Yana Isla jolted awake.

Her eyes snapped open, a silent scream dying in her throat. Her heart hammered, fierce and frantic, as the nightmare clung to her.

She lay paralyzed. The sheets twisted around her like chains, as dread not only filled but also flooded her, cold and suffocating - intoxicating.

Four months had passed since the event, yet the memories haunted her as if they were from yesterday. Isla could barely get any sleep throughout the night.

Isla knew of Damian’s identity as a herald. What caused such a surge and a qualitative change in the boy's morals was undoubtedly the memories that he had reattained before collapsing. She was sure of it.

Overwhelmed by the weight of her sorrow, tears traced down her cheeks. Each sob wracked her body. Her shoulders shook violently as she tried to stifle the cries that ripped from her throat. Her hands were fisted in her lap, knuckles white, as if the sheer force of her grip could hold back her pain. But it couldn't. The silence of the room was filled with despair.

She despaired. For a ten year old child, the sight was overbearing. As the past sight was to be etched into her mind forevermore.

What was more fearful than the past was the future.

Isla was a smart child, a natural genius, so to speak. Though it didn’t take a genius to realize that once that boy held onto power, the times would change. The past would resurface, and the future would crumble.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her racing heart, willing the darkness to envelop her with the forgetfulness of slumber.

As Isla breathed softly, each gentle exhale barely stirring the air, the night gradually began to withdraw. Outside her window, the first hints of dawn began to seep into the cavern.

She and all the other quillin lived inside Kirin mountain. Yet, they could still perceive the passage of day and night. It was all with the help of a special tree species.

Chromols were crystallic plants that could photosynthesize. Their leaves acted as a biochemical reservoir that collected non atmospheric elementals, mainly during the starset. During the day, crystal degradation provided a subsidiary element for photosynthetic assimilation, especially under flooded conditions.

Since the territories of the Yan clan were renowned for their rainy weather, those trees thrived in the mountainside area.

But what was so special about a tree having an ability to photosynthesize? At first glance, its upper form resembled any other tree, with the sprawling branches and clothed in a lush canopy of deep green leaves. But the true marvel began where the ground met its roots.

Instead of normal roots that you’d imagine a tree to have, Chromol’s roots were transparent crystals of various colors. At night, their looks were reminiscent of winter icicles, gleaming yet colorless.

On each morning, though, the Chromols’ crystal roots caught the first hints of light and refracted it throughout the abode of quillin. The light, broken into countless beams and softened to a gentle luminescence, filled the cavern with a dawn of dancing colors. It nourished the hearts of the people who dwelled within this secluded haven, giving them not only light but also the required oxygen. That’s right, instead of leaves, chromol produced oxygen via its crystallic roots.

Isla had only just surrendered to the elusive arms of sleep, her mind finally quiet. However, just as sleep draped its comforting veil over her body, her master’s voice, sharp and impatient, cut through it. The room was dim, with only the faintest hints of predawn light seeping through the curtains, promising a few more precious minutes of rest.

"Isla! How much longer are you planning to sleep?"

The words shattered the brief peace she had managed to find. Isla’s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding with resignation. The room was still cloaked in semi-darkness, a reminder of how early it was.

“How long are you planning on making me wait?”

With a weary sigh, she pushed the covers back, feeling the cool air of cavern brush against her skin. She rose as she began to prepare for the day.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

She peeled off the soft fabrics of her daily wear, replacing them with the training uniform. Next, she turned her attention to her spiked gauntlets, which lay solemnly on a dark wooden shelf, catching the faint crystalline light that seeped through her window.

Lifting them, she felt their familiar weight in her hands. Each gauntlet was crafted with the metal spikes arranged to complement the offensive movements of quillin combat style. Sliding her hands into them, she felt the cool metal against her skin.

Isla then gave a final glance around her room, her gaze lingering momentarily on the quiet sanctuary she was leaving behind. Taking a deep breath, she stepped towards the door, her posture irresolute and her mind unfocused.

