly to reveal the crimson patterns underneath, now branching further along his skin.
Basti walked over to the far wall, where a variety of worn-out objects were stacked. He picked up an old wooden plank.
"Now that you can summon and wield the sentient weapon, your speed and strength have already elevated more."
Without warning, he hurled the plank at Arke.
Arke reacted on instinct. He struck out with his left fist—and the plank shattered into pieces.
"You feel any pain punching that?" Basti asked.
Arke shook his head, a grin forming as he kept his gaze on his angled, closed fist.
"You're left-handed, huh?" Basti said, nodding with approval. "Your body's already starting to respond to danger. And it's adapting to a form of combat that suits the weapon."
"What do you mean?" Arke asked.
"Each sentient weapon comes with its own fighting style," Basti explained. "Yours seems built for close combat and agility. The more you use it, the more you'll discover."
Arke was about to speak when Basti suddenly charged at him, one foot leading.
Instinct took over—Arke sidestepped in a blur. But the moment Basti's foot touched the ground, he vanished.
Arke blinked. It didn't register. Was it a trick? Or pure speed?
Before he could process it, Basti reappeared at his side and drove a hard elbow into his chest.
The impact sent Arke sprawling to the floor, gasping for breath.
If his body were still normal, he thought, his heart might've given out from that hit.
He looked up. Basti was already standing over him, hand extended.
Arke took it and pulled himself to his feet.
"We start your combat training now," Basti said.
Training lasted the entire day. Basti drilled him non-stop—how to sync more deeply with the weapon, how to vanish it and summon it instantly in the opposite hand. Footwork, kicks, punches, reading an opponent's movement, striking angles—everything. The day blurred by, and by the end, Arke was exhausted.
He sat slumped in a chair, covered in sweat and bruises, while Basti stood in front of him with a makeup brush and a small kit.
"Hold still," Basti said, dabbing carefully at the bruises on Arke's face.
"Thanks for this," Arke muttered. "If my mom saw me like this, I'd get even more of a beating."
Basti chuckled. "A classic loving mom."
Just then, Arke's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and tilted it slightly so he could read without interrupting Basti's work.
It was a message from his coach:
Hey Arke, haven't seen you around. Just a heads up. Training's on hold. The track's closed for disinfection. A lot of athletes are sick. Me included. Stay safe.
Arke's brows pulled together.
"What is it?" Basti asked, noticing the shift in his expression.
"There's a wave of sickness going around. My coach caught it. A bunch of students too."
Basti stopped mid-brush, eyes narrowing. "It's begun."
He set the brush down. "We need to clear the Reverse. Fast."
Arke nodded.
"One last round of combat training tomorrow," Basti said. "Then I'll decide if you're ready."
On the ride home, Arke suddenly thought of Yarih.
He reached for his phone but paused—he didn't have her number. They weren't even connected on social media.
He opened an app and tapped into the search bar.
"Yarih…"
His fingers hovered.
"Crap, I can't remember her last name," he muttered. "It sounded like… something with weather?"
He whispered aloud, trying to recall—then it clicked.
"Yeah… Rhane."
He typed it in: Yarih Rhane.
A list of names appeared. He scanned quickly and spotted her profile.
He tapped it.
Her profile picture showed her smiling—bright and carefree. Arke stared for a moment. Somehow, he couldn't remember seeing her smile like that in person. It made him smile, just a little.
He began scrolling through her timeline.
The very first post stopped him cold. It was shared by her mother, and she had tagged Yarih.
Family and friends, asking for your prayers for Yarih. We rushed her to the hospital.
"She's infected too," Arke whispered.
He tapped into the comments.
Friends and relatives were replying—What happened? Is she okay?
Her mother had responded: Doctors still don't know. She hasn't woken up yet. Her breathing's unstable. They're keeping her on oxygen. Keep praying.
Arke's hand clenched around his phone before he even realized it. The screen gave a soft crack.
He let go quickly, before he crushed it entirely.
The next day, training resumed at Velvet Hall.
Basti didn't waste time. Their final session was relentless—pure combat drills. No lessons, no breaks. Just motion, instinct, and reaction. He noticed how relentless Arke was that day, how he kept pushing forward no matter how brutal the pace became.
