Sylvie raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp. "You want me to break him? Or just teach him humility?"
Varun leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. His voice was cold, cutting through the tension like a blade. "No. I want you to show him what it feels like to stand against an insurmountable mountain."
Her expression hardened, curiosity flickering across her face for a fraction of a second before she masked it. "You mean you want him to realize he isn't special."
"No," Varun corrected, his gaze piercing. "I want him to see what he could be—if he can handle the weight of that potential."
A faint smile tugged at Sylvie's lips, but it didn't last. She turned back to the screen where Orion's combat data streamed in real-time—his movements precise, calculated, almost perfect. Almost.
"He's arrogant," she murmured, watching as he froze mid-strike, his spear poised with textbook perfection. "But arrogance has its uses. At least he has teeth. More than I can say for most."
She stood abruptly, flexing her fingers. Her voice carried no doubt, only certainty. "Still, he's just a child. He doesn't even know what he's inherited."
"And you do?" Varun asked pointedly, his scrutiny unwavering.
"I helped build the framework he's walking through," Sylvie replied without hesitation or pride. Just fact.
She glanced at the screen one last time. The feed froze on Orion mid-strike—a perfect stance, flawless execution—but hollow in its precision.
The training dome hummed alive as Orion stepped inside, spear in hand, breath steady. He expected resistance—a drone, perhaps, or a simulated opponent designed to push him to his limits. What he didn't expect was her.
Sylvie stood at the center of the dome, posture relaxed, clad in a simple grey training suit. No armor. No visible enhancements. Not even a defensive stance. Just stillness.
"I thought this was supposed to be a spar against a drone," Orion said cautiously, studying her.
"It is." She gestured once, dismissively. "You've taken in four traits. You have one slot left before instability risks kick in. This"—she paused, locking eyes with him—"is your pivot point."
Sylvie nodded, her expression unreadable. "Let's see what you've learned."
Orion activated Trilayered Bursting Musculature, launching himself sideways with explosive speed, whipping his spear toward her centerline.
She wasn't there.
Not blurred. Not phased. Simply absent—as if she'd never been in front of him at all.
Her hand found his wrist mid-swing. Not hard. Not fast. But with timing so effortless it made his own movements feel clumsy and overthought.
"All your power comes in spikes," she said calmly, redirecting his motion with minimal effort. He stumbled, barely regaining his balance.
"Your stance relies on spear range," she continued, circling him like water flowing around stone. "Predictable." Her voice was low, clinical. "Your hearing trait gives you echo-mapping, but you don't filter the noise properly. Too much input, and you flinch."
He lunged again, combining Predatory Awareness and Tyrradic Hearing. For a heartbeat, he believed he had closed the gap.
Then she vanished.
A whisper behind him. Her voice, calm and infuriatingly patient: "You're still seeing the fight as a series of moves."
Orion spun, swinging wide. Missed again.
She caught the shaft of his spear—not with a hand, but with two fingers. And held it.
"You're still in Initiate," Sylvie continued. "At this stage, your body knows how to use the traits—but your mind doesn't. You're fighting against them half the time, trying to control them instead of harmonizing."
She stepped closer, tapping a panel on her forearm to bring up his latest combat data. "Your usage of Predatory Awareness spikes erratically. You're drowning in sensory overload. And Tyrradic Hearing is causing auditory drag—you keep slowing mid-combo without realizing it."
Orion clenched his jaw, refusing to look away. "Then how should I use them?"
Sylvie softened slightly. "Without self-awareness you will burn you out faster than any enemy ever could."
He exhaled sharply. "Tell me how to fix it."
"That's your problem to solve." she said simply. "I am an Ascendant. I don't 'activate' traits. They're part of how I move, think, and breathe."
Before Orion could respond, she added, "Move with what your body already knows."
Orion adjusted his stance, catching his breath. This time, there was no hesitation. Only focus.
The next exchange was different.
Orion didn't rely on bursts of speed or brute strength. He let his body respond naturally, guided by instinct rather than calculation. His spear became an extension of his will, no longer a separate object to wield but a seamless part of his being.
For a moment, it worked. His spear arced toward her flank, smooth and controlled. But then—
She stepped inside his range, closing the distance faster than he could process. Her palm pressed lightly against his sternum, halting his momentum entirely.
"Still too rigid," she said, her tone even. "Your instincts are good, but they're holding you back."
Orion staggered back, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to lash out blindly. Instead, he took a slow breath, letting the feedback from his senses wash over him without judgment.
The faint tremors in the air. The subtle shifts in Sylvie's weight. The rhythm of his own heartbeat syncing with the cadence of her steps.
Something clicked.
When she came at him again, Orion didn't try to counter or anticipate. He simply moved—fluidly, effortlessly, as if each motion unfolded naturally. His spear became an extension of his will, no longer a separate object to wield but a seamless part of his being.
Sylvire paused mid-step, her expression unreadable. For the first time, there was a flicker of approval in her gaze.
Orion exhaled sharply, his mind racing. He couldn't keep up with her—not yet. But he had one card left to play.
"Use everything you've got," he said suddenly, his voice firm. "Don't hold back."
Sylvie tilted her head, intrigued. "Why?"
"Because I want to see how far."
His fingers twitched, and for the first time, he activated something new. Something foreign. A sigil etched into the back of his right eye flared to life, glowing faintly violet. Pain surged through his skull, sharp and overwhelming, but he forced himself to endure it.
Vyomnetra's Eyes.
The world shifted.
Every movement, every vibration, every subtle change in the air became clear. Sylvie's muscles tensed milliseconds before she moved. The faintest tremor in the ground betrayed her weight shifts. Even the way her breath passed through her nostrils was visible to him in absolute clarity.
But the cost was immense.
Orion's knees buckled under the strain. His vision blurred at the edges, threatening to collapse entirely. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright for just ten more seconds.
Sylvie noticed the change immediately. Her movements slowed slightly, her expression shifting from curiosity to genuine surprise.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with awe.
Orion didn't answer. He couldn't. Every ounce of his focus was directed at maintaining the sigil's activation.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sigil deactivated. Orion collapsed to one knee, gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face.
Sylvie approached cautiously, crouching beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
"How did you do that?" she asked, her voice softer now.
She studied him closely, then activated a trait that could perform a scan of the body. When the results came back, her eyes widened.
"Your optic nerve… it's seven times denser than normal. How is that even possible?"
Orion shrugged, still struggling to catch his breath.
Sylvie straightened, her expression unreadable. For the first time, she seemed to truly understand the kind of person Orion was.
"A maniac," she murmured, shaking her head. "You're going to kill yourself pushing like this."
Orion looked up at her, his gaze unwavering. "If I die, I won't be able to look David Goggins in the eyes."
Sylvie stared at him for a long moment, then she furrowed her brows. "Who the hell is David Goggins?"
Orion pushed himself to his feet, clutching his spear tightly. His body screamed in protest, but his resolve burned brighter than ever.