Chapter 3 — The Weight of Weakness
Morning sunlight filtered weakly through the forest canopy as Zero drove his fist into the trunk of a tree.
Thud.
Bark splintered beneath the impact.
Small fragments scattered across damp grass while vibrations traveled painfully through his arm.
Sweat rolled slowly down his neck despite the cold morning air drifting through the clearing.
Again.
Thud.
Again.
Thud.
Again.
The tree trembled slightly after the fourth strike.
Zero stepped back slowly, breathing evenly while pain pulsed through his knuckles.
Most fifteen-year-olds on Nyxara spent their mornings practicing essence control or basic combat arts in preparation for awakening.
Some learned swordsmanship from wandering dominators.
Others trained with village guards or local hunters.
Everyone prepared for awakening season.
Everyone chased power.
Because on Nyxara—
power determined everything.
Whether you survived.
Whether people respected you.
Whether monsters killed you or feared you.
And Zero had none of it.
No affinity.
No essence.
Nothing.
Only scars.
And the violent instinctive hatred of weakness buried deep inside him like something carved directly into his soul.
An emotion too intense to belong to someone his age.
As though some part of him had already learned exactly what weakness cost.
So he trained.
Again.
And again.
And again.
His fists struck the tree repeatedly until fresh blood stained the bark.
Still—
it didn't feel like enough.
Nothing ever did.
He stopped moving for a moment.
Breathing steadily.
Cold wind drifted through the clearing quietly while distant birds scattered somewhere deeper in the forest.
Zero lowered his gaze toward his trembling hand.
Weak.
The word surfaced naturally.
Because no matter how much he trained—
it never changed the truth.
Hunters stronger than him disappeared in these forests regularly.
Dominators died fighting beasts.
And he still couldn't explain the scars carved across his own body.
A sudden voice broke the silence.
"Damn. You're training already?"
Zero didn't turn.
"Klaus."
The red-haired boy stepped into the clearing carrying two wooden practice swords over his shoulder.
Morning light caught faintly against his messy crimson hair while amber eyes gleamed with their usual endless energy.
Unlike Zero—
Klaus always looked alive.
Too alive.
Like the world genuinely interested him.
"You seriously need another hobby," Klaus muttered.
Zero wiped sweat from his forehead slowly.
"I have one."
"Training doesn't count."
"It does to me."
Klaus sighed dramatically before tossing him one of the wooden swords anyway.
Zero caught it easily without looking.
Then Klaus grinned.
"Come on."
"No."
"You say that every time."
"And yet you still ask."
"Because one day you'll say yes willingly."
Silence followed briefly.
Then Zero sighed quietly.
"...Fine."
Klaus immediately lit up.
"There it is!"
The two boys moved apart inside the clearing.
Sunlight spilled faintly through the trees overhead while damp grass shifted beneath their feet.
Klaus raised his wooden sword dramatically.
"I hope you're prepared."
Zero stared at him blankly.
"You also say that every single time."
"And one day it'll sound cool."
"It won't."
Klaus ignored him completely before rushing forward instantly.
Fast.
Faster than most people their age.
His wooden blade cut toward Zero's shoulder immediately.
Zero stepped aside calmly.
The sword missed by inches.
Klaus adjusted mid-motion quickly before twisting into another strike aimed lower this time.
Zero blocked smoothly.
CRACK.
Wood slammed against wood loudly enough to echo through the clearing.
Then movement erupted completely.
Klaus attacked aggressively.
Relentlessly.
Like a storm that never stopped moving.
Every strike flowed directly into the next without pause.
Overwhelming momentum.
Overwhelming pressure.
Zero defended with precise efficiency.
Minimal movement.
Minimal wasted energy.
Every dodge calculated.
Every block deliberate.
Neither boy used essence.
People below sixteen couldn't use affinities or essence techniques yet.
Only physical conditioning and combat arts.
But even without essence strengthening his body—
Zero kept up perfectly.
Klaus laughed mid-swing.
