Levin Frei's POV:
Ash curled in the fire pit like old thoughts, still warm but losing shape. Soft pops cracked through the embers, I sat there with my knees pulled in, arms wrapped around them, holding tight not from cold, but like something in me might fall apart if I let go.
My fingers drifted to my hair, short now, trimmed close, still a little crooked in the back. Dad had cut it three mornings ago. Didn't tell me why. Just gave me one of his grunts, muttered "better for visibility" and got to work like he'd done it a hundred times but never stopped taking it seriously.
The scissors weren't sharp. The silence between us was. But I didn't mind. That's how Dad showed he cared.
When he was done, I felt lighter. It peeled off some version of myself I didn't need anymore.
Lyra took one look and burst out laughing. Said I looked "less like a glam-rock goose."
I had no idea what that meant but she smiled when she said it, so I smiled back. My ears burned, and I looked down, pretending to adjust my stance.
It was stupid, but somehow, I didn't feel like a tag-along anymore.
We trained a bit after lunch mostly light sparring and footwork drills.
Dad barked corrections from a log while Lyra showed me how to pivot on uneven ground.
It was going fine. I was keeping up. Sort of...
Then a stray Vinecrawler poked out from the brush—nothing major, just a scout.
I flinched. She didn't.
One step, one strike. Her blade flashed, and the thing split clean down the middle before I even finished tensing up.
She didn't look surprised. Or even winded.
Just wiped her blade on her sleeve, turned back to me and said like nothing had happened "Keep your center low. Your heel's giving you away."
The correction stung but she wasn't wrong.
I'd frozen. She hadn't.
That thing came out of nowhere and she handled it like swatting a fly.
It didn't shake her. Not even a little.
And me? I was still catching my breath.
So when she pointed out my stance, I didn't argue.
I just nodded and moved.
My steps weren't awful. I'd started training before she even awakened mana.
Dad taught me early, sword and magic both.
But next to her, I felt slow. Reactive. Chasing her shadow.
Like I was swinging through molasses while she was already dancing through the aftermath.
I used to think I was ahead of her only because I had a head start.
But Lyra...
Lyra was different.
She didn't just memorize moves. She adapted and improvised.
Maybe it was the wind magic too. She had this way of moving, light and sharp, her body just knew where the air wanted to go.
She didn't follow the rhythm. She became it.
Still, I kept at it.
When my footing slipped, I adjusted.
When my arm dropped, I reset.
Over and over.
She didn't sigh or mock, just nodded once and said, "Good. Now again."
And again.
And again.
Until the rhythm stopped being borrowed and started to feel like mine.
Strangely, during our sparring, Dan didn't say much. He didn't mock me for lagging behind Lyra or throw out one of his usual sarcastic remarks.
That wasn't like him.
He usually teased me about everything else like earlier that morning, when I was still getting used to the haircut. Right after Lyra handed me the string.
I tied my hair back with it — a thin strip of leather, leftover from one of her old training gloves.
She didn't say anything when she gave it to me just tossed it at me with a smirk and a nod.
I caught it on instinct. By the time I looked up again, she'd already turned away.
No big deal.
But for some reason, I couldn't stop grinning.
Dan finally broke his silence with a snarky comment from where he hung around Lyra's neck.
Something about how I couldn't be Lyra's sister anymore now that my long hair was gone.
I flipped him off.
Then he said Lyra's BFF had just betrayed him with a haircut and committed emotional violence.
None of us really understood what he meant but somehow, it still landed.
We all laughed.
Dad fake-coughed. Lyra chuckled. Dan snorted. Even I couldn't hold back.
In that instant, it felt like we were a real team.
That was Day One.
Right after the firework night.
The first step into something real.
The last easy day.
Day Two was worse.
It began with a bruise on my hip, a sore wrist, and Dad's voice sounded in my head: "Pain's just proof you're still moving. Don't stop."
Today's training was harsher. Less technique, more survival.
Dad had just come back bringing dozens of monsters chasing him from the back and called it "real-world practice."
Dan screamed from the side "Borderline homicide."
And I couldn't agree more.
Movement flashed through the clearing, the monsters didn't gave us time to prepare. A horned crawler burst from the trees—poison sacs twitching, body pulsing. It shot toward Dad.
And Dad… ran straight toward us.
Lyra didn't freeze or falter, moving instead with the certainty of instinct.
She became motion—air and steel and precision.
Her blade met its throat mid-hiss.
I followed her, feet pounding, chasing her shadow.
