After the class ended, Elarion quietly rose from his seat. The other students clustered in animated groups—some laughing, others still debating what they'd witnessed.
"Wasn't it smoke?"
"No, man, it was something else entirely..."
Their whispers lingered in his ears as he walked straight toward his house, avoiding their curious gazes.
Elarion's dwelling stood near the city's edge, bordering the forest—an old wooden structure that appeared abandoned from outside. Inside contained just a single lamp, sparse utensils, and an ancient notebook where he documented his training.
Night had deepened, yet his mind refused rest. He shut the door and ventured toward the forest behind his home. The cold air wrapped around him while tree branches clashed softly, exchanging whispered secrets.
Finding an open clearing, Elarion settled on the ground, took a deep breath and muttered, "Alright... let's see if my familiar actually listens to me or not."
He closed his eyes. In his mind, the same hazy orb materialized—the one that had appeared during class. As he slowly recalled it—that golden eye, that icy voice—a whisper cut through his thoughts.
"You've found me again..."
His heartbeat quickened as the air grew colder. Suddenly, a faint light emerged from his chest—a thin trail of smoke rose, swirled, and hovered directly before him.
It was Remn.
The familiar floated—a small orb of mist with that same golden eye gradually opening at its center. The air around them crystallized, as if the forest itself observed this moment.
"So... you're real," Elarion whispered.
Remn's eye shifted—acknowledging his words. Silence stretched between them until a faint voice resonated within his mind.
"At last... you've called me again."
Elarion stiffened, glancing around. "Who said that?"
"I did," came the voice, cold yet clear, emanating directly from within him as Remn's eye flickered faintly.
Elarion's breath caught. "You... you can communicate with me?"
"We've always been able to talk... you just forgot."
A peculiar blend of fear and curiosity filled his heart. "Forgot? You mean... we've met before?"
Remn paused before its eye glowed softly. "In the cycle of time, certain things repeat themselves... you and I are among them."
Dizziness swept through Elarion as the cold wind tousled his hair. "I... don't understand."
"You needn't understand. You simply need to remember."
Suddenly, the wind howled. Leaves rustled violently as Remn's golden eye widened—as if perceiving something distant.
"They will come for you... what once happened will happen again. And this time, you might lose everything."
Elarion's face blanched. "Who will come for me?" he asked, but received no answer.
Remn slowly dissolved into smoke, its final words whispering through the darkness—
"Be ready... Blank."
Then it vanished.
The forest fell silent again, leaving only a faint chill in the air. Elarion remained motionless—heart pounding, eyes filled with fear and questions. Looking skyward, he noticed the moon had turned crimson, clouds circling above it.
He sensed something—someone—watching him from above. That same golden eye... again.
---
After Remn disappeared, stillness reclaimed the forest. Only the cold wind remained—though it felt different now.
Elarion sat there momentarily, his breathing still labored. Gradually, he opened his eyes and retrieved his notebook, turning to a page where he'd written:
"Movement Sequence — Step 2: The Silent Arc."
Below it, his scribbled notes:
> "Step One – Feel the ground beneath you.
Step Two – Move with the wind, not against it."
"Alright... let's see if I fall again this time," he murmured, rising to his feet.
Taking a deep breath, he waited as the air around him settled into silence. First, he executed the initial step—balancing on his toes, holding his breath, gliding across the ground. This time, he maintained his balance.
"Hm... learned something at least," he remarked with a faint smile.
Then he attempted the second step. "Silent Arc..."
He twisted his leg slightly, tilted rightward, and as the wind shifted—he tried following its current.
But... thud!
He crashed again.
"Ugh!" Pain shot through him. "It looked so effortless when I wrote it..."
After sitting briefly, he stood again. "No... not stopping this time."
He persisted—fell five times, stumbled on the sixth, balanced on the seventh, and on the eighth attempt, when the wind blew and he held his breath—his body moved instinctively.
No sound. Just a faint streak across the ground.
He halted. "...I did it."