----------------------------------------

As Fatma sprinted through the dense forests of Kirin Mountain, her instincts were screaming at her. Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps that seemed to scrape her throat raw. The terrifying monster that pursued her was relentless.

Every shadow in the forest seemed to leap at her with menacing intent. Danger lurked at every corner. The damp earth beneath her feet was treacherous, scattered with rocks that threatened to trip her at every step.

Fatma's legs burned with the exertion, her muscles screaming in protest as she pushed them beyond their limits, driven by the raw fear of what would happen if she slowed, even for a moment.

The monster's presence loomed larger with each second. The fear was all-consuming, but it forged her will into something unbreakable, propelling her forward through the forests of Kirin.

“You are getting better at prolonging your death. Not bad, I guess.”

Hakan said as she threw an icicle that pierced through her back and tore Fatma’s lungs.

A scream was trapped in her throat, stifled by the sudden flood of pain. Her steps faltered, her body's warmth bleeding out into the brisk autumn air, mingling with the sharp tang of blood.

Fatma collapsed beneath the cruel weight of her injury, the moss around her stained vivid red. Each attempt to breathe was suffocating instead. The air whistled painfully through the wound. The cold of the icicle inside her was as merciless as the monster she had failed to flee from.

She was a moment away from death, when her body was fully restored to the state it had been in. The icicle protruding through her chest disappeared, the pain and injuries were gone, and even the clothes were repaired.

It was with the help of Hakan’s inborn ability. She was a seeker of the fate pathway. The name of the ability was ‘Self-reversion’. As the name suggests, she could reverse any of her actions. This ability was one among the many reasons she was hailed as one of the strongest among rank two seekers.

“You are really desperate. But still not enough.”

Said Hakan. Fatma almost managed to step out of the Yan clan’s territories. The moment she stepped out of the barrier, she would have a chance to be attacked by keepers.

If Fatma were to be killed or harmed by others, Hakan wouldn’t be able to reverse it.

“Is… is it over?”

Fatma desperately asked.

“No, we still have seven minutes. Half of your minute break is almost over.”

Hakan said as she started conjuring an even bigger icicle. This one was not for throwing, but tearing apart.

Fatma trembled in fear and frenzy at the sight of it. She knew if she didn’t manage to avoid Hakan for seven minutes, her limbs would be severed.

Fatma tried to stand but couldn’t. She was out of stamina. She tried again, yet to no avail. Her legs wouldn't move.

“How relaxed. Haha. Wonderful. What body parts should I start with? Eyes? Fingers? Seven minutes is a lot.”

Her face pressed into the cold, damp earth, the soil clung to Fatma’s skin, mingling with the grit and fallen leaves. Her body, overwhelmed by exhaustion, refused to move, leaving her feeling as though she were sinking deeper into the ground with every passing second.

“Master…”

Fatma whispered in a low voice. She had seven seconds of break left, yet instead of trying to pull her body out of the ground, she opened her mouth. Hakan was disappointed at the sight.

“What?”

She still asked. It was her student’s choice whether she wanted to run or be torn into the slices of minced human flesh.

“Fha… Ha… Fhah….”

Breathless, Fatma struggled to muster up the word she was trying to say. Yet, she concentrated and pulled off her remaining stamina and willpower in her voice.

“Fhack You!”

Hakan was expecting her student to plead for mercy. Her disappointment slowly transformed into something else.

To what? Fatma couldn’t quite get what. Yet she felt overly terrified. Chills ran down her spine and screeched across her skin.

Three seconds left.

“Hahaha!”

Hakan gave a loud laugh.

“Haha…”

Fatma gave a silent laugh. Since she knew she was fucked.

Soon, Fatma was turned into a piece of art. The pain outweighed all the past sufferings she had gone through.

From that day onward, Fatma would never dare curse at her master.