And for a while... I stayed with her.
I blocked one clean. Landed a strike that left a burn mark. I tore the monster apart. Lyra was already on the next. I chased her trail, still chasing her shadow. But at least now, I wasn't falling behind.
Dad even gave me a nod. Just once but from him, that meant something.
But by midday, I was fading.
My footing faltered. My grip weakened. My mana sputtered through my fingers like smoke from damp tinder.
I told myself it was just fatigue. That I could shake it off. That I had to.
Then from the ravine a Vinecrawler burst upward, its limbs lashing razors from the dirt below.
Long as a wagon. Covered in thorny limbs. Its hiss laced with magic that made your muscles twitch and your thoughts stagger.
Dan screamed something about not to look at its mouth.
So naturally, I did.
My legs locked.
I stood there, caught in the spell, unable to move as it lunged, opening its sharp, poisonous vine, I knew this time I was done for.
I heard Dan shouted my name. Felt the flash of heat as Lyra's blade sliced past my face. Straight into the monster's core.
It never reached me. Because she didn't hesitate.
I did.
And that made all the difference.
Afterward, she didn't raise her voice.
Didn't call me out.
She simply handed me her waterskin, calm as ever, as if the fight had been routine.
But it wasn't.
Not for me.
She moved like she was made for this. Born to stand between danger and the rest of us.
And I… I was the one being protected. Again.
That night, she curled near the fire, her blanket tucked under her chin.
Dan hung quietly from the chain around her neck, mercifully still. He's always strangely peaceful when he's not talking.
They'd told me by now—Dan used to be human. Now he's... this. A dice with a mind sharper than most blades. Maybe all the sarcasm is just how he vents, in between floating around and pretending he's above everything.
Still, beneath all the teasing, Dan was loyal and reliable.
Lyra was the one everyone saw on the front lines—fast, fierce, unstoppable.
But Dan?
Dan had saved my life more times than even she had.
When it was time to get serious, he never bragged or lectured. He chose instead to observe in silence, always watchful.
And when I slipped, when I panicked, when something crept into my blind spot, it was Dan's voice that cut through the chaos.
"Behind you, moron!"
"Duck, you duckhead!"
"Left! No—your other left, idiot!"
He shouted insults, sure—but they always came with timing sharper than any blade.
I trusted him. Fully.
Because even when I didn't believe in myself, Dan never missed.
And beneath all the sarcasm, I knew, he cared.
About Lyra. About Dad. About me.
He never let me fall.
Even when I finally got my first clean kill streak—three monsters down, no help from others, Lyra was too busy, Dad was nowhere in sight.
But Dan noticed.
He muttered, just loud enough for me to hear:
"Eat it, you disgusting bastards. Don't mess with our fireboy."
It was weird. Offhand. Almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud.
But it meant everything to me.
He was the only one who said anything.
And somehow, that awkward little compliment… stuck deeper than any praise I've gotten before.
And I know I've been dragging the team down. Slower, weaker, less sure.
But even so… I'm grateful.
Grateful to be part of a team where I can trust someone to watch my back even when I'm not strong enough to protect theirs.
Especially Lyra.
She means more to me than I know how to say.
I sat by the riverbank, sword across my lap.
My fingers were raw. My wrists ached.
But nothing stung more than my pride.
When she stirred in her sleep.
The blanket slipping from her shoulder.
I almost reached out to fix it then stopped, afraid I'd wake her.
I just sat there. Watching. Guarding.
Wishing I was strong enough to deserve that role.
I looked at my reflection in the water and didn't see a swordsman.
I saw a shadow, someone trailing behind, always a step too slow.
I was supposed to protect her.
But I kept ending up the one being saved.
The face in the water barely looked like mine. Dirt streaked my neck. A fresh bruise bloomed on my cheek.
I tried to picture myself standing in front of Lyra—shield raised, sword ready.
But in my mind, I always saw myself chasing her back.
Never standing ahead.
She had never made me feel like less, never mocked me or doubted me.
But I felt it anyway.
Not her judgment.
My own.
I clenched the hilt tighter.
I remembered the way she turned during the fight, moving without hesitation or fear, only pure motion driven by instinct.
She just acted and saved me. Again.
And I hated how small that made me feel.
The aches in my limbs weren't what weighed me down the most.
It was the thought that if I hadn't frozen… maybe, just maybe, I could've been the one to shield her.
Even once.
