The stillness of Vaultspace lingered long after the masked figure vanished. Kairo stood in the mist-drenched forest, bruised and trembling, the echo of the battle still vibrating in his limbs. He had survived the first trial. Barely.
His chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm. Though Vaultspace dulled physical fatigue faster than the real world, his mind was strained. This was no dream—Vaultspace had changed. It was evolving, or maybe revealing itself more fully now that he'd unlocked part of its true nature.
He sat at the base of a warped tree, sweat clinging to his skin. "I need to understand what this place really is... and what it's going to take from me."
From the edge of the forest, the landscape shimmered again. The mist pulled away like curtains, revealing his original open clearing—the safe zone of Vaultspace. The shift was as seamless as blinking, and the forest trial was gone.
Kairo rose slowly and walked back into the clearing, his thoughts spinning. There were too many unknowns.
Was the masked man real? Was he part of Vaultspace itself?
Would there be more like him?
What were the Vaultborn, truly?
He didn't have answers yet. But he had time. That was his greatest weapon now—time no one else had.
One second had passed in the real world.
Kairo emerged from Vaultspace to the same classroom where his real body still sat slumped at a desk, the chalkboard still mid-sentence, his classmates still caught in frozen time. Not a soul had noticed he'd disappeared into his ability—for ten whole days.
As his body jolted upright, the girl seated next to him jumped, startled. "Kairo? You okay?"
He blinked, disoriented. It was like surfacing from underwater.
"Y-Yeah," he mumbled, rubbing his face. "Just zoned out."
"Zoned out?" she raised an eyebrow. "You look like you ran a marathon."
He smiled weakly. "Felt like one."
After School — Late Afternoon
Kairo avoided the usual crowd. There was no point hanging around the martial clubs or dueling courtyards—places where real awakened students trained, where even C-Ranks sparred and showed off their flashy powers.
He wandered the edge of town toward a hilltop shrine, his hidden sanctuary. The path was old, overgrown with weeds and littered with abandoned prayer stones. At the top, an ancient statue overlooked the city, forgotten and crumbling. It was a place no one visited anymore.
Kairo sat under its shadow, pulling out a beat-up martial arts manual he had stolen from the school's library long ago. It wasn't flashy. No elemental powers. Just raw technique—stances, breathing, internal flow. He opened to the dog-eared page labeled "Basic Iron Root Forms" and began the motion.
Step. Twist. Sink. Breathe.
Again.
And again.
His body remembered the flow, but it was flawed. The stance was too narrow. The torque lacked snap. His breath was off-rhythm.
It didn't matter. He could spend weeks mastering it—in a world where ten days cost him only a second.
Kairo closed his eyes.
And vanished.
Back Inside Vaultspace
The world welcomed him again, quiet and endless. He set the old manual on the grass, straightened his spine, and assumed the form.
Step. Twist. Sink. Breathe.
This time, it was perfect. And he did it again. Then again. He fell into rhythm.
Kairo had found his answer: this would be his path. Not instant strength, not flashy awakenings—but time. Pure, uninterrupted time to grind every movement into his bones. To build a foundation unshakable by ranks or ridicule.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Vaultspace bent around his effort. His body adapted, hardened. He practiced until his muscles ached, rested inside the space, then resumed again. He read every page of the manual, broke it down, tested, failed, refined.
He began collecting more—books, scrolls, martial footage on old devices. Anything he could smuggle into Vaultspace. He created a small library in the center of the clearing. His own private dojo.
Weeks Later — Real World
The transformation was subtle, but undeniable.
Kairo walked straighter. His gaze had sharpened. His footing—always uncertain—was now grounded, deliberate. The bullies noticed first.
"You ignoring me, E-Rank?" one jeered, shoving Kairo's shoulder.
Kairo didn't move. Not an inch. He just looked at him—calm, centered.
The bully blinked. "What...?"
"You're not worth my time," Kairo said, stepping past.
The group stared, stunned. He had always flinched, always ducked. But now? Something was different.
Kairo smirked faintly. They had no idea.
Late That Night — Vaultspace
He faced the open field again, armed with nothing but his hands and the knowledge burned into him through countless repetitions.
Then, the world cracked once more.
A second Vaultborn stepped into existence.
This one was leaner, faster-looking, draped in flowing robes, with blades at each hip.
"Time is your gift," she said softly. "But time can also rot a soul. Let's see if yours is still alive."
She didn't wait. Her blade flashed. A duel of movement and will began.
This time, Kairo wasn't overwhelmed. He blocked. Parried. Struck. He read her flow, saw her steps before they landed. She was stronger—far more skilled—but he survived.
The Vaultborn smiled as the tip of her blade hovered at his neck.
"You'll do," she whispered. "But the Vault has deeper layers. And deeper trials."
And just like that—she vanished.