Eight months.
That was how long it had taken for the valley to forget what peace felt like.
The ground was scarred beyond recognition—craters layered atop craters, stone melted and reformed, trees long since reduced to fossilized stumps or pulverized dust. Even the waterfall had carved a new path, diverted by repeated shockwaves that bent the land like soft clay.
And still—
Their success rate against Lunaria remained under twenty percent.
It was a number none of them said aloud anymore.
Ash knew it the moment his blade was knocked aside for the tenth time that morning. He skidded across the stone, boots carving sparks, chest heaving as Lunaria's presence loomed—calm, untouched, infuriatingly distant.
Kael slammed into the ground moments later, coughing blood.
Riven disengaged before the counterstrike could land, barely escaping with a torn sleeve and a gash across his ribs.
Juno's chains shattered mid-formation.
Again.
They regrouped instinctively, backs to one another, breathing hard.
Eight months of refinement.
Eight months of speed, combat, intent, concealment, Overdrive resistance.
And yet Lunaria stood before them as if time itself refused to acknowledge their progress.
Under twenty percent.
"That's enough."
Lunaria's voice cut cleanly through the tension.
They froze.
He stepped back for the first time that day, hands folding behind his back. No aura. No pressure. Just stillness.
Kael spat blood into the dirt. "You stopping us because we're disappointing?"
"No," Lunaria replied calmly. "Because continuing like this will only deepen your habits."
Riven frowned. "Habits?"
"Yes," Lunaria said. "You fight me the way you think you should fight."
He turned slowly, silver eyes sharp.
"Not the way you fight when you're cornered."
Ash stiffened. "What are you saying?"
Lunaria looked at each of them in turn.
"Today will be different."
The air changed.
Not violently—but intimately. Ash felt it crawl beneath his skin, like fingers brushing the inside of his skull.
"Lunaria," Juno said cautiously, "what are you—"
"I'm accessing your minds," Lunaria said flatly.
The world snapped.
Ash screamed.
Not aloud—but inside.
His vision fractured, the valley dissolving into shards of memory. He saw fire. Blood. A battlefield littered with bodies he couldn't save. He heard screams he had buried under discipline and duty.
You were too slow.
He dropped to one knee, hands clutching his head as his chest tightened painfully.
Nearby, Kael roared.
Not in pain—
In fury.
He saw it in his eyes even before Kael charged—memories ripping through him: standing powerless behind stronger figures, being overlooked, discarded, forgotten. Every failure, every time he had sworn to become stronger and still fallen short.
Riven staggered backward, expression cracking.
His world turned cold and precise—memories of choices made, people sacrificed for efficiency, outcomes achieved at the cost of his own humanity. The version of himself who never hesitated stared back at him with hollow eyes.
Juno collapsed outright.
Chains erupted around him wildly, uncontrolled, as his fear surfaced—not of death, but of chaos. Of losing control again. Of being crushed beneath forces he could not bind.
Lunaria stood at the center of it all.
Unmoving.
Watching.
"Do not resist," he said, voice echoing everywhere and nowhere. "Do not suppress."
The pressure spiked.
Ash's breath hitched as his fear twisted into something sharper—rage. His sorrow ignited. His regret burned.
He stopped thinking.
He moved.
Ash lunged with a snarl torn straight from his chest, killing intent exploding outward, wild and unrefined. He didn't aim. He didn't calculate.
He struck.
Lunaria's eyes widened—just a fraction—as Ash's blade cut across his shoulder.
Blood sprayed.
Kael followed, completely berserk.
Lightning tore from his body, uncontrolled and violent, his strikes feral and relentless. One connected—fist slamming into Lunaria's ribs with a thunderous crack that echoed through the valley.
Riven appeared next—not precise, not elegant—desperate. Shadows lashed out in jagged arcs, one slicing across Lunaria's thigh.
Juno screamed and pulled.
Every chain he had—every ounce of mana—wrapped around Lunaria's arm and torso. They didn't shatter this time.
They held.
For a heartbeat.
Lunaria slid back several meters, boots carving trenches through stone.
Silence fell.
The four of them stood panting, eyes wild, bodies trembling, barely aware of what they had done.
Blood dripped from Lunaria's shoulder, ribs, and leg.
Then—
He laughed.
A low, quiet sound.
"Well done," Lunaria said.
The pressure vanished.
The memories receded like a tide pulling back, leaving only exhaustion and raw emotion in their wake. Ash collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, hands shaking violently.
Kael dropped beside him, laughter bubbling up between gasps. "Did… did we just—"
"Yes," Lunaria said calmly. "You did."
He stepped forward, inspecting the wounds without concern.
"You landed multiple hits," he continued. "Not through technique. Not through strategy."
He looked at them—really looked at them.
"But through truth."
Ash swallowed hard. "That wasn't control."
"No," Lunaria agreed. "That was berserk."
Juno's voice trembled. "Then… did we fail again?"
Lunaria shook his head.
"You succeeded."
They stared at him.
"You have successfully grasped your berserk state," Lunaria said. "The version of yourselves that fights when fear overrides restraint."
Riven clenched his fists. "That thing nearly tore us apart."
"Yes," Lunaria replied evenly. "And it nearly tore me."
He turned away, blood still dripping freely.
"Next," Lunaria said, "you will learn how to enter that state without losing yourselves to it."
Ash felt his heart pound.
Control berserk?
Kael laughed weakly. "You're insane."
Lunaria glanced back, eyes cold and certain.
"No," he said. "I'm preparing you."
The valley fell silent once more.
But this time—
Hope lingered in the air.
Because for the first time in eight months—
They hadn't just scratched Lunaria.
They had hurt him.
And now—
The real training was about to begin.