Across the academy, rooms shifted and blocked my screams, but even when nobody could hear them, they continued. Days turned into weeks. Weeks shifted into months. Months shifted into years. Occasionally, my cries would stop, and there would be a pause across the hallways as they awaited my decision. Then, inevitably, the torment continued.

A few students whispered that it was a ghost. Most believed it was another student using their path ability to mess with everyone. A couple of conspiracy theorists said that it was the academy itself that was in pain.

Nobody believed the sound was real.

After all, no human could survive an ordeal that painful.

Three years passed and went, and the screams became nothing more than a myth.

If only they knew the truth. I thought. That I was the source.

I chuckled at the thought, then groaned as pain shot through me. I’d thought being in constant pain would be hurt mixed with a normal life. I was wrong.

It was harder than that. Much harder.

Eating, sleeping, and even moving, all of it was impossibly challenging. I couldn’t hold my food because my hands hurt. I couldn’t walk because my feet ached. When I slept, no position would give me rest.

In three years I had barely moved, doing the bare minimum to make sure I didn’t lose my muscles.

Thankfully, the pain wasn’t so bad today.

I’d opened my 26th valoa passageway three weeks ago, so my pain was dying down, and I could even walk across the dungeon without collapsing. Which was a marked improvement from just a year ago, when I'd been incapacitated the entire month after opening a passageway.

I think I’m growing tolerant of the pain. I thought. I was in my room, where a layer of clouds had formed, expanding endlessly as far as the eye could see. In the middle was a single man in a grey robe, a mess of tangled white hair dropping over his shoulders.

It was Laakari.

I sat on a nearby cloud, listening to the elderly man with rapt attention.

“So, Suna, there are fourteen types of path abilities. Armor, aura, communication, control, enhancement, flight, healing, illusion, influence, intelligence, insight, manipulation, summoning, stealth, and transformation. The lines formed by your open valoa passageways decide what type of path abilities you receive. Unlock all the passageways here, connecting the heart and the hand, and you might get a manipulation or armor ability. Draw one here, between the heart and the back and you could end up with enhancement or flight-”

“-Teshima, turn off the stream,” Kynari’s voice shattered the calm atmosphere.

Laakari’s body disappeared abruptly, his body disintegrating into thousands of motes of blue valoa.

“Kynari, I was watching that,” I sighed, pain pounding through my muscles as I turned to face the entrance to my room.

The nine-year-old girl barged through my door without pausing. Kynari smelt of seasoned food and her expression was as dour as a downpour, her feet stomping across the rocky ground.

She was angry.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“People keep giving me hugs and telling me they love me,” Kynari’s orange eyes blazed with fury.

“Those monsters,” I replied.

Kynari dropped down onto a nearby cloud. Up close, her hair was severely mangled, and she was wearing the fancy clothes she hated. Their high collar made her neck itch.

Draped over her shoulders was a black veil.

“This is your fault,” Kynari whined. “I had to go to your memorial, and it’s really, really annoying.”

I shook my head in sympathy, and then winced as needle-like pain stabbed through my body. Today was the day after my birthday.

Also known as the anniversary of my death.

Kynari glanced at me curiously from the corner of her eye, “not hurting much today?”

“I don’t feel good enough to fight,” I said. “But maybe good enough to move around.”

I expected her to drag me off into the dungeon trials immediately, but instead, she wiggled beside me, and the two of us rested on the clouds, watching the empty blue sky.

The quiet was peaceful, but unusual.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You left the memorial pretty early.”

“Mmhmm,” Kynari hummed. “Why do you watch this one so much?”

She hadn't answered my question, but I didn’t pry.

“Because it proves that someone believes in me,” I answered. “Laakari doesn’t waste time. He wouldn’t teach me about valoa and the paths if he thought I’d fail to obtain them.”

“Huh, that’s kind of nice,” Kynari gazed at the spot where Laakari had been sitting. “Do you still send him those reports you make?”

“I’ve got a new one right here. Teshima, end the stream recreation.”

The clouds disappeared, replaced by a thousand reflective surfaces. Every inch of my room had been covered in mirrors, and I dragged myself up to my desk, waving at Kynari to stay seated when she tried to get up. I powered through the pain, watching dozens of different versions of myself doing the same, each glowing bright blue as the dungeon’s valoa flowed through them.

