Reality Check

Donte opened his eyes, heart still pounding from the echoes of the Forge-Heart. A gentle warmth pressed behind his sternum, and phantom shapes of TARR, NAL, IXA, LUN, and DRAV still glimmered in his memory. For a few lingering moments, he half expected to see runic fragments floating across his vision, but the real world offered only the dim, ironclad interior of Markus's workshop.

He blinked, disoriented. No drifting catwalks. No cosmic hush. Just the low hum of machinery powering down in the late afternoon. The bench he leaned against was rough and tangible, splattered with grease and metal shavings. A faint haze of smoke from the forge drifted through the overhead lamps.

Wait—late afternoon?

He glanced around. Lamps still hung from the rafters, but the sunlight outside the workshop's small window told a different story: it was early morning, from the angle of it. Confusion flared. He'd felt like he'd been in the mindscape for hours—maybe more. Yet the clock on the wall read only an hour past when he'd started his mental journey.

His breath caught.

Time felt warped. The question was how. Or why.

A clank of metal on metal pulled his attention away. Markus stood a few paces behind him, methodically cleaning a broad-barreled rifle. The older man's gaze flicked over, noticing Donte stir.

"You back already?" he asked, not unkindly.

Donte swallowed. "Already?"

Markus shrugged, setting down his cleaning rod. "It's only been about an hour since you sat down. Thought you'd be under longer."

His words confirmed Donte's suspicion. For Donte, it had felt like an entire day might have passed—he'd meticulously repaired a rune, discovered DRAV, reorganized half his workshop. And yet, real time insisted otherwise.

He tried to mask the unease in his tone. "Guess… I'm faster than I thought."

Markus snorted. "Or your mindscape runs deep. Happens sometimes. Kids with strong resonance tend to experience accelerated mental pacing. You can do a week's worth of quiet reflection in an hour, if the conditions are right."

Donte just stared, piecing it together. So it was a known phenomenon—time dilation. Another layer of complexity that separated mental forging from actual forging.

"Feels weird," he murmured. "Like I lived through hours or more. But here, it's nothing."

Markus nodded. "Not unusual. But don't let it fool you. Your class might evolve in your head, but out here, you still have to act in real time. Muscle memory. Physical synergy. Real conditions."

Those words hit home. He remembered the silent question he'd carried: Why did his body never tire in the mindscape? Why did his runes draw no energy? He scratched the back of his hand absently, deciding to come out and say it.

"Markus," he began quietly, "you told me that using too many skills without a Flow Technique would drain me. But in that world, I felt nothing. It was like… no cost at all. Is that normal?"

A flicker of curiosity crossed Markus's features. He set the rifle down with care. "No cost at all?"

Donte nodded. "None. I used Rune Insight—my skill—to rebuild runes. I activated them multiple times. Should've bled me dry, right? But I'm not tired in the slightest."

Markus folded his arms. "That is interesting. Usually, at least a fraction bleeds over."

"Maybe I just don't notice it," Donte offered, though it felt like a lie. He was certain he'd notice if Neurys had drained him.

But Markus shook his head. "There's always some sign—heart rate spike, shaky muscles, a headache. Something."

A contemplative silence settled between them. Donte had no idea how to interpret that silence. Was it good or ominous that his mental forging cost him nothing?

Eventually, Markus sighed and hoisted the rifle onto a rack. "Could be a quirk of your mindscape. Or your class. Rare ones don't always follow the standard rules. Either way, it doesn't change the fact that out here, you'll pay for every skill you use unless you learn to control the flow."

Donte chewed that over. A swirl of excitement and apprehension brewed in his gut. If his class circumvented the normal drain in the mindscape, that was an advantage in terms of mental training. But if it hammered him with inefficiency in the real world, how would he function? He'd be unstoppable in illusions, but worthless in a real fight.

He squared his shoulders. "I want to test it," he said quietly.

Markus raised an eyebrow. "Test what?"

Donte licked his lips. "Using a skill. Outside. Right now."

A soft chuckle escaped Markus. "It's your funeral. But sure. Let's see if your illusions of infinite energy hold up."

