While three robed figures sit neatly in their chairs, he lounges on the velvet seat as if the room belongs to him alone. One hand hangs over the backrest, the other drops loosely at his side. His posture appears careless, but his actions are not.
"I have waited long enough," he murmurs.
He rises slowly, stretching his body. "Even before the Lady foretells it… I already know this day will come." He straightens, continuing, "But everything will be too late once it happens."
One of the robed figures responds, "Too late? It?"
Jiza lifts his gaze to the shadow-filled ceiling. "If that crystal is touched by human hands… and he survives. Its power will flow, and the soul bound to it will return, Paragon."
The room freezes.
Jiza's blade hangs a handspan from Hiro's head—Hiro dodges instantly, far too fast for any normal human.
"Pathetic child," Jiza spits, springing up and seizing his sword, his stance forming in a heartbeat. His tone is not anger, but disappointment, even offense. "His life is nothing but suffering, yet you still wish to rise?"
Hiro remains silent. His face is blank, his eyes hollow—no consciousness behind them. Someone else is using his body.
Jiza charges.
SPLASH.
Steel pierces flesh—but the wound refuses to remain open. It seals, tendons stitching themselves together.
Jiza steps back. "Impossible."
"Why should I care about this boy?" His head tilts, his lips curling. "I have returned to life—that is all I think about."
When Hiro speaks, the voice is not his. It seeps out, colder than the river behind them.
Something shifts within Hiro—not power, but presence. Someone occupies the depths of his subconscious.
Jiza raises his sword again. "Then it begins," he murmurs. "At last."
Hiro steps forward. "Then show me. Make my awakening worth it."
Jiza roars and strikes. Hiro slips beneath the swing, landing a flawless blow to Jiza's jaw. Bone cracks. Jiza does not fall—he counters instantly, a brutal vertical slash that nearly splits Hiro to the ribs.
Hiro staggers—then the wound closes again.
They trade blows—no elegance, no balance, only brutality. Hiro's fists shatter bone. Jiza's blade tears flesh that refuses death. Blood strikes the ground, vanishes, then returns.
At last, Jiza drives Hiro into the earth, pinning his shoulder with a boot.
"Surrender," he commands. "I will end it cleanly."
Hiro lifts his head, smiling faintly. "You missed something."
Jiza's eyes flick upward—his own sword floats above him, poised to strike.
He leaps aside, allowing the blade to bury itself between them.
Hiro rises. Jiza resets his stance, now unarmed.
"I will fight you like a man," Jiza says.
Hiro nods once. "A fairer fight."
They charge.
The darkness thins.
I open my eyes and stare up at the treetops, the wind brushing my skin like a cold reminder that—somehow—I am still alive. The river murmurs beside me. My body feels heavy, yet whole.
Too whole.
"What… happened?" My voice is rough. "Why am I not dead?"
Something small stands near the water.
"A cat," I mutter.
It walks toward me, drops a fresh fish by my leg, and stares at me as if waiting for something. My chest tightens for no clear reason.
"Thank you," I whisper, picking up the fish.
The cat leaves, then returns with another one, dropping it with an irritated flick of its tail.
I skewer the first fish, spark a fire with two stones, and hold it over the flame.
The cat comes closer. I reach for the second fish—
It growls, offended.
"Relax," I say, still taking it. "I am cooking it, not stealing it."
The cat swipes my hand.
A sharp sting. A bead of blood.
"I will give it back," I mutter, rubbing the spot through my sleeve. "Just wait."
It meows once.
The fire crackles. Smoke rises.
And for the first time since waking, my breath flows steadily.