Young Lance jolted awake, sitting upright at breakneck speeds. He put his hand on his head in an attempt to calm his thoughts. He wondered what exactly he had just seen, and vaguely remembered a large machine in a small room. He shook his head and recollected himself, sliding off his mattress to be greeted by his reflection in a broken mirror. There, he saw a short, pale boy with long black hair that reached his shoulders. He was quite thin; it was clear he hadn't eaten a proper meal in quite some time. The boy's face wore a tired expression, but was still able to manage a weak smile.
"Lance!" A familiar voice echoed from another room. "Meal's ready!" Lance trudged out of his bedroom, through the decrepit living room and into the training hall. A wooden chair and table was prepared in front of a large training dummy holding various weapons. On the table, there was a plate containing various mushrooms and berries, handpicked by his mentor. He sat down and started consuming the food with his bare hands, grateful to have anything to eat at all.
His mentor watched, solemnly. He was a tall man in his 20s with chestnut-brown skin, a torn blue shirt and ragged trousers. A bright yellow ribbon was tied to his left arm, symbolising the colour of his soul. A small blacksmith branch simply named 'Ribbon' is able to forge Extranium weapons, which is the only metal that can fend off spirits. Whenever a weapon is forged for someone, it always comes with a white ribbon for the recipient to wear. This ribbon changes colour according to the wearer's soul: blue for despair, yellow for hope and red for hatred. The blacksmiths charge no fee, but they require Extranium to forge their weapons. Lance's mentor was lucky enough to be a descendant of a researcher who was focused on smuggling Extranium out of a laboratory in chunks to sell it at a high price. The researcher fell victim to a spirit after the Great Divide, so the reserve Extranium was left untouched. It now lies at the mentor's side, in the grand form of a sword.
After Lance finished his food, he stood up from the chair, walked towards a rack full of beaten-down wooden swords, and picked one up. Without instruction, he moved towards the training dummy and began hitting it. A vertical slash to the top right caused the dummy to rapidly spin clockwise. Lance noticed the tip of a wooden sword approaching him from the left and parried it, causing the dummy to spin in the opposite direction. He repeatedly swung at the dummy in different ways, dodging each strike with precision and parrying only when necessary. His mentor was impressed. For someone around 12-14 years of age, Lance's movement was very refined, especially considering he had only been through 4 months of training. After around a minute of watching Lance hammer away at the training dummy, his mentor stepped in to stop him.
"Let me see that one again," he spoke, bending down to meet Lance's height. His voice was gentle, which Lance thought was strange for someone so powerful. Lance did as instructed, and struck the dummy in the same way he had just done. His mentor put his hands on Lance's shoulders and moved them slightly further left to fix his posture. "There. You'll be able to generate a lot more power from your swings if your posture is correct," he smiled. Lance nodded in understanding, and silently continued training. "Right, then," the mentor stood upright, hand on the hilt of his sword. "I'm going on patrol. I'll be a little further out than I usually go this time since we're low on supplies, but that doesn't mean you can go anywhere you want, you got that?" Lance nodded again. "I'll make you another meal when I get back, 'kay? Keep training 'till then, but remember to take breaks."
Just like that, Lance was left alone with his thoughts once more. After 5 minutes of smacking the dummy around, Lance finally dropped his sword arm. He sighed, acknowledging that this training wouldn't help stave off his boredom. He took a look around the house for something to do, but all he found was a pack of cards and a chessboard. Most of the cards were worn, so Lance had memorised which ones were which just by their damage on the back whenever he played with his mentor. The chessboard was missing a white rook and both black bishops, so the two used distinct looking stones as replacements when they played against each other. Lance smiled and put the two games away. He paced back and forth, contemplating his next move. Suddenly, a dangerous yet enthralling thought struck him.
He dashed to the storage room and retrieved a very small, very sharp chunk of Extranium. This was the leftovers from when his mentor had his sword forged. It had never occurred to him before, but this chunk would have the ability to damage spirits. Lance's eyes widened in wonder as he gripped the chunk tighter. A sharp pain suddenly shot through his hand, and he realised he had cut himself in multiple different places. Instead of recoiling, he let out a quiet chuckle and put the chunk in his pocket. Without thinking twice, Lance set off to find and kill a spirit with his own hands. That way, he thought, his mentor would let him join him on patrols.
Lance walked and walked, his already damaged shoes falling apart even more. It was foggy, but the landscape was relatively familiar to him. He had passed the forest where his mentor collected mushrooms and berries, and the river where he collected water and caught the occasional fish. After a few miles, Lance saw something in the distance. He peered through the fog and realised that it was another shack, similar to the one he and his mentor lived in. He approached it with caution, knowing there were times where humans could be more dangerous than spirits, especially when taking into account their recent mutations. When he got to the outskirts of the shack, he put his ear to the wall to check if anyone was home. He heard the sound of fire, and metal clattering against metal. Lance considered his options. The forest was getting harder and harder to harvest from due to the scarcity of resources, so another way of obtaining food would be essential not too long from now. On the other hand, the person in the shack could be strong, and end up overpowering Lance. Since the shack had no windows, he crept to the front door and peeked inside. His eyes widened in shock. The person before him was not a person at all, but a terrifying spirit.
Lance had never seen one in person before. It was tall, but its height was relatively difficult to judge considering it was floating. It had pale blue skin that Lance could see through. His mentor told him that spirits could take on a variety of different appearances, but this one seemed to have the form of a woman with long, flowing hair, which was a similar colour to its skin. It seemed to be in the process of cooking a meal, which Lance thought was odd. His mentor told him that spirits have no need for sustenance, since they are created from the corpses of humans and therefore share similar properties to them. Obviously, a corpse doesn't need food or water, so neither does a spirit. Lance took the Extranium chunk out of his pocket and gripped it tightly.
His heart pounded out of his chest. This was the opportunity he wanted; the time to prove himself to his mentor. Despite that, he found it nearly impossible to move his legs. He steadied his breathing to calm his nerves. The spirit's back was turned, so a surprise attack to the head would be fatal. Lance's legs moved on their own. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, he found himself behind the spirit. He gripped the Extranium chunk until his hand bled once again, and readied himself. He leapt into the air, arm outstretched above him. He stabbed the highest point he could reach on the spirit and quickly pulled his arm away. He fell to the ground and slowly tilted his head upwards to see if he was successful. His heart stopped, as he saw where he had stabbed. He had only reached the spirit's shoulder.
It turned its neck to meet Lance's gaze. It paused for a second, before letting out an agonising roar. Lance scurried away, shielding his ears from the noise. When he regained his footing and turned around, the spirit was already on top of him. It outstretched its fingers, revealing 10 dangerously sharp looking claws. It brought its hand down in an attempt to slice Lance's face to ribbons, but he managed to barely jump backwards to avoid it. He touched his face and felt blood. He knew he would be too slow to defeat it in hand to hand combat, so in a final, last-ditch effort, he threw the Extranium chunk directly at the spirit's head. It effortlessly dodged by simply tilting its head to the left. Lance fell to the ground, defeated. He closed his eyes. He knew it was over. The spirit yelled again, raising its claws to land the killing blow.
…but it never came.
Lance slowly opened his eyes. He saw a figure in front of him, arm raised. The spirit's claws had pierced straight through it, shielding him from the blow. Veins had been pierced. In the figure's other hand, he saw an Extranium sword, gleaming white with valour. Lance stared in horror, as he realised his mentor had stepped in to save his life at the cost of his own. For the first time in his life, Lance screamed.