Part 1 - The steel: Octavius
The sky wore an aged amber hue as if time itself moved slowly here, tinting the warehouses in an ancient light. The breeze coming from the shore, although weak, carried distant saltwater scents, mixed with asphalt and burnt grass. Octavius stood on top of an abandoned building, elbows resting on the cracked concrete railing. His eyes—small, sunken, dry—hadn't blinked in minutes.
Below, in a dirt field bordered by a broken fence, Thomas ran in circles. Sweat soaked his white shirt, his steps heavy and rhythmic. Each lap, he'd pause briefly, glance at his wrist—the watch displaying something Octavius couldn't understand—and continue running.
— What the hell are you doing...? — murmured Octavius, too softly for wind or spirits to hear.
He had been watching for four days. Tracking Thomas's Ayvu hadn't been difficult. Forced absorptions like that... left traces, like blood in the air.
Octavius had expected a dangerous opponent. A marked man, cold, eyes belonging to someone who kills without hesitation. Like Calil.
But what he found was... this.
A common man.
One who exercised until collapsing, cursed quietly when failing telekinesis attempts, and occasionally stopped mid-training to embrace his daughter who ran toward him clutching a toy.
Today, however, Gabrielle had already left.
And Thomas... kneeling on the field's ground, wasn't breathing deeply to recover.
He was crying.
Silent, shuddering breaths. Head down, shoulders trembling, hands covering his face as if that would hide his feelings from himself.
Octavius felt something strange then.
A rupture.
As if the anger he'd carried in his chest—hot for days—hit a wall. And began trickling away.
He clenched his teeth.
This man... killed my brother.
But everything felt wrong about it. The way he spoke to his daughter. His affection toward his wife, even from a distance, as she watched from the shade of the wall. The way he logged every training session. There was no blood on his hands. Just urgency.
And fear.
— Hesitating now, Octavius? — he asked himself.
He touched the dagger's handle at his waist, one of the last Calil had left him, one he'd never dared to use.
He killed Calil. I saw the body. Saw the spiritual traces fading. But... why? How?
At that moment, a voice sounded behind him. Dry. Ancient. But alive.
— If you're going to kill him, do it now. — ... — But if you hesitate again, it means your hatred isn't enough anymore.
Octavius spun around with a soldier's reflexes. Hector stood there.
— You... — Octavius couldn't finish.
— I saw everything — replied Hector. — I saw what you saw. I know you tracked him. I know you want revenge. But I also know you didn't understand anything.
Octavius frowned.
— What do you know about my brother?
— Enough to say he was a murderer. And more: a coward.
Octavius stepped forward instinctively.
— Watch your words, old man...
— Calil tried to kill an unarmed, defenseless civilian. Injured, yes, but still a Class C Shaman. And Thomas... — Hector pointed down to the field. — Was just a father returning from the market.
Octavius fell silent.
— I saw — Hector continued. — I saw the moment he decided kill or be killed. It wasn't for power. It was for love. And even then... he begged. He cried. He pleaded for his life.
Octavius looked away.
Below, Thomas sat against the wall, sipping water, wiping his face with his shirt.
— You speak as if you know him — retorted Octavius, dryly.
— I do.
— Since when?
— Since before he knew how cruel the world could be.
Octavius bit his lip. His jaw trembled with rage, not weakness.
— Calil was my brother. He held my hand through my first Ritual. When my Ayvu exploded and nearly killed me... he carried me to the Order.
— I know.
— He taught me everything. How to maintain focus. Read energy. Cut before enemies scream. He was...
— A murderer — Hector interrupted firmly. — Who used others' pain as fuel. Don't confuse brotherly love with redemption.
Octavius turned sharply, finger pointing at Hector.
— Who are you to say that? You think you knew Calil better than I did?!
— No. But I saw the bodies he left behind. Mothers crying in open graves. People like Thomas... losing everything for being in the wrong place. And I saw Calil laughing about it.
Octavius clenched his fists.
— You think he was a monster. But he just survived the only way he knew! He was what the system made him!
— And Thomas? — Hector pointed again, strongly. — What did the system do to him? Thrown in an alley, bleeding, nearly dead, with a daughter waiting at home. Did you want him to let Calil kill him?
— No... — whispered Octavius.
— No what?
— I don't know. I... — He paused, running a hand over his face, confused. — It's all wrong, Hector. I came here to kill him. That was the plan. Revenge. Period. But now...
Hector approached slowly.
— Revenge doesn't hold when facing the truth, Octavius. You've seen with your own eyes: that man down there fights every day, not to kill, but to protect. Does he look proud of taking a life?
Octavius stared again at Thomas.
— He cries during training... — whispered Octavius.
— Because he still feels. He's still human.
Octavius took a deep breath, then slowly let go of the dagger's handle.
— Calil wasn't a monster, Hector. But maybe... he was becoming one.
— He already was. You... aren't.
Octavius took out a small wooden box, opened it. Inside were Calil's daggers, blades still stained from the last battle.
— This was all I had left of him.
— Maybe now it's time to leave them with someone who'll use them for a greater purpose.
Octavius handed the box to Hector.
— If he uses them to protect... I can live with that.
— And if he uses them to kill?
— Then he better kill for the right reasons.
Octavius turned to leave, murmuring:
— If he becomes like Calil... I'll finish what I didn't today.
