Chapter 12 – The Path Between

Bari let the runes fade from his vision with a slow exhale, as though they were an expensive wine he'd been savoring—not a cryptic death sentence written by a sarcastic god. The words lingered in his mind, whispering meanings he didn't yet understand, but his legs had no interest in standing still. He pushed forward, boots sinking softly into the damp earth.

When he first imagined his First Nightmare, he'd pictured fire. Blood. The sort of dark, swirling chaos that war stories promised. Instead, this place looked like the cover of a travel magazine that no one would believe was real.

The air was sharp in the lungs, crisp in a way the outskirts could never be—none of that metallic tang of rusted roofs and sour-smoke hearths. Above him stretched a dome of blue so clean he half-suspected someone had taken a broom to it. Sunlight spilled through the branches like molten gold, dappling the forest floor with shifting coins of light.

The forest itself… he could almost forget he was in a death trap. Leaves were a riot of greens—from dark moss crawling over thick roots to pale, trembling buds high overhead. Flowers peeked out from beneath shrubs, their petals brushing his boots like curious hands. Somewhere in the canopy, birds trilled with the confidence of creatures that knew no predators.

Of course, Bari knew better.

The path narrowed ahead, forcing him between two thick-bellied oaks whose roots curled like the toes of sleeping giants. His pace slowed, eyes scanning the ground the way a card shark reads a table—searching for the trick, the tell. There. A depression in the soft earth, half-filled with water, shaped wrong for any villager's boot.

He stepped over it, keeping his breathing quiet.

Something else brushed the edges of his awareness—not sight, not sound, but the wind itself. It curled against his cheek, whispering of movement somewhere ahead.

His head tilted; eyes slid toward the source without directly fixing on it. At first, it was just a shape—lean, pale, still. Then a small shift: the flex of muscle under hide, the flick of an ear.

A deer.

Not a monster, at least not one of the obvious kinds. He kept his gaze only through the edge of his vision, recalling his tutor's warning: some creatures know when they're being watched. Best to let your attention skim, not pierce.

"Stare at them too long, and you might as well wave hello with a fork in your hand."

The deer's ears twitched once, twice, then it turned and bounded away—not frightened, just done with his presence.

Bari exhaled slowly and followed its vanished path with his mind. That's when he saw it.

Beyond the gap where the deer had vanished, the land rose sharply, clawing its way toward a distant mountain. The mountain itself was unremarkable in shape—just another gray spike in a world full of them—but perched near its summit was what seemed to be ruins. Even from here, he could see the dark columns of collapsed ruins that tilted sharply to the edge of the mountain like blades. 

There it was. The quest marker.

He stood there, staring, and a very dangerous thing happened—he started thinking.

Sunny's lessons drifted back to him: the Nightmare wasn't just a trial, but a puzzle. The best rewards came from resisting what the vision and future of the nightmare wanted to happen. Go against the grain. Spit in the dream's face. Sunny had gotten the appraisal of "Glorious, your treachery knows no bounds" or something like that, doing exactly that.

Bari looked at the temple again. Then at the path leading to it. Then back at the temple.

"…Nah. Im good bro."

No timer ticked down in the sky. No giant flaming arrow urged him on. If the Nightmare wanted him to head there, the fastest way to disappoint or amuse it was to turn around.

So he did.

***

By late afternoon, he found a shallow overhang where the rock face jutted out over the earth, half-hidden by ferns. It wasn't a fortress, but it was dry, and for now, that was enough. He settled in, leaning back against the stone.

The forest was quieter here, though the wind still threaded past his cheek like a curious cat. He let his mind wander, piecing together the absurdity of it all—how one morning he'd been in a café arguing with Toma about coffee beans, and now he was here, somewhere between paradise and a hunting ground, with gods scribbling cryptic notes in his soul.

It was almost funny. Almost.

Then a thought came to him:

"I finally got powers like those manga and books I read, and the first thing I do is sit down? What the hell is wrong with me?"

Bari shifted, letting his rucksack slip from his shoulders and settle at his side. His hand went to the katana at his hip. The weight was familiar now, but drawing it still stole his breath for a moment. The sheath slid free with a soft whisper of lacquered wood, and the steel blade caught the sun like a sliver of liquid sky.

He raised it slowly, as if waking an old friend. The grip felt perfect in his palm—not too tight, balanced with a grace no ordinary weapon could match. His muscles flexed almost without thought, responding to a rhythm older than this nightmare realm: the way to hold, to move, to strike.

This body remembered more than he expected. Years of training with wooden swords, knives, and raw street fights had woven their marks deep into his muscles.

His arm arced forward, swinging the blade with practiced elegance—a controlled slice that hummed through the air.