When I’d picked up what I wanted, I returned to my seat, handing Kynari a piece of paper with meticulous handwriting scrawled onto it.

Suna Teshima’s report:

Viewers: 0.

Crossroads rank: N/A.

Path stuff:

- Path: None.

- Path step: N/A.

- Path ability: N/A.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Valoa stuff:

- Valoa absorption rate tier: N/A.

- Valoa count: 0/0.

- Valoa rank: N/A.

- Valoa containers filled: 0/4.

Passageway stuff:

Valoa passageways unlocked: 26/102.

- Head: 3/3.

- Neck: 2/2.

- Arms: 12/14.

- Lips: 1/1.

- Chest: 3/6.

- Back: 4/12.

- Hands: 1/2.

- Shoulders: 1/2.

Other areas (all locked):

- Eyes, abdomen, upper legs, lower legs, and feet.

The right side of my body had been the focus of my initial passageway unlocking. Mostly because I’d followed my hand up to my head. But I needed to work on my shoulders and hands on the left side of my body as well, connecting them to my heart.

“Wow,” Kynari examined the paper thoroughly. “This is super empty.”

“Your head is empty,” I snatched the paper back, careful not to crinkle it. “I made it based on Laakari’s lessons, and his book. You should read it.”

“Can’t. I’m too busy training,” Kynari smiled. “Are you going to join me today?”

Am I? I wondered.

I didn’t feel too bad today, with only a few minor pains along my back.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

“Finally.” Kynari's lips broke out into a radiant smile, and she clasped my hand in hers, “come on, let’s go.”

My door opened up into the first dungeon trial, the blue room.

It was a meditation room. A fact I’d only learnt after a year when Kynari’s father had asked me why I had my eyes open the entire time I was inside.

That was embarrassing. I flushed as I recalled the memory.

Next, we passed by Quebracabezas’ puzzle trial, and I gave the green-skinned creature a friendly wave. He waved back at me with his four arms, a new board game scenario on display for me to solve.

Kynari refused to look at the boards, rushing past them and dragging me into the fighting room.

“Come on, come on,” she said.

“Why are you so pushy today?” I asked, fighting back against my screaming limbs.

Opening valoa passageways was similar to breaking a bone, except instead of breaking and hurting in one spot, the unlocked passageway sent shard-like impurities flying into the rest of my body. The result was pain. Incredible amounts of pain.

“I just don’t want to be late,” Kynari said.

She’s in one of her weird moods again. I restrained myself from sighing.

Swish.

Kynari let go of me as we entered the training room, choosing a spot to sit in the corner. Then she plopped her chin into her hands, watching me closely.

“This again?” I asked.

Every now and then Kynari would drag me into the fighting room, but instead of training, she just watched me, smiling the entire time. It was strange, but I’d come to accept her eccentricities.

Swish.

I turned around, holding my hand in the air, “Teshima, may I please have my weapon.”

The walls of the fighting room gurgled, and a thin pole of wood shot out from beneath me, entering my hand with a smooth swing.

It was a broom.

“Can I please have something cooler?” I asked.

The room didn’t respond.

When I’d first recovered enough to wield a weapon, I’d imagined all the amazing things I could practice with. Swords, knives, spears, axes, and more. Teshima Academy held all types of weapons in reserve for its students. I’d seen them when I was younger and went exploring.

However, the building refused to give me anything sharp or pointy. So, I got a broom.

Swish.

Kynari giggled and I glanced at her.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she batted her eyes innocently.

Before I could follow-up the ground trembled and transformed. Several lines of valoa appeared, each glowing a different color. I moved over each one, sweeping them aside with broad strokes. When one was done, another appeared instantly, and I shifted my stance to brush it as quickly as possible.

This was my training.

Teshima is messing with me. I thought. This isn’t training. It's cleaning practice.

It wasn’t an easy task.

Valoa streaks lit up across the floor every few seconds. Most were ways to reach, but others were difficult, and would disappear after a few seconds. If too many disappeared, I lost.

To make sure I reached all of them in time, I had to avoid tripping over my own feet and I needed to shift my stance constantly. Every now and then Kybari would give me a pioneer, or the dungeon floor would light up where I needed to step to improve my footwork.

Swish.

So, this is my life now. I thought. Cleaning, and studying.

Admittedly, it was a pretty good life.

The trials were fun, especially the puzzles Cuebracabezas made for me, and I enjoyed studying Laakari’s streams. He sent a new one every week, though he tried to keep things simple for me.