"You know, this would be less annoying if you looked tired."
"You talk too much."
"I fight better when I talk."
"I noticed."
Klaus swung again immediately.
Zero ducked beneath the strike before countering toward Klaus' ribs.
Klaus barely blocked in time.
The impact forced him backward several steps.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Okay... that one almost hurt."
Zero didn't answer.
He moved forward instead.
For a brief moment—
the detached calm expression on his face disappeared.
Something sharper surfaced instead.
His attacks became faster.
Heavier.
More violent.
The pressure changed instantly.
Klaus' grin faded slightly.
Because for one second—
Zero looked dangerous.
Not angry.
Not emotional.
Predatory.
His strikes no longer resembled training.
They looked efficient in a way that felt wrong for someone their age.
Like his body remembered violence his mind didn't.
Klaus barely blocked another strike before stumbling backward.
"Whoa—"
Zero pressed forward immediately.
No hesitation.
No wasted movement.
The wooden sword slammed against Klaus' guard repeatedly with enough force to numb his arms.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
Klaus gritted his teeth.
Then suddenly—
it stopped.
Zero stepped backward slowly.
The dangerous sharpness vanished from his eyes almost instantly.
Silence returned to the clearing.
Klaus stared at him for several seconds before exhaling heavily.
"...You do that sometimes."
Zero lowered the wooden sword slightly.
"What?"
"That thing."
"Very descriptive."
"For like five seconds you become terrifying."
Zero frowned faintly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Klaus studied him quietly.
Then eventually sighed.
"Yeah. That's somehow worse."
The fight continued for several more minutes afterward before Klaus finally collapsed backward onto the grass breathing heavily.
"You're actually ridiculous."
Zero lowered his practice sword calmly.
"You rely too much on momentum."
Klaus groaned dramatically.
"One day I'm going to awaken some absurd affinity and humble you permanently."
"Maybe."
Klaus stared upward at the pale morning sky while catching his breath.
The wind moved softly through the trees overhead.
Then after a while—
"...Do you ever think about before?"
Zero's gaze shifted slightly.
"Before what?"
"Before your parents found you."
Silence settled across the clearing.
The forest suddenly felt quieter.
Zero looked toward the far edge of the clearing.
Toward the exact place Elias had discovered him years ago.
Cold.
Alone.
Covered in scars he couldn't explain.
"I don't remember anything."
Klaus sat up slowly.
"Doesn't that bother you?"
Zero didn't answer immediately.
Because it did.
More than he admitted.
There were moments—
small moments—
where something felt buried just beneath the surface of his mind.
A feeling.
A sound.
Pain he couldn't explain.
Like standing before a locked door while hearing screaming on the other side.
"...Sometimes."
That was the closest thing to honesty Zero usually gave.
Klaus watched him quietly for a moment afterward.
Then he smiled faintly.
"Well."
He leaned back against the grass again.
"You have us now."
Zero froze slightly.
Such simple words.
Yet something inside his chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because Klaus said things like that naturally.
As though it were obvious.
As though Zero belonged somewhere.
As though he mattered.
The feeling was unfamiliar.
Dangerously unfamiliar.
So Zero looked away instead.
"...You're sentimental today."
Klaus snorted.
"And you're emotionally constipated."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means your personality is broken."
A laugh escaped Klaus afterward.
Bright.
Easy.
Real.
And after a brief moment—
a faint smile appeared on Zero's face.
Small.
Brief.
Gone almost instantly.
But real.
Klaus noticed immediately.
His grin widened triumphantly.
"There it is."
Zero stood abruptly.
"We're leaving."
"You smiled."
"I didn't."
"You literally did."
"You imagined it."
Klaus burst into laughter while following after him through the trees.
For a short while—
everything felt normal again.
Neither of them noticed the massive claw marks carved deep into nearby trees.
Fresh.
Still dripping black blood.
Or the pair of glowing crimson eyes silently watching them from deep within the forest.
Waiting.