Donte braced himself. He stepped back from the bench, drawing a slow breath. The faint glow in the workshop's overhead lamps cast shadows across the floor. Just an hour had passed for Markus, but Donte felt mentally fresh—like he'd sorted out an entire day's worth of experiences in his mindscape.

He let that synergy settle. Then he deliberately activated Rune Insight.

In the mindscape, the skill sprang forth with no resistance. But here, as he tried to harness it, he felt something in his chest stiffen. A tension built behind his ribs, like an invisible band tightening. His eyes prickled with sudden heat.

He forced the skill to form, searching for any stray runic patterns in the workshop. He locked onto a half-formed chunk of magical script, some leftover Thalics etched into an old plate on the table.

At first, the lines did magnify for him. They brightened. He could see their structure, glean faint meaning…

Then a searing ache tore through his abdomen.

Gasping, he doubled over. It felt like someone was draining him through a straw. His arms began to quiver, and the partial glow in his eyes fizzled. The Thalics script lost clarity, returning to normal, dull metal.

The entire skill had lasted maybe three seconds.

Markus was at his side in an instant, a firm hand on Donte's shoulder. "Easy," he said calmly. "Breathe."

Donte exhaled through clenched teeth, blinking away spots. A wave of dizziness hammered his temples, leaving him with a mild throbbing headache. Just for a simple activation—nothing fancy. He shuddered. If that was a fraction of what full skill use felt like without a Flow Technique…

He shook his head, breath slowing. "That's… intense."

"No kidding," Markus replied, helping him stand upright. "You see now why I keep harping on controlling your energy. In the mindscape, you can do whatever you please—zero cost. Here, reality hits back."

Donte's chest still felt tight, but the pain was receding. The headache lingered, reminding him of the lethal difference between illusions and real forging. "So… the only fix is learning a Flow Technique?"

"Essentially," Markus said, picking up a rag and tossing it to Donte so he could wipe sweat from his brow. "A Flow Technique is a structured method for guiding your internal energy. Without it, your skill usage is raw—like trying to push water through a cracked pipe. Most of it leaks, and you strain to force it anyway."

Donte dried his face, words failing him for a moment. The memory of infinite freedom in the mindscape clashed starkly with this harsh physical burn. "Then show me," he finally managed. "At least a start."

Markus nodded, expression thoughtful. "I was going to wait a bit longer, but fine. Let's see how you handle a basic practice form. Something the factories teach novices to reduce strain for forging tasks. Won't be perfect for you, but it'll get you used to the concept."

Donte's heart fluttered. He motioned for Markus to continue, trying to keep his balance. Every muscle felt a bit shaky, like he'd sprinted a mile on no sleep.

"Stand there," Markus directed, pointing to an open space in the workshop. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent."

Donte obeyed, ignoring the dull ache behind his eyes. With each breath, he caught the faint scent of metal scrap and old oil. Usually comforting, but now overshadowed by the pounding in his head.

Markus moved behind him, placing a hand between Donte's shoulders and guiding him into a straighter posture. "First, you find your center of gravity. Imagine a line running from the crown of your head down to the floor, passing through your torso."

Donte inhaled, picturing that vertical line. The tension in his belly eased slightly as he aligned himself.

"Good. Now, try not to tense your arms. Let them hang at your sides, palms facing inward. Breathe through the nose, out the mouth—slowly."

Donte followed instructions, inhaling through his nose for a count of three, exhaling through parted lips for a count of four. His pulse began to slow. The headache receded a fraction. He felt… steadier.

Markus stepped around to face him. "This is just a posture check. Next, we'll do a simple cyclical motion. Lift your arms on the inhale—like a curve from waist to chest—and let them down on the exhale."

Donte nodded. He raised his arms in sync with his breath, feeling a mild pull across his shoulders. It reminded him of Qi Gong or Tai Chi from his old life, though the motions here were more mechanical, less fluid.

"Focus on your chest," Markus said. "Imagine a calm flow building there. Don't think about runes or forging. Just see if you can keep your breath aligned."

