The air grew heavier as they climbed. Each step stirred the dry smell of withered moss and the faint bite of stone. Above them, the cliffs of the valley clawed toward a dim gray sky, their jagged edges lost in low-hanging clouds. Small glimmers—like fireflies, but glowing a deep red—hovered in the air around them. Linsia halted beside a split stone pillar, her eyes far away as she leaned against the rock.
Ren came up behind her, his breath a mist in the chill. "These lights—are they common here?"
"They’re the Red Stars’ traces," Linsia said. She brushed her fingers through the air, and one of the glimmers drifted closer, its glow throbbing faintly. "Shards of power from an age long gone. They say the stars guard this place, holding what little remains."
Ren watched the light flicker. It gave off no warmth, but its steady gleam eased the worry in his chest. It felt like the Red Chroma inside him. "Didn’t do much guarding when the Worm Emperor came through."
Linsia flinched but stayed silent for a time. Then, with a quiet sigh, she adjusted the strap of her white robe and nodded up the path. "The way flattens ahead. Let’s rest before we go on."
They came to a smoother stretch where thick roots coiled out from the rock wall, making rough seats. Linsia sat first, drawing a flask from her pack. She handed it to Ren, who took a careful sip. The drink inside was sharp and tangy, with a sweetness that lingered.
"Back in the village," Ren began, setting the flask between them, "you spoke of the Worm Emperor. You clearly have a stake in all this. Why do you care so much about the Kaiju?"
Linsia’s hands tightened in her lap. Her gaze fell to the ground, her jaw set as though weighing her words. "The Kaiju aren’t just beasts," she said at last. "They’re life itself. They are the heart of Kaijuland—its strength, its will. Without them, the land would break."
Her words hung heavy in the cold air. Ren leaned forward. "That’s not all, is it? You’re not just doing this for balance. You want to save them, but why?"
Linsia drew a sharp breath, the mist clouding before her face. "Because they deserve to live. Because my home didn’t get that chance."
Ren sat back, her words landing with a weight he understood too well. "Your home," he said softly. "The Worm Emperor?"
"He doesn’t just take," she replied, her voice hard. "He ruins all he sees as a threat. My people—my kin—we had something he feared. Something that might have stopped his plans. He made sure it could never rise against him."
Her knuckles whitened against her knees, her hand trembling ever so slightly. Ren’s throat tightened; he knew that helpless feeling—the ache of watching everything crumble, the hollow shame of living when others did not.
"And now," Linsia said, her voice gentler but unyielding, "I’ll guard what is left. The Kaiju are more than protectors—they are our last chance. If they fall, so does all else."
Ren hesitated, the weight of his own purpose rising to the edge of his thoughts. "I lost my home too," he said, his voice low. "And like you, I want to save what remains."
Linsia looked at him, her face unreadable. For a moment, the cold air stilled between them. Then she stood, brushing dust from her robe. "We should move on. The hermit won’t wait forever."
As Ren followed her, he saw something in her eyes—strength, but also a shadow of sorrow unspoken. He wondered if she would ever tell him the full truth. For now, he let the thought drift, content to walk by her side as the red lights flickered like small stars in the deepening dusk.
----------------------------------------
The wind wailed through the cliffs, pulling hard at Ren’s cloak as he climbed the rough trail. Loose stones shifted underfoot, forcing him to clutch the rock wall to keep his balance. Linsia strode ahead, her steps steady and sure. Above, the sky churned with gray clouds edged faintly red—a sign of the Valley's state.
Ren swiped at the sweat on his brow. “Are you certain we’re heading the right way? Feels like we’ve been climbing forever.”
“The hermit’s home isn’t set on any map, the Chieftain said,” Linsia answered without looking back. “They say it shows itself only to those chosen by the Kaiju.”
Ren gave a short laugh. “So now we’re leaning on hope?”
She halted, her shoulders stiff. “It’s not hope—it’s resolve.” Her tone softened. “Keep going. We’re likely close.”
Before Ren could reply, a low growl swept through the air. He froze. Linsia turned sharply, her gaze sweeping the dark nooks among the stones.
“Did you hear that?” Ren asked, his voice low.
The growl grew louder, its echo bouncing off the cliffs. From behind a large stone, a great shadowed Kaijura padded forth. Its sleek, twisted frame gleamed dark as the blackest night, marked by veins that glowed faintly red. It moved with grace, its glowing eyes locked on them like twin flames.