A genuine smile crossed his face. Though exhausted, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He recognized this wasn't ordinary—this movement had emerged from somewhere deep within him.
Above, the moon glowed crimson. Forest lamps flickered dimly.
Gathering his notebook, he murmured, "That's enough for today."
He trudged slowly homeward, ate sparingly, drank water, and collapsed onto his bed. Within minutes, his eyes closed.
---
The next morning, a cool breeze from the window roused him.
Elarion turned over—but suddenly felt something burning on his chest. He bolted upright.
Looking down, he discovered a faint golden line glowing above his heart. It resembled a symbol, though incomplete.
"What the...?" he whispered, reaching to touch it—and the moment his finger made contact, the mark warmed—and vanished.
"Was that... a dream?"
He approached the mirror. His face appeared exhausted—but his eyes... his right eye shimmered momentarily with gold before fading.
He froze. "That's... Remn's light..."
Just then, a gust swept through the room. His notebook's pages fluttered independently—stopping at one particular page.
There, a single line was written: "Remember... what is hidden will return."
He retreated slowly. "Remn... are you here?"
No reply came. But in the air, a faint whisper echoed—
"You are awake now... you cannot sleep again."
Elarion's breath caught. A faint glow reappeared in his peripheral vision—then vanished.
Leaning against the wall, he whispered, "Whatever this is... I'm ready."
Outside, fog had enveloped the city once more. And far beyond the forest—a golden eye blinked briefly, then disappeared.
---
For the remainder of the night, sleep eluded Elarion. Remn's voice continued echoing—"You are awake now... you cannot sleep again."
Rising from bed, he sat at the small wooden table where his notebook lay. Slowly, he opened it—the same journal containing his movement sequences.
"If that entity can help me... perhaps more secrets lie hidden inside," he told himself.
Picking up his pen, he began reviewing his notes. The handwriting appeared sharp—every line seemed inscribed by someone else.
The room remained silent save for the ticking clock and gentle breeze outside.
Suddenly—a jolt shot through his left eye.
Elarion rubbed it, but the light intensified. His pupil fluctuated between gold and blue.
"Again...?" he whispered—but before comprehension dawned, the world around him transformed.
Fog materialized before his eyes—and within it, a figure appeared. Though his face remained unclear, his movements were distinct. He fought without weapons—relying solely on his body, rhythm, and an eerie grace in every strike.
He moved as if each bone possessed its own cadence—fists brushed the ground, knees sliced through air, a single step altered the wind's direction.
This wasn't merely a fighter. He embodied martial art itself.
Elarion's breathing quickened as he observed every movement—and unconsciously, his hands began mimicking them. His pen flew across paper—not forming words but strokes—lines, symbols, swirling arcs.
Each strike, each turn, he traced as though his body remembered what his mind had forgotten.
The room gradually filled with light. A soft golden mist hovered above the table as Remn's voice resonated again—
"Remember... this was within you, sleeping."
Pain pierced Elarion's eyes. His breathing grew ragged until—a flash of white consumed everything.
His body fell backward, the chair toppled, and darkness engulfed him completely.
---
Gradually, warmth returned. Soft sunlight caressed his face while distant birds chirped.
Elarion opened his eyes—he lay sprawled on the floor, his notebook open beside him. Dozens of diagrams and motion symbols covered the pages—as if someone had written throughout the night.
He rubbed his forehead. "When... did I fall asleep?"
Then he noticed faint golden ash coating his fingertips. The pen on the table remained warm, a thin wisp of steam rising from it.
Slowly standing, he gazed through the window at fog glowing in morning sunlight. The city remained half-asleep, half-silent.
Taking a deep breath, he said softly, "If that was a dream... it felt too real."
He left his room, washed his face, donned his old jacket, and examined himself in the mirror one final time.
His left eye still shimmered faintly gold—as if something had awakened within that would never again slumber.
"Now the journey begins... and I won't look back," Elarion whispered.
He stepped outside into the cold air where fog still kissed the ground. And far above, on the academy's roof, a shadow stood—watching him.