A few more swings followed, each smoother, faster, more confident. The air around the blade stirred in response, tiny eddies gathering like whispers of a storm waiting to be born.

He paused, breathing steady now, and let his hands fall to his sides. Then, almost hesitantly, Bari reached out—not with sight or sound, but with the invisible threads of his Aspect.

The wind answered, faint and flickering like a shy child. At first, it was little more than a breeze brushing his skin, teasing the edges of his kimono. But Bari willed it, focusing on that feeling, trying to pull the air into his control.

It was awkward. Unpredictable. The wind snapped and faltered like a wild thing, slipping through his fingers and refusing to stay still.

Manipulating it was not like swinging a sword. It demanded patience, precision… and will.

After a moment, he managed to gather a slender sheath of air, a shimmering layer clinging to the blade like a veil. It tingled against his skin, cool and alive.

With a decisive step forward, Bari swung the katana through the trunk of a nearby tree. The blade sang as it cut, slicing clean through bark and wood with a sharpness that startled even him. The tree split in two, leaves drifting down in the sudden silence.

His heart hammered with exhilaration. This was new power—raw and untamed, but his own.

He lowered the sword, eyes shining with wonder, giddiness, and determination. This seemed to be only the beginning.

***

Hours of wandering through the vibrant forest led him to the roar of rushing water. Pushing through thickets of wildflowers and ferns, Bari stood before a magnificent waterfall. Water tumbled from great heights, crashing over jagged rocks into a crystal-clear pool, sending mist dancing through the air like sparkling sparks.

The sun was high, casting rainbows in the mist. The forest hummed with life: dragonflies darted like living jewels, and the scent of wet earth and fresh water filled Bari's lungs. His raven-black hair whipped around his face, caught by playful gusts from his Aspect, droplets clinging to the strands and sparkling like tiny rubies—crimson eyes reflecting the sunlight.

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses, calling the wind. Through gentle currents, he felt it—an opening hidden behind the veil of falling water. A cave, concealed in the rocky cliff, perfect for shelter.

Slipping through the curtain of water, his skin chilled but resolve firm, he entered the cavern. The cool air smelled of minerals and damp stone, the faint echo of dripping water resounding around him. Inside, the cave widened into a natural chamber, walls slick and mottled with moss, a dry patch inviting enough for a makeshift camp.

Bari grinned faintly, setting down his pack and drawing his katana. The wind curled eagerly around him, and he reached out with his Aspect, wrapping a thin coat of air around the blade. The edge shimmered—sharp and almost alive.

With a smooth, practiced motion, he flicked the blade toward the pool. The wind sheath extended in a thin slicing arc, cleaving through the water and striking a startled fish beneath the surface. The creature sliced cleanly in two, floating briefly before drifting with the current.

He chuckled, the thrill of control sparking in his chest. This was power—raw and responsive.

***

Days blurred into weeks and weeks went on into mounths as Bari made the cave his home and training ground. He refined control over the winds, pushing the boundaries of his Aspect. Hunting became a test of precision and patience—learning to sense subtle shifts in air around fleeing prey, striking with blades of sliced wind or swiftly closing distance with bursts of speed.

He experimented with techniques gleaned from books and manga devoured in his past life. He imagined swirling currents coiling around his body, propelling him forward in a blur—like a storm incarnate. Dense balls of compressed air formed beneath his feet, exploding outward to launch him across rocky ground, mimicking powerful leaps of warriors in his stories.

One day, with a mischievous grin, Bari twisted air into a tight spiraling sphere—a miniature tempest at his fingertips. The wind swirled with fury's promise, much like the "rasengan" he'd admired, though far less refined. He released it against a boulder, the gale cracking the stone and sending shards scattering.

Though progress was raw and imperfect, every earned success fueled his resolve. He wasn't just surviving; he was evolving.

***

Long nights alone in the cave, wrapped in whispering winds and watching stars wheel overhead, gave Bari one inescapable truth: the Nightmare was a trial of mind as much as body. Strength alone wouldn't be enough.

He had to master the storm within—the will, the focus, the calm at the eye of chaos.

And he would, he didn't know how much time he would get to hone his skills, sunny didn't that was for sure.

***

Several Months Later

Bari has lost count of time, the forest had become both prison and sanctuary.

Bari moved through it like a shadow or a breeze—muscles leaner, senses keener. The wind no longer teased him with fleeting whispers—it bent subtly to his will, rippling around him like a cloak. His katana swings were quicker, cleaner; small eddies of air now followed his blade as naturally as a shadow follows its owner.

Countless hours honing this fragile bond had taught him to listen to the wind's temper and coax it into harmony with his own. Every failure was a lesson; every success, a spark pushing him closer to something greater.

But even with progress, the nightmare was still waiting.

Bari knew this dance was far from over.