The transition was a violent collision of two worlds. One moment, Elian stood before the majestic, terrifying White Tree in the sea of obsidian silence; the next, the sensory overload of the slave barracks hit him like a physical blow.
He had barely heard Talin's frantic voice or felt the internal "rebirth" ache of the Mid-Grade Aether before the ceiling shattered. The frontier base of Fort Iron-Thistle was a jagged scar on the edge of the Oakhaven Kingdom, and right now, that scar was being torn open.
The air was filled with a sound like tearing parchment. Two Cliff-Shredders—Tier 2 nightmares with obsidian hides—had bypassed the ballistae. As the dust and debris of the shattered barracks blinded the "Crows," Elian felt a sharp heat as a talon grazed his ribs, throwing him across the dirt floor.
Through the haze, he saw the Knight-Commander on the inner wall. For a second, their eyes met. The Commander didn't move; he simply turned away, closing the iron gate.
We aren't worth the mana for a single spell, Elian realized.
The first beast dived, its beak clicking with anticipation. Baraq lunged forward to shield him, but the beast swatted the Beast-kin aside like a fly. Elian backpedaled, his spine hitting the cold stone wall. He looked up at the darkening sky of Caelum. He didn't want to die in the mud, sold for ten Solars, forgotten by two worlds.
I just wanted... to see...
The beast lunged.
Deep within his chest, the Black Flower bloomed with a silent, deafening roar.
[Authority Recognized: Insight]
The world didn't just change; it simplified. As the silver light flooded his tear ducts, the terrifying speed of the Cliff-Shredder didn't slow down—rather, Elian's perception accelerated. His pupils turned into crystalline, static silver. The dust, the screams of the other slaves, and the flickering torches vanished into a landscape of "Stress Points" and "Flow Lines."
The beast became transparent. Elian didn't see feathers; he saw vibrating strings of "Logic". Near the beast's chest, he saw a flaw: a cluster of erratic energy where the Aether fueled its heart.
Beast were fundamentally different from races living in world of Caelum. They were like the entities given life to by the world of Caelum itself. They were able to wield something primodal which no race in Caelum was able to wield. Aether, Elian remembered from his memories but that was not something important right now.
The beast's talons were inches from his throat. Elian didn't have the strength to parry, so he moved with the wind. He threw himself to the left, his 12-year-old body screaming in protest. The "Integration" ache flared, making his muscles feel like they were tearing off the bone.
He hit the mud hard. The beast's talon slammed into the stone where his head had been a millisecond before, sending sparks and stone shards flying.
Minute 1. It was a dry itch.
"Elian! Move!" Talin screamed, but his voice felt miles away.
Elian rolled, his eyes locked on the beast's chest. He saw the "Flow Line" of its next attack—a sweeping wing-strike. He ducked, the obsidian feathers whistling over his hair, cutting the air with the sound of a guillotine.
He was gasping for air, his malnourished lungs burning. He had the Insight to see the win, but he lacked the Execution. He reached out, his fingers brushing a jagged piece of obsidian debris from the roof. It was heavy and awkward in his small hand.
Minute 3. The itch behind his eyes was becoming a distraction.
The beast circled, confused by the "soft meat" that kept slipping through its grasp. It lunged again, this time a low snap of its beak. Elian didn't retreat. He stepped forward, entering the beast's guard.
He saw the "Stress Point" near the beast's chest—a small gap where the obsidian plates overlapped to allow for breathing. It was a surgical strike. He thrust the obsidian shard with everything he had.
Clang.
He missed the gap by an inch. The shard scraped against the Tier 2 hide, vibrating up Elian's arm and nearly shattering his elbow. The force of the impact sent him reeling back into the mud. The Cliff-Shredder let out a guttural hiss, its predatory eyes narrowing. It realized now that this wasn't a hunt; it was a fight.
Minute 5. The dry itch turned into a slow, rhythmic heat. Elian's vision flickered. The silver static of his pupils began to pulse. He could feel a countdown. He was halfway to the fire, and he hadn't drawn a single drop of blood.
The second Cliff-Shredder landed on the remains of the barracks roof above, its weight causing the beams to groan. He was trapped between two monsters.
"Okay," Elian whispered, blood-flecked spit flying from his lips. "I see you now. I see exactly what you are."
He gripped the obsidian shard until his knuckles turned white. He wasn't looking at the beast anymore; he was looking at the Logic of its heart.