The First Step

"Stop and turn around! Where do you think you're going?"

The awakened guard's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. His gaze locked onto Soren, unwavering, cold. There was no hesitation in his stance—he was fully prepared to stop anyone from leaving.

Crap.

Soren slowed his steps, forcing his breathing to steady. He had to keep his movements natural, controlled. Any sudden reaction—stopping too quickly, tensing up—might give him away. The wrong move here could ruin everything.

He didn't look like the other laborers. No uniform. No slouched posture of someone who had spent years beaten down by exhaustion. And worse—he wasn't wearing any armor, so pretending to be one of the guards was out of the question.

Think. Think.

The guard had clearly sensed his awakening—but his presence wasn't strong enough to stand out. That meant the man likely assumed he was one of the newly awakened laborers, just another survivor pulled through the trial.

That assumption worked in his favor.

He could use it.

Soren adjusted his stance, forcing himself to appear more uncertain. His shoulders slumped slightly, his movements losing the quiet confidence he had built over the years. A freshly awakened laborer wouldn't be trying to sneak away with precision and purpose.

He had to look lost. Hesitant. Just another weak fool caught up in something bigger than himself.

He let out a slow breath, lifted a hand, and rubbed the back of his neck, letting a hint of nervousness bleed into his expression. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, unsure.

"One of the awakened in Clan Aurora told me to get supplies. They said you left some outside."

A simple lie. Nothing complicated. The best deceptions were the ones built on logic and half-truths.

The guard's stance eased, if only slightly. The hardness in his expression softened just a fraction as he processed the explanation. But then—

"Was it awakened Lyle who sent you?"

Soren barely hesitated.

"Ah, yes. That was him. He was quite persistent about it."

He took a step forward, slow and measured, keeping his movements casual. Not too eager. Not too cautious. If he walked with purpose, the guard might let him go. If he hesitated too much, suspicion would creep in.

Just a few more steps.

"You do realize there's no one named Lyle in our group, right?"

The words hit harder than they should have.

Soren froze mid-step.

His breath caught—just for a fraction of a second. Not enough for most to notice. But even the smallest pause in the wrong moment could be dangerous.

What a stupid oversight.

The guard's hand was already reaching for the hilt of his sword.

Soren instinctively took a step back. If the man drew his blade, there wouldn't be enough time to close the distance. The moment steel left its sheath, the fight would be over before it began.

His eyes locked onto the guard's, mind racing as he analyzed his options.

There weren't many. In fact, there was only one.

Fight.

Almost under no circumstances could an unarmed person defeat someone wielding a weapon, assuming they were on the same level. Soren hadn't had the chance to test his strength since awakening, but he could feel the difference. Something inside him had changed.

The problem? The only weapon he could summon was that damn, overly dramatic Aeternis.

There isn't really a choice, is there?

Soren exhaled slowly, spreading his hand out. He didn't need to think about the motion—it felt natural. Focus on the feel of holding a sword. Call its name.

Aeternis.

Light flickered. And then—a weapon materialized in his grip.

But it wasn't the sword from his trial.

A dagger.

Soren's eyes flickered over the weapon, but before he could process the change, the guard was already moving. Plated armor, smaller golden engravings than Selene's—but still far superior to anything a laborer could wear.

A heavy greatsword left its sheath in a single smooth motion. The guard's grip was firm, his expression colder than before.

"Turn around now," he said, voice laced with warning. "Or you'll die here, boy."

Soren barely registered the words.

A familiar tugging sensation stirred within him—the same pull he had felt in the trial.

"Weak..."

The word left his lips before he even realized it.

Soren's body twitched violently as he snapped back to his own consciousness.

"I didn't say that."

His breath hitched as he looked up—straight into the guard's face, which was now contorted with fury.

The man's grip on his sword tightened.

"Who the hell are you calling weak, twerp?!"

With a roar, the guard lunged.

With a roar, the guard lunged.

It's going to be easier if he's blinded by anger.

A small mistake, and I can turn it in my favor.

The guard gripped his greatsword with both hands, the blade aimed straight for Soren's abdomen. A powerful, decisive thrust—meant to skewer him on the spot.

Soren barely managed to intercept, guiding the strike to the side with his dagger. But the force behind the swing was far greater than he expected. The difference in weight between their weapons was like night and day—his dagger was light, the greatsword was brutal, relentless. He wasn't adjusted to the sheer power behind it.

Pain flared in his shoulder. A thin cut. Shallow, but a warning.

Soren stumbled back, widening the space between them just slightly.

And then—

"You dare strike me, mortal?"

The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

That same tugging sensation.

Soren's entire body tensed. What the hell was that?! He hadn't said that. But the words had left his mouth all the same. But there was no time for that—if he didn't focus, he'd actually die.

With a sharp inhale, he forced himself back in control.

The guard had already raised his sword again, this time bringing it down in a brutal, overhead swing.

Too fast to dodge.

Soren reacted on instinct—he kicked the guard square in the chest. The strike connected, sending the man staggering back a step.

"Tsk." The guard spat, regaining his balance.

Soren didn't let up.

His eyes locked onto the guard's hands, his grip firm around the hilt of the greatsword. If he could just slice his fingers, force him to drop his weapon—

Soren lunged. His dagger aimed precisely for the guard's fingers—

And then—

It changed direction.

At the last second, the blade swerved—veering toward the guard's throat instead.

What?

The guard barely dodged in time, his instincts carrying him backward. His greatsword swung out in retaliation.

Soren parried on reflex, but the force sent him skidding back a few steps.

His breath came short. His mind reeled.

What again?

I was trying to make him drop his sword—

But that damn thing tried to kill him instead.

The guard had already regained his balance, his grip firm on the greatsword as he stared Soren down.

Soren held his stance, muscles coiled. His mind raced through his options—how to close the distance without getting cleaved in half. Meanwhile, the guard was likely thinking the opposite—how to cut Soren down in a single swing.

And then—

"Impudent pagan. Kneel before your ruler."

The words slipped from Soren's lips, but they weren't his own.

The guard blinked.

"What the hell did you just say?" His voice dripped with utter disbelief.

Soren himself couldn't believe it either. What was this damn sword trying to pull?

Before he could dwell on it, the guard's confusion turned to rage.

With a growl, he lunged, his greatsword sweeping in a brutal horizontal arc.

Soren reacted immediately, stepping just out of range, feeling the wind of the blade pass inches from his chest.

Now!

As the blade whistled past, Soren lunged forward. He dropped low, aiming to sweep the guard's legs out from under him. If he could bring him down, the follow-up strike would be clean.

But—

The moment he closed in, the guard stepped forward instead of stumbling.

And then—

A plated knee slammed into Soren's face.

The impact exploded through his skull, his vision bursting white as his body was launched backward. He hit the ground hard, sliding several meters before coming to a dazed stop.

For a second, everything was a blur.

Soren sat there, stunned. His breathing was ragged, and his nose—his damn nose—was completely crooked, blood already running down his lips.

Soren blinked rapidly, his vision swimming back into focus.

What the hell just happened?

He shook his head, forcing himself to his feet. His body still ached, his nose was a mess, but he had no time to recover.

The guard was already moving.

His greatsword raised high, his face twisted in a victorious sneer.

Soren saw the shift in his stance—blade tilted to the right, ready to cleave him in two.

But instead of dodging, Soren did nothing.

He let his body sag slightly, his posture loose, his gaze unfocused—the perfect image of someone too stunned to react.

The guard grinned, buying the act completely.

"Got ya."

He swung.

At the last second, Soren ducked.

The blade whistled over his head, cutting through nothing but air.

The guard's smile vanished in an instant.

Too late.

Soren twisted, momentum coiling through his body—then snapped his heel straight into the guard's jaw.

The impact cracked through the air.

The guard's head snapped back. His body went rigid.

And then—he collapsed.

His sword clattered uselessly to the ground, skidding away from his limp fingers.

Soren slowly straightened, rolling his shoulders as he looked down at the unconscious man.

He let out a breath.

"He probably didn't die."

He wasn't sure if he was saying that to himself or to the damn sword.

"Undefeated between heaven and earth." Soren spoke unwillingly

Like Aeternis was reminding Soren of its existence.

Soren let out a slow breath. "Shut up. You're making me look insane." His voice was calm, but the annoyance was clear. Without another word, he dismissed the dagger, watching as it vanished from his grip.

He turned toward the gates ahead—the path leading into the unknown.

The Havens. A world he knew nothing about.

Soren stared for a long moment, then muttered under his breath, "This is going to suck."

And with that, he stepped out of the labor camp—into a new world.