The training was also interesting, even if I didn’t want to admit it. It was like a mix of physical work and puzzles. If I didn’t fall or miss my target, then the glowing lines of valoa I was sweeping would begin to form intricate patterns. Those were harder to sweep correctly, so I needed to focus twice as hard.

Train. Meditate. Study. Puzzles. Pain. Repeat.

Swish.

As months turned into years, I developed a consistent routine.

Every time I unlocked a new passageway my muscles curled in agony, but I refused to remain bedridden. Progress was slow, but as I forced myself to move, I knew I was growing more tolerant of my pain. At first it took four weeks after unlocking a passageway for me to hold the broom. Then three. Then two.

After another year, I only needed a single week to recover, even though each new passageway hurt more than the ones that were unlocked before it.

Pain was temporary. Training was eternal.

Swish.

On my tenth birthday the patterns started to move. They would shift out of my strikes, and deftly dodge my stabs.

The new level of difficulty was a dastardly addition. My stances now needed to be more flexible, and my footwork was forced to shift constantly instead of staying in one place.

I tackled my sweeping task with renewed vigor and excitement.

Swish.

Another year passed, and my eleventh birthday arrived.

Before me lay a spotless floor, every new line of valoa swept aside the moment it formed. My feet reacted instantly to new opponents, each possible shift in position and weight repeated until they were second nature.

My stances were impeccable. My timing was absolute. My swipes were deadly.

There was nothing more I could learn from cleaning.

“I’m disappointed, Teshima,” I shouted, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Nothing you do can challenge me, I could sweep these all day!”

The dungeon walls rippled, the lights of valoa springing to life around me. Except this time, they were swirling all around me, spirals and patterns flickering through the air. I raised my broom and stabbed out at them, but although my footwork was fine, my arms weren’t used to the new motions.

Every stab was new, and every cut was a discovery. I danced across the fighting room, pushing my pain aside as I weaved my broom across the room.

Swish.

For once, I was moving in a way that resembled a true battle.

Swish.

“That’s more like it,” I smiled.

I spent two more years adjusting to the moving patterns. The glowing lights of valoa took the form of people now, and I leapt across the floor, tearing my enemies apart. They fought back, stroking at me with weapons and fists, but each step I took was nimble and efficient, years of practice eliminating my brother’s bad training habits.

My arms that had once been useless were now bulging with muscles, turning the broom wherever I willed it, and my back had grown sturdier, lending power to each swing.

Each enemy was dispatched with ease, their movements growing predictable. The only thing I couldn’t understand was Kynari.

Her grin grew wider with each passing year. It felt like she knew something I didn't.

Which was impossible since she was Kynari.

Swish.

On the eve of my thirteenth birthday, I noticed something new.

Swish.

What the heck is that? I paused.

I turned around, trying to spot the source of the phenomenon, but the only thing I saw was Kynari, her cheerful grin suspiciously wide.

Swish.

Okay, I definitely felt something. I narrowed my eyes. Wait, what’s that?

There was a slight disruption in the patterns of the valoa summoned by Teshima. It was miniscule, no bigger than a nut, but enough to catch my attention. Several motes of valoa were displaced by a gust of air that I hadn’t created.

Once, I would have ignored it. But I’d repeated my movements thousands of times over the years. I knew what I could do, and I knew how my movements affected my surroundings.

Someone other than me was moving around the dungeon.

Swish.

“There it was again,” I murmured.

I checked my surroundings immediately this time, and I saw the same disorder plaguing the other swathes of valoa around me. Instead of pausing, I brushed them away, watching my surroundings closely.

Swish.

But this time I tried something new. Instead of sweeping away the valoa, I tried to trace the source of the disturbances. If one came from the left, I shifted to the right. If one appeared on the right, I swiveled to the left.

It was a slow strategy, but as time passed a new pattern began to emerge. Once I spotted it, I knew that the end was in sight.

Swish.

“I see you,” I said.

My entire body twisted, every section working in tandem to thrust the tip of my broom into the center of the disturbance. Wood met flesh as I struck my hidden enemy, the source of the mysterious sounds and the disruptor of my practice.

In front of me was Forza, the paragon of Violence.

His wide grin matched his daughters, and his fingers curled around the tip of my broom, stopping it right before it reached his heart.

“So, you finally noticed me.”