My eyes stayed on her, softened by firelight, untouched by doubt. The flames caught the edge of her hair, gilding it in quiet gold. She looked beautiful. Strong. Peaceful. Like she belonged to this world, and I was still trying to catch up.
I watched her, quietly.
There was something about her.
Something that made me want to be better.
Not just stronger. Better.
Not because she asked.
But because I wanted to.
I bowed my head.
"Tomorrow," I whispered.
"I promise, I'll be strong enough to protect her."
But I didn't understand the weight of that promise.
Not on Day One. Not even on Day Two.
Only now, here on Day Three, every breath burning, every limb barely holding together—do I finally realize how cheap those words were.
Day Three.
Every muscle screamed. Every step felt stolen from a body that wanted nothing more than to fall and never rise again.
We were running on fumes and Dad still called it training.
He didn't even blink when I collapsed after the last fight. Just pointed toward the heart of the forest and said this was the real test. The final one.
It wasn't strength or skill that mattered, but endurance and will.
And when we didn't move fast enough?
He stepped into the fog, vanishing into the forest, offering no farewell and leaving nothing behind.
Just one rule: "From here on out, you stand—or fall—alone."
The trees ahead weren't just twisted—they recoiled, like they didn't want us near.
And the silence wasn't just quiet. It pressed in, muting even my breath.
Then Lyra followed, quiet and calm. She took a breath and squared her shoulders, steady as the sunrise, as though the weight of her wounds didn't exist. I watched her disappear into the fog, her shape wavering and fading, until even that final, determined silhouette vanished into the gray.
I touched the string tied in my hair, secure and comforting, a gift from her.
My sword trembled in my hand.
"I'll protect you," I whispered, more to myself than anyone.
Even if the fog takes me.
Even if it breaks me.
"I swear it."
I stepped into the fog—and the world died.
I stepped into the fog, and the world fell away. No light, no shape, only an endless gray, as if someone had scraped all color from existence and left me trapped inside a thinking grave.
Every breath came with pressure. Not on my lungs—on my mind.
The weight crushed inward.
Mana refused to move. I reached for it and nothing.
It felt like trying to spark a flame underwater. I clenched my fists. Bit my tongue. Tried again still nothing.
I had a bad feeling about this.
But I staggered forward anyway, each step blind and numb, pushed by nothing but the need to keep moving.
Then came a break in the gray, a thinning in the mist, a curtain pulling back to reveal what lay beyond.
And through it, I saw her.
Lyra.
Sword drawn. Breathing hard.
Eyes locked on something I couldn't see.
And beside her...
Dan.
Still. Quiet.
Too quiet.
"Lyra!" I shouted, stumbling forward—
SNAP.
A sharp snap split the air, followed by a jolt of pain that tore through my legs. Vines, dark and thorned, coiling with hunger.
They surged from the mist and wrapped around my ankles, my wrists, my waist tightening like chains that drank.
I screamed. My mana poured out of me like blood from a slit throat.
I dropped to my knees, arms trembling and vision blurring as the pain closed in.
"D-Dan!" I gasped. "Help—say something! Please!"
But Dan wasn't looking at me.
He was speaking.
To the fog.
To something inside it.
"Is it you?" the mist whispered.
"What? Who's talking? I don't like ghosts! Go away!" Dan barked, half-defiant, half-confused.
"Yes… It's you. Dan. Welcome back."
"Huh? You know me?"Dan sounded wary.
"Yes. But your body is incomplete."
I twisted against the vines. Thorns dug in deeper, cold and wet with blood.
My arms trembled, my mana drained, my body on the verge of collapse.
But it wasn't the pain that shattered me.
It was the voice.
"Take her," the fog said.
"Take the Fate Fragment inside her. It will complete you. It was always meant for you. That's why you're drawn to her. She is the vessel."
Everything stopped.
My heartbeat.
My thoughts.
Fate Fragment.
Inside her.
No.
No.
Dan hovered beside her, calm and silent, untouched by everything that had just happened.
He stayed silent, motionless, offering no denial.
My mouth went dry.
The pressure in my chest became unbearable—like my ribs were folding inward.
She's the vessel.
That word hit me like a hammer against glass.
"Dan…" I whispered, my voice cracking.
"Tell me this isn't true. Tell me this isn't you."
He said nothing.
The silence was worse than any scream.
I was supposed to protect her.
I promised.
I swore I'd be strong enough to stand in front of her.
But I couldn't move, couldn't even lift my arms; the vines held me down, chains of judgment wrapping tighter with every breath.
And Dan?
Dan floated in silence.
