bonus chapter:

(Skirk pov) Bonus 

High in the snowy mountains, a lone figure walked through the frostbitten silence. Her expression was unreadable calm, almost cold but within her, something unspoken stirred.

The wind howled across Dragonspine, clawing at her Clothes as she paused and looked skyward. Nothing ever changed. This world… always grasping, always bleeding, always struggling forward through endless conflict. And though she preferred the stillness of the Abyss, from time to time… she returned to the surface.

But one thing remained unexpected: the unnamed man.

A presence her master once spoke of… the one who chose…

She had never asked for details. Never learned his true name or origins. Never questioned why her master's voice, unwavering as it was, had—just once—faltered with something like respect.

All she remembered was a single, undeniable truth:

His swordsmanship was worthy of acknowledgment.

And yet… now, he was diminished. His aura fractured. His strength, sealed. The force that once made him a being of legend had crumbled. 

She didn't understand it—and she had no intention to. Emotions were weaknesses. Her master had taught her that. And this man, whoever he truly was, stood as proof of what sentiment could do: unravel strength, scatter purpose, and leave only ruin.

And yet…

A part of her—small, quiet, dangerous—wanted to see him fight. To witness what remained. Was it mere curiosity? Or a desire to test her blade against a fallen titan?

But she had made a vow.

She was not to interfere in this world. Her hands would not shape its fate. Stirring the waters now might awaken something far worse than him.

And yet… she watched. Silently. Carefully. Her eyes drifted shut, sensing the Abyssal pulse deep beneath the ocean, like a sleeping heartbeat.

The surface is only a shell… but below, the true foundation sleeps.

Skirk looked down at her hands—stained by the Abyss, shaped by its will. If she was to surpass her master, if she was to change fate itself, she needed more. Power was not enough. She had to conquer the Abyss.

Her gaze turned toward a dark cave nearby. She stepped forward, placing a hand on the cold stone at its entrance.

"I must descend deeper," she whispered. "Even he, the one who sleeps, must have been the one to whisper the secrets of the Abyss to my master."

She closed her eyes, a storm swirling just beneath her calm.

"One day… I will uncover those secrets myself."

That unname man holds the answers to that, she was certain. But she had no intention of seeking him out. Not yet.

First… I must swing my sword a million times.

Only then, when her blade was sharp enough to shape fate itself, would she be ready to face him, her master.

Skirk opened a rift and stepped through, returning to the only place she ever called home—the Abyss.

There, in the hollow stillness, her small camp remained undisturbed. She sat upon a jagged stone, retrieving a worn guitar from her pack. Fingers brushed the strings, and a soft, haunting melody drifted into the dark. It was a tune her parents used to sing… before the fire.

She opened her eyes, and in an instant, her sword materialized in her hand.

There was no room for emotion—only purpose. Only strength.

Skirk moved like a shadow, dancing through the Abyss. Her blade sang with each swing, as if the sword and she were one. Every motion was precise, deliberate—an extension of her will.

Monsters of the Abyss surged toward her, but she cut them down without hesitation. With each strike, she pushed herself further, using the Abyss's own power to propel her forward.