“Stay back,” Ren said, stepping forward and drawing his blade. His heart pounded, but a steady calm rose as his grip tightened. The Crimson Will stirred deep within him, warmth blooming in his chest. The thick red lines of the Red Chroma spread across his skin.
The Kaijura sprang, faster than thought. Ren’s body acted on its own, twisting aside with a speed that defied sense. His blade swept up, biting into the beast’s flank. The creature snarled, its claws screeching against stone as it slid to a stop.
Ren didn’t falter. He rushed forward, his blade meeting the beast’s next leap head-on. The clash was fierce, their strikes swift and unyielding. The Kaijura’s claws slashed at empty air where Ren had stood, while his blade found flesh again, cutting deep into its shoulder. A sharp pain lanced his side as its claws grazed him, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. With a final, forceful strike, he drove his blade into the Kaijura’s chest. It let out a raw, guttural cry before crumpling.
Panting, Ren staggered, his side aflame with pain. He turned toward Linsia, relief washing over him—until his gaze caught the second Kaijura. It loomed behind her, its fiery eyes fixed on her back.
“Lin-!” he shouted, but the word was barely out before the beast leapt. Its claws sliced through her form as if through mist.
The Kaijura landed heavily, its head darting about in confusion. Ren didn’t wait. With a swift step forward, he swung his blade, cleaving through the creature in one clean arc. It fell, its body breaking apart.
Ren’s gaze whipped back to where Linsia had stood. She stepped out from behind a stone outcrop, her silvery ghost-light shimmer fading into the wind.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“What was that?” he asked, his chest heaving. That wasn’t like any Chroma Power he knew.
Linsia ignored his words, her eyes fixed on the blood staining his side. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” Ren muttered, but she was already beside him, her hands hovering over the wound. A soft silver light streamed from her palms, easing the pain and cooling the heat of the cut. Ren flicked his Cypher on instinct, but it read nothing—no trace, no sign of what she’d done.
“How did you—” he began, but a low, rough voice cut him off.
“Curious.”
Ren’s head jerked up. A man stood atop a stone spire, his white hair stark against the storm-dark sky. His form was solid, each muscle honed, yet his eyes carried a deep, quiet sorrow.
The man’s gaze swept over Ren and Linsia before his lips twisted into a faint, grim smile. “You’ve met one foe,” he said. “Let’s see how you fare against another.”
The wind swirled as the man leapt down, his boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Ren tightened his grip on his blade. Linsia stepped nearer, her hands raised, silver light flickering faintly. The stranger chuckled low, the sound chilling as the storm overhead growled to life.
----------------------------------------
The broken tower rose high against the blood-hued sky, its face split with cracks and harsh edges. The same strange material seen in the valley's ruins caught the fading light, glimmering faintly. The old man walked ahead, his steps slow, his wide shoulders bent forward as if bearing some unseen load.
Ren lagged behind, his boots grinding against loose stone. He leaned close to Linsia, his voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t trust him. Something feels wrong.”
Linsia kept her eyes forward. “We’ve no choice. Keep watch.”
Ren’s Cypher stirred within him, humming softly in his mind. As he set his focus on the old man, streams of cold truth swept across his sight.
Base Level: 15
Class: None
Chroma Ascendancy: None
Chroma Level: 0
He blinked, startled. He had expected something odd, but this made no sense. A base level of fifteen paired with a Chroma level of 0? Not low, not tainted—nothing. His hand tightened around his blade’s hilt as unease gnawed at him. Yet, he stifled the urge to speak.
The old man halted at the tower’s mouth. Without a word, he stepped into the shadows, leaving Ren and Linsia to trade wary looks before following.
The air inside clung heavy, thick with dampness and the stink of moss and long-faded life. Light sifted through the broken walls, casting sharp shapes on the bare stone floor. The old man pointed toward a scatter of flat stones before leaning against a pillar. His face, rough and stern, showed no feeling.
Ren sat, the chill of the stone biting through his pants. Linsia took her place beside him, stiff and on edge. Ren cleared his throat. “We’re seeking the Crystal of Will. Do you know where it lies?”
The old man’s gaze did not falter. He stood silent, his look carved from rock.
Ren’s patience snapped. He leapt to his feet. “If you’re not helping, we’re wasting time!”
Linsia caught his wrist. “Sit down.”
For a heartbeat, he lingered, then sank back with a huff. The old man’s mouth twitched, and for a fleeting moment, Ren thought he might speak. Instead, the man laughed—a low, grating sound that echoed like far-off thunder.