By the end, Arke could summon and vanish the weapon without thinking. His footwork was sharper, his strikes clean and precise.
Basti stood across from him, arms crossed, watching silently.
When it ended, he gave a single nod.
"You're ready."
He sat on a nearby chair, watching as Arke quietly packed up his things. There was no small talk—just quiet focus and a weight in his movements that hadn't been there before.
"You have close friends who are sick?" Basti asked.
Arke nodded.
"That's two things," Basti said. "It'll either distract you… or drive you."
He watched Arke for a moment, then added, "I'm glad it seems to be the latter."
Arke gave a faint smile. "I'll go now. Thank you for the training."
"Get a good rest," Basti said. "I'll see you in school tomorrow night at ten."
* * *
Arke walked, watching as the school loomed closer on the horizon. That night, he'd chosen to go on foot—to stretch his legs, to prepare. His heart was already beating faster. There was something about the school now, something heavy. A dark veil seemed to hang over it. He couldn't tell if it was just the weight of knowing a Rift was there… or if the Rift itself was already pressing through.
When the school was just a stone's throw away, Arke checked his watch:
9:50 PM.
A whisper came from behind him, startling him slightly.
"Good, you're not late."
He turned—and there was Basti.
Arke blinked. He had just walked that way moments ago and hadn't seen anyone. But by now, after a week of training, he didn't bother asking. His mentor was always full of surprises.
What should he expect? He was a magician—an illusionist—and not just a common one. A Redbearer.
"Do you see the veil?" Basti asked.
"I thought it was just my imagination… because I know there's a Rift."
"Redbearers can feel their presence," Basti said. "But as far as I know, there are some people who are naturally attuned. They can sense a Rift even without training."
He started walking. "Let's go."
"Hey," Arke whispered as they neared the entrance, "I think the guard won't let us in at this hour."
Basti didn't respond. He simply pulled a circular device from his pocket and stopped in front of the guard, who gave him a curious look.
Then Basti pressed a button.
The device gave off a soft, high-pitched hum—barely audible—followed by a sudden burst of red light that flashed outward in all directions. It wasn't bright, but it washed over the area like a pulse, almost too quick to register.
Arke looked around as the red flash faded. "What was that?"
Basti didn't answer. Instead, he stepped behind the frozen guard, placed a hand behind the man's back, and used his finger to move the guard's mouth like a puppet.
In a silly, high-pitched voice, he said, "Hi there Mr. Redbearer, please go ahead. I totally approve your unauthorized Rift-clearing mission!"
Then he switched back to his usual tone. "See? Proper clearance. We're good."
Without waiting, Basti turned and started walking through the gate.
Arke followed, casting one last look at the immobilized guard—his face caught between disbelief and laughter, like he couldn't decide whether to be amazed or deeply concerned.
"What did you do to Mr. Guard?" Arke asked as he walked up behind Basti.
"Relax. He's fine," Basti said, not looking back. He raised the small device in his hand. "We call this the RFU."
"RFU?" Arke echoed.
"Red Flash Unit. It disables all devices within the surrounding perimeter—and freezes non-Redbearers in place."
"You made that?" Arke asked.
"No, no, no. Remember the Rift Finder, from the theoretical scientist?" Basti gave him a quick glance. "Same guy."
They stopped in front of the track stadium.
"I guess this is it?" Basti said.
Arke nodded, eyes fixed on the stadium.
Basti approached the glass door, one hand on the lock, the other covering it like he was about to perform a sleight-of-hand trick.
Click.
The lock snapped open.
He pushed the door and stepped inside the track stadium. With a quick glance around, he found a switch on the wall and flicked it. The lights buzzed on overhead, flooding the track in pale white.
Arke followed behind. "So… how do I enter the Reverse?"
"Same way you first synced with the sentient weapon," Basti said. "But this time, focus on the Reverse."
He walked over to the nearest bench and sat down. "I'll be waiting for you here."
Arke hesitated. "Last question. Could I… die in the Reverse?"
"Of course," Basti replied without missing a beat.
Arke's voice lowered. "Then… what happens to me? I mean, my body—that's not in the Reverse?"
Basti leaned back on the bench. "Simple," he said. "You die here, too."