Leo pulled himself to his feet, slow and careful.
The mist clung to his coat like it didn't want to let him go. The air was thick—charged, living, waiting. Each breath he took tasted like thunder right before it cracked: static, sharp, a hint of something deeper.
Something dangerous.
Ranna's boots whispered against the floorless expanse.
Her gaze pinned him in place like a blade through cloth.
"That wasn't the same attack," she said. Her voice was quiet—measured—but it carried, threading through the mist like iron through silk. "Not like what he used back in the forest."
Cris twitched, just slightly. His arms slowly dropped to his sides.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, cutting a path through the pale light on his skin. He didn't speak, but his breath hitched like he wanted to.
Ranna didn't look at him.
She was still watching Leo.
"The magical essence inside the Paradise," she continued, "was designed to give adventurers a taste of what came before."
The mist curled around her like something tamed. Her coat stirred slightly with the motion, though there was no wind.
"So we can learn," she said, "what it's like to feel the true essence of Aetheria—its raw source. The mana untouched by generations. The magic that once belonged to the Primordials."
Her eyes burned brighter, reflecting the shimmer around them.
"The Paradise is more than a battlefield. It's a memory," she said, lifting her hand.
A ripple pulsed outward. Leo could almost hear it humming in his ribs.
"Inside here, we're not just who we were outside. Not just 'adventurers'.'"
Her eyes flicked to Cris—brief, but weighted.
"We're all ranked S here," she said simply. "Even him."
Cris visibly straightened. A ghost of a smirk flickered on his lips, but his fingers curled inward like he was trying to ground himself.
Still, he said nothing.
Ranna turned her attention back to Leo.
"And you," Her voice dropped a little, softer—but somehow even more dangerous. "You claimed you defeated the Orc Lord. Cleared the Orc Dominion."
The air around her shimmered, and then—
Crack!
A flare of red tore through the mist, surrounding her body in waves of heatless flame. Her aura surged like blood turned to wildfire. Her irises glowed, crystalline and unblinking—twinkling like a child's before opening a gift she already knew was dangerous.
Leo's breath caught.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Something about her aura reminded him of the fight—not just the Orc Lord, but the moment he had killed it.
The clarity.
The power.
The weight of a system had acquired.
Cris inhaled sharply beside her.
Then he lifted both arms.
The air screamed.
Tornado-lances erupted into form, not conjured with effort this time—but summoned. Instinctive. They spiraled into being with a grace that made Leo's skin crawl, tighter, meaner, crueler. The mist funneled into each like a storm collapsing inward.
They didn't hum like before.
They roared.
But the moment that truly chilled Leo—
Was Amanda.
He felt her before he saw her.
The temperature shifted—subtle, not colder or warmer, just… quieter.
Like a breath held too long.
Her footsteps didn't echo, but each one thudded somewhere inside him.
He turned.
Amanda stood alone, crimson eyes hazy—unfocused, distant. But when she looked at him, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
"I'm sorry, Leo."
Her voice was soft. Regretful.
Deadly.
"I wasn't brought here as your ally."
Her hands rose.
Just a little.
That was all it took.
The mist around them didn't spiral—it shivered. It fractured. Like glass under pressure.
Blades formed.
One in each hand.
Forged from the mist itself, they shimmered into being with a soft hiss of pressure slipping loose. The air folded around them, dense with invisible force. The glow of their edges flickered like starlight seen through storm clouds.
Her stance matched the swords—wide-legged, balanced, calm. Her body mirrored a warrior carved from purpose, not hesitation. Her back was to him now, but Leo didn't need to see her face.
He felt it.
The sorrow. The conviction. The inevitability.
Amanda stepped forward, slow and deliberate. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes never left his.
Behind her, Ranna smiled faintly, as if this—this impossible convergence of memory, myth, and truth—was exactly what she had been hoping for.
Leo swallowed, his voice finally finding a crack to slide through.
"So this is the test?"
Ranna tilted her head.
"No," she said. "This is confirmation."
The clock above them ticked on, golden glyphs marking the seconds.
00:47:12
00:46:59
00:46:45
But before Leo could even form a thought—
Ranna vanished.
One heartbeat she was there, the next—
She reappeared right in front of him.
Her fingers closed around his arm like a vice of tempered steel. No warning. No chance to dodge. Just—
Contact.
A sudden pulse of force rippled through Leo's body before he could even react.
"Don't be afraid," she said, her voice surprisingly calm—almost amused, her face mere inches from his, eyes locked. "We're all practically immortal in here, too."
Then—
Boom.
He was airborne.
She flung him skyward like a ragdoll tossed by a storm.
The world tilted. Up and down, the mist—all blurred into streaks of motion. Wind screamed past his ears as his limbs flailed, gravity nowhere to be found.
Far below, Ranna's voice chased after him, cutting through the air with razor precision.
"But that doesn't mean—" she called, "—we can't still feel pain!"
Leo barely had time to gasp before the spin slowed.
His eyes caught sight of her again—arms folded, one brow raised like a mentor watching a stubborn student finally take their first real fall.
Thwip—thwip—thwip—
Something sliced through the mist. Fast. Sharp. Spiraling.
Leo's instincts screamed.
He twisted mid-air, eyes locking onto Cris—feet braced, arms outstretched. The bastard was already summoning another volley.
Dozens of coiled vortexes spun around his wrists like loaded slings, the air warping around them from sheer pressure.
"Oi!!" Cris yelled, a feral grin splitting his face. "Seriously, man—stop turning your back on your enemies!"
He managed to catch the first attack—barely—fingers curling around the unstable magic like grabbing a buzzsaw mid-spin. His aura flared, raw reflex more than skill, and the construct shuddered before bursting into whirling shrapnel of air and sound.
But the second, third, fourth—
Too fast. Too late.
KRA-BOOM!
The air split open in a violent explosion.
A sound like a collapsing mountain roared through his skull. His vision strobed white as the mist itself was torn apart around him.
Flames of raw wind magic spiraled outward in chaotic loops.
Down below, Cris' expression flickered—not with regret, but with a flicker of respect.
Leo tumbled through the aftermath like a falling star, clothes fluttering in torn spirals. His skin burned where the lance had struck, nerves singing with pain that wasn't quite real—but felt like it was.
And even through the ache and the haze, one truth started to settle in his gut.
They weren't holding back.
None of them.
Inside this Paradise, this wasn't training.
This was trial by fire.