"Dan!" I screamed, throat raw. "Don't listen to it! This is LYRA! You know her!"
Still… nothing.
Dan hesitated.
"Is that true?" he asked the fog.
"Why would I lie to you?" it replied.
"They told the one guarding, the dice... to stay close to the firstborn girl."
"Always."
"Haven't you ever wondered why?"
No. No, please. This isn't real.
He was the only one I trusted to guard my back.
My only real friend besides Lyra.
I fought harder. "Remember who you are!"
"You're Dan! You yelled at me when I froze!"
"You never let me fall!"
"YOU CARED ABOUT US"
But reality was bitter and crueler than any fate.
He changed.
The dice folded in on itself, twisting and shifting until it reshaped
Into a dagger.
Silver, silent, and glowing with power.
For a moment, it hovered.
Then it turned.
Pointed at her.
A flicker.
A memory surfaced...barged in like a final dawn..
Her voice, from years ago, when she was just a little girl.
Eyes shining. Hands curled tight around the dice.
She wasn't smiling.
She was crying.
"Dan protected us in the market," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Protected Dad too. And now he's gone. He's in there, somewhere. I know it."
She wiped her eyes, rough and stubborn.
"So this time, I'll protect him."
She held him close. Gentle. Like a promise sealed in small, shaking hands.
And me.
I was just off to the side. Pretending not to notice.
Staring at the stars.
Thinking,
One day, I'll protect someone like the heroes do.
Someone who believes in me.
That someone had a name now.
Lyra.
And the one she believed in...
Was the one lifting a dagger.
"NO—no no no—DAN, PLEASE!" I wailed.
"Please Dan, PLEASE— I'M BEGGING YOU! DON'T DO THIS!" Tears poured down my face.
But my wailing flew into the void and returned with brutal truth.
The dagger flashed forward—
And stabbed.
Straight into her chest.
Deep. Final. Unforgiving.
Lyra gasped sharp and soft like even death had taken her by surprise.
Blood bloomed across her tunic.
A sudden red flower opening into cruel reality.
"NOOOOOOO!!"
My scream tore from the pit of my soul. My vision burned not from tears… but from blood.
Lyra staggered.
Caught herself.
Looked down at the blade.
And then looked at him.
"I'm sorry, Lyra," Dan whispered. His voice cracked.
"You don't know my pain. All I ever wanted... was freedom."
The air turned cold.
Her fingers trembled as she reached forward, no trace of hatred in her touch or fear.
"I know," she whispered. "You're still… you. I understand, Dan."
"It's okay. I… I always knew this day would come."
She smiled.
And fell.
"...I'm sorry, Lyra," Dan whispered again… but this time, his voice trembled.
"No…"
I couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
My jaw locked, teeth grinding together. My arms twitched against the vines. My breath caught, sharp and shallow like my lungs forgot how to be alive.
And somewhere deep inside me, something cracked open.
Not bone. Not muscle.
Something worse.
"DAN!!!"
I screamed—not a cry—but an eruption.
"PLEASE—SAVE HER!! TAKE IT BACK!! UNDO THIS!!"
The vines pulled tighter.
I thrashed. Roared. Begged.
"DAN, YOU PROMISED!! YOU WERE ONE OF US!!"
Still he didn't turn and speak, ignoring me.
"DAN, I TRUSTED YOU! I TRUSTED YOU WITH EVERYTHING!"
He only floated there distant. Empty.
The glow in him dimmed to a low flicker,
A dying lantern drifting out of reach.
Then he leaned in.
And something passed from Lyra into him.
A thread of silver light, delicate, shimmering.
A memory being unspooled.
It vanished into Dan's core.
And pulsed once.
Like a final heartbeat.
He disappeared.
Lyra remained completely still, without a breath or the slightest twitch, while the fog stayed quiet.
I looked down at my hands, stained with blood, bound tightly, and utterly useless.
And I remembered—
"I swear, I'll be strong enough to protect her."
But I wasn't.
I had been right here.
And I still failed.
The boy who swore to stand in front of her…
Was the one who watched her fall.
The boy who dreamed of being a hero... was just another witness.
"Why… why… why…?"
My voice cracked.
My mind—fractured.
Everything broke at once.
Not just my promise.
Me.
I wasn't her shield.
I wasn't her sword.
I wasn't enough.
I screamed.
Not words.
Just pain.
"AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH—!"
The world said nothing back.
Just a limp, soulless body, a red flower blooming on the ground.
And a desperate, hopeless boy, crying.