The Grind never Stops

Arkiz didn't remember walking to his father's office. One moment he was staring at the announcement in the sky and the next, he was standing just outside the tall double doors. They were slightly ajar.

He peered inside.

His mother, Elowen, was crying.

Not loud sobs, but the quiet kind that break your heart more. Her silver hair was draped gently across Raen's shoulder as she wept, and his father was rubbing her back with the soft patience of a man who'd expected this day, yet couldn't fully prepare for the emotions it brought.

"I knew she could do it," Raen murmured, his own voice thick. Arkiz saw his eyes glisten, just for a second, before he blinked it away.

Across the room, Selis stood by the wide arched window, golden eyes fixed on the fading sky. A faint shimmer of water coiled around her fingers as she silently wiped her tears with her element, as elegant as ever.

Arkiz watched them for a beat longer. He didn't say anything.

Then a scream.

More like a warcry.

Lynea Veyr Ryla, his five-year-old half-sister, came barreling down the hallway like a battle-hardened warthog. Her little feet lost traction near the door and she faceplanted gloriously into the smooth marble floor.

"Owww!"

Arkiz rushed to scoop her up, brushing off imaginary dust as she teetered between crying from pain or pride. He settled it by gently tapping her nose.

" Alright, tough guy. The floor isn't your enemy."

She sniffled. Then giggled.

Within moments, the entire family was gathered in a warm tangle of arms. Raen, Elowen, Selis, Lynea, and Arkiz all wrapped in a spontaneous group hug, heartbeats syncing. The silence wasn't awkward. It was comforting.

It was a Ryla thing.

_______

— Maerin Nymerille Ryla —

Halfway across the world, in the blazing dunes of Ignisar, a cloaked figure tugged her scarf down from her face. Wind whipped sand around her, but she didn't blink.

She had short, tousled hair the color of midnight tides—blue-black and slightly windswept from travel. A single braid curled down from behind her left ear, woven neatly and pinned with a bronze clasp shaped like a shifting dune. Her golden eyes gleamed with the sharp intensity of someone used to fighting head-on and thinking two moves ahead.

Her skin, sun-kissed and dusted with the grit of long travel, contrasted sharply against the weatherworn shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Beneath the cloak, hints of reinforced leather armor peeked through—sleek, practical, and shaped to her lean, athletic frame. Light scars traced the backs of her knuckles, and her gauntlets, though scuffed, pulsed faintly with a well-honed reservoir of earth aether.

A faint beauty mark rested just beneath her right eye—a detail few noticed before being knocked flat.

Maerin smirked.

"So she did it, huh?" Her golden eyes glinted under the sun. "I can't stay behind now, can I?"

At eighteen, she was fierce, focused, and far from home. After graduating the academy, she hadn't even returned to Vaelmir. Instead, she'd chosen to go straight to Ignisar — a continent filled with ancient ruins, underground threats, and the one thing her tier 3 breakthrough awakened:

Sand.

Her initial element had been Earth. But upon reaching Tier–3, she unlocked the Sand affinity. Her fists were now wrapped in gauntlets of enchanted ironwood, dusted in crushed rune quartz. She felt the shift in the ground before she saw it — a thunderous rumble, then a monstrous centipede-like beast burst from the sand.

A Harskive.

It screamed, jaw unhinging with rotating, saw-blade teeth.

Maerin didn't move. Not at first.

Then, the sand beneath her boots shifted—sinking for a breath, then hardening like stone as she planted her stance. Veins of deep brown aether rippled out from her soles, rooting her in place like a living pillar. Her gauntlet flared, trembling with focused power as earth-aspect aether coiled around her arm in layered rings—like sediment stacking in fast-forward.

Grains of sand vibrated beneath the pressure. A dull hum echoed through the dunes.

Her right fist lowered slightly, elbow tight to her ribs. The earth aether compressed, forming a dense, armor-like coating up to her shoulder. The air warped faintly around it.

Ahead, the Harskive tore through the dunes like a living battering ram, its chitin gleaming with heat, its saw-like mandibles screeching open.

She waited. One heartbeat.

Then punched.

BOOM!

The impact sounded like a collapsing mountain. A shockwave rippled outward in a perfect ring, blasting away sand in all directions. The Harskive's entire front erupted with a muffled crunch—cracks spiderwebbed through its armor-like plating as a gaping hole tore through its midsection. Chunks of blackened shell flew into the air, steam hissing from its ruptured innards.

The creature let out a guttural shriek and collapsed into the sand, twitching violently before going still.

Maerin slowly exhaled, steam rising off her gauntlet.

"Still not fast enough," she muttered, brushing a smear of blood-specked dust from her cheek.

______

— Nyra Veyr Ryla —

Meanwhile, on a rainy street in Elysiar, Nyra sipped her mocha and bit into a cinnamon pancake as the announcement played above the sky.

Her fork paused mid-air.

Lily practically jumped out of her seat beside her. "That's your sister! Holy Solon, Nyra, she looked like a war goddess in that announcement. Did you see her armor? That SMIRK?"

Nyra blinked. Then smiled softly.

"Yeah. That's Zerise."

She placed her fork down, wiped a bit of cream off her lip, and stood up.

Lily cocked a brow. "Where are you going?"

"Training," Nyra replied simply, eyes sharp. "Someone has to catch up."

_______

— Arkiz Norzé Ryla —

Back in the Ryla estate, Arkiz was once again alone in the hall after the family moment. The rain had lightened. He tied his ponytail higher.

The title [ SUPREME ] echoed in his mind. He didn't even know what element he'd awaken yet.

But he knew this much:

If Zerise could do it without the Games, without the book that send him here—

Then he had no excuse.

His first goal was to reinforce the fundamentals. The sword, the stances, the breathing. Next, he would start studying the Nullborns. Their movements. Their power. Their weaknesses.

If he did get Lightning, he'd explore his own path. Kael Thorne had already carved the way to Plasma.

So Arkiz would make something new.

His tea had gone cold.

He left it behind, stepped into his boots, and made his way to the Ryla training grounds.

Rain or shine, the grind never stopped.