“You want the Shard?” the old man said, his voice steeped in scorn. “I know where it is. But I won’t tell you.”
Linsia’s calm cracked. “How can you say that? Don’t you care for the Kaiju? For the Kaijulands?”
For the first time, Ren caught the bitterness in the old man’s eyes, a flicker of something deep—pain, or perhaps regret. The man scoffed. “Care? There’s no hope. Not with the Shard. Not with anything short of a power far beyond it.”
“I can wield such power,” Linsia said. Her voice was steady, though Ren heard the strain beneath it. “I am an Essence Eater.”
The old man froze, his eyes sharpening like a drawn blade. Then his mouth curled into a sneer. “Bold words. But I saw you fight. You fear your gift.”
Ren’s mind reeled. The Cypher had told him that she was an Essence Eater, yet she had never spoken it aloud. Why? And why had she withheld her power?
The old man stepped closer, his weight seeming to fill the room. “If you mean to wield your gift—if you dare take it fully—you’ll have to feed on…” His words halted mid-step, his mouth set in a grim line. His eyes bore into Linsia, seeking answers she did not give.
At last, he turned to Ren, his lip curling. “And you. They sent a green one.” His tone dripped disdain.
Ren felt his chest tighten. How did the man know he was sent here? He swallowed the sharp words rising in his throat, unwilling to betray anything.
The man gave a short grunt, shaking his head. “You’ve got its touch in you, haven’t you? From the moment stepped on this world. I can sense it.”
“What do you mean?” Ren asked, his voice low and steady.
The old man waved the question off, sighing. “Fine, then.” He straightened, his bearing suddenly that of a king in his hall. “If you’re so bent on it, show me your worth in a trial.”
Ren and Linsia both spoke at once, their voices clashing. “A trial?”
The old man laughed again, his mirth rumbling like a storm.
----------------------------------------
The tower’s hall felt colder now, the earlier glimmers of light replaced by a deep, unkind stillness. Ren leaned against the rough stone wall, arms folded, eyes locked on the dark winding stair that led to the testing chamber. A low hum, like far-off thunder, thrummed from above. It pressed against his chest, heavy and unyielding, growing weightier with each breath.
“Do you reckon he’s watching us?” Linsia asked. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers worrying at the edge of her black sleeve.
Ren’s gaze shifted to her. “Likely.”
She let out a quiet laugh, almost lost to the still air. “Figures. That old grouch doesn’t seem the trusting sort.”
Ren didn’t answer. His thoughts were already racing, spinning through all the paths the trial might take. The word “test” hung in his mind like a blade, sharp and waiting to fall. He didn’t know its shape, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t fail.
Linsia leaned back, her silver hair catching the dim glow from the lone rune carved into the ceiling. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” Ren said.
“Of what?”
“How to win.”
Linsia frowned, though her voice stayed light. “We don’t even know what we’re facing.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ren pushed off the wall, pacing the uneven stone floor. His boots scraped against the ground. “We’ll figure it out. We have to.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Linsia said, her tone a blend of jest and doubt.
Ren stopped and turned to her. “Because it needs to be.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the hum above, louder now, like a heartbeat in the stone itself.
“I don’t like this place,” Linsia said, her voice low. “It feels... off.”
Ren glanced at the walls. The faint black veins running through the stone seemed to shift, pulsing faintly, as though the tower itself was awake and watching. He’d noticed it before, but now it felt alive.
“It’s not the place,” he said. “It’s what waits for us.”
Linsia rose, brushing dust from her coat. Her hands trembled, though her movements were steady. “I’ll be ready.”
Ren nodded. “Good. We’ll need to be.”
She stepped closer, her gaze studying his face. “You’re scared, too. Aren’t you?”
“I’m not scared,” he said quickly.
She raised a brow but let it go. Turning toward the spiral stair, her eyes grew distant. “I think it’s more than just a test of skill or power. The way he looked at us... it’s like he’s waiting to see something else.”
“Like what?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. But we’ll find out soon.”
Ren’s fists clenched. Doubt wasn’t an option. Whatever the trial brought, he’d meet it.
The hum above grew louder, the air thick with a faint charge. The rune on the ceiling flickered, once, twice, then held steady in a dim glow.
Linsia drew a breath. “Here it comes.”
Ren forced a grin. “Just don’t slow me down.”
Her laugh rang true, if only for a heartbeat. “You wish.”
Together, they turned to the stair, their steps echoing against the stone. The weight of the trial lay ahead, heavy as the tower itself, but they moved as one.