Donte lifted his arms again, inhaling. A slow, measured rise. Then he exhaled, arms returning to his sides. Repetition. Again. Again. The movement felt foreign at first. He wanted to hunch or jerk. But each cycle got easier, pushing away the tightness in his ribcage.

After a few cycles, the workshop's background noise faded for him. He found a mild rhythm in the motion—breathe in, arms up, breathe out, arms down. He noticed faint sparks of discomfort near his solar plexus, but they eased with each controlled breath.

"Markus?" he said softly between cycles. "How's this help with skills? Feels like… slow breathing."

The older man let out a brief chuckle. "It is slow breathing. But it's also the first step to forging an internal circuit. If you do it right, you'll reduce the random swirling of your energy. Eventually, you can direct it somewhere intentionally instead of letting it bleed out."

Donte nodded, continuing the gentle arm movements. Inhale—lift. Exhale—lower. He recognized now that a Flow Technique wasn't a single posture or motion. It was a system. This was probably the kindergarten version.

"Keep going," Markus urged, stepping aside to pick up a small, dull piece of metal plating—maybe the size of a dinner plate. "When you feel stable, try channeling just the faintest bit of skill. Not a full activation. See if your chest still flares with pain."

Donte swallowed, bracing himself. He resumed the rhythmic motion, letting the cycle root him, slow him. Then, halfway through an inhale, he attempted a flicker of Rune Insight. Not the full skill—just the faintest activation, no target.

He felt a tug in his chest, a spike of heat behind his eyes—but it was milder this time. Manageable.

He exhaled, releasing the skill. A mild headache pulsed but didn't cripple him.

He blinked a few times, shoulders relaxing. "That… wasn't so bad."

Markus nodded. "Better than last time, right? You're channeling less in a single burst, controlling the flow with that breathing pattern."

Donte paused the arm-lift cycle, turning to face him. "So that's how a Flow Technique helps? By giving me a method to guide my energy?"

"Exactly," Markus said, handing him the small metal plate. "Keep practicing. Once you can hold that skill for a few seconds without flinching, we can try something else." He gestured at the chunk of metal. "Like forging an actual runic imprint or a test shape you learned from your mindscape."

Donte nodded, gulping down the lingering tension in his throat. A test shape… He could try TARR or something similarly basic. Then again, forging runes in the real world might be a leap—especially if he had no reference for how to embed them physically.

Before he could speak, Markus folded his arms. "Don't push it too far right now. Baby steps. Learn to hold just a fraction of power with each breath. Once you can do that consistently, we'll expand the posture. Add stance transitions. That's how we build a Flow Technique from the ground up."

Donte glanced at the workshop's far corner, where a half-broken rifle and a newly minted contraption sat. He'd pictured himself forging wonders with runes seamlessly, but apparently, it required the synergy of body, mind, and skill.

Markus dusted off his coat. "This slow approach is crucial. If you try to do it all at once, you'll burn out. Reality doesn't let you skip steps."

Donte's shoulders slumped a bit, tension draining from him as he gave a short laugh. "So the mindscape was the easy part."

Markus smirked. "Exactly. Illusions. Real forging demands a stable channel in the real world. So, are you ready to keep working?"

"I am," Donte replied, gripping the metal plate in one hand. Even though a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, the thought of bridging the gap between illusions and reality sent a flicker of excitement through him.

"Start with the breathing again." Markus fell into a patient stance, demonstrating the simple arm-lift cycle. "Focus on not letting your energy spike. Keep it even. Once you can do that, try channeling just the faintest flicker of skill into the plate. Nothing big—just sense it. If it stings too much, back off."

Donte followed, raising and lowering his arms methodically. His lungs expanded in a steady pattern. After two cycles, he felt some internal calm. Then he pressed the smallest spark of activation behind his eyes—Rune Insight—just enough to sense the plate in front of him. A mild tension built, but the breathing cycle smoothed out the brunt of it.

It wasn't pain-free, but it was… livable.

He let out a breath, stopping the skill after a second or two.

Markus nodded in approval. "Not bad. Keep practicing. The headache will get weaker, the synergy stronger."

Donte swallowed. "How long will this take to master?"

Markus shrugged, returning to the side bench. "Depends. Sometimes weeks, sometimes months. Rare classes usually take longer. But one step at a time."

He started polishing a small cylinder, leaving Donte to the rhythmic motions. The workshop's subdued noises—the mild hiss of the forge, the clang of metal in the distance—formed a backdrop to Donte's newfound routine. Inhale, exhale, mild skill activation, then rest. Over and over. Each cycle chipped away at the sting, letting him hold the skill an extra half-second before it bit him. With each success, his confidence in controlling energy grew.

He realized then he'd have to do far more: forging runes physically, testing TARR or DRAV in the real world, shaping them into gear. All of that demanded a stable Flow Technique, not just a quick fix. But he felt a sliver of pride in these first steps. He'd fused illusions with reality by will alone, guided by a breathing pattern.

Time passed. Donte wasn't sure how long. Possibly half an hour. Possibly more. The headache never vanished, but it receded enough that he stopped flinching at every flicker of skill usage. Each attempt felt like forging a tiny bond between mind and body, bridging the gap that had let him roam free in illusions but cost him everything out here.

Eventually, Markus reappeared at his side, studying him with a faint nod. "You're sweaty and your eyes look beat, but you're still upright. That's a good sign."

Donte lowered his arms, rolling his shoulders. "I can hold the skill for about five seconds without feeling like my head'll split."

Markus chuckled. "Five seconds is an eternity compared to what you managed at first."

Donte cracked a tired grin. His chest heaved slightly, sweat trickling down the side of his face. He marveled at how something so simple—breathing, posture, a measured approach—could hold such power. If this was only the beginning, he couldn't wait to see how far it might take him.

Markus grabbed a rag from a nearby hook and tossed it over. Donte caught it clumsily, wiping his forehead. His arms felt alive, not in a painful sense, but as if they'd done real work. An echo of the mindscape's creative energy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the battered clock on the wall—over an hour had passed, truly. This time, the real world had marched on with him.

"What's next?" Donte asked quietly.

Markus shrugged, leaning back against the main table. "We refine. We build up your endurance. Then we adapt that flow to real forging—guns, mechanical parts, maybe a few specialized scripts. Eventually, you'll want to incorporate your runic tinkering. That's going to be tricky but doable, once you're not draining yourself to half-death."

Donte nodded slowly, picturing the half-ruined rifle in the corner. If he could apply even one of the runes from his mindscape to it—like TARR for controlled ignition or IXA for a quick reload—what wonders might unfold?

"Take a break," Markus said, gesturing at a stool. "Drink water, rest. You can't just push your mind and body nonstop out here. That's how you end up collapsed."

Donte followed his advice, sinking onto the stool with relief. A few swallows from a nearby water flask steadied his trembling limbs. The difference between illusions and reality hammered home once again: out here, everything had a cost.

He looked at his hands, remembering how easily the stylus had formed in his mindscape. If only it worked that way here. If only it cost nothing. But the real world had its own rules, and he would learn to navigate them.

He exhaled. The words that formed in his thoughts summed up the entire day's experience: Mindscapes might give me infinite space to experiment, but real forging demands real effort.

Still… that was all right. He felt ready. Excited, even.

He glanced up at Markus, who eyed him with calm approval. "You're on the right path," Markus remarked. "Keep at it."

Donte's gaze drifted back to the flickering forge in the corner of the workshop, the physical one that had shaped his days before he'd awakened. A new sense of purpose filled him. The next step would be bridging illusions with genuine craftsmanship—restoring runes in the real world and maybe forging gear that harnessed them. He imagined installing TARR for a regulated heat source in a weapon, or DRAV for a self-reinforcing barrel. Someday, he'd do more than guess. Someday, he'd unify both realms into one unstoppable synergy.

For now, though, he closed his eyes and let the last wave of exhaustion pass.

He was tired, but the good kind of tired: used muscles, tested skill, incremental victory. Mind and body, forging a middle ground. And in time, he would cross that ground fully, merging illusions of creation with tangible, unstoppable invention. A small smile tugged at his lips.

If the mindscape was the dream… then this was reality. And he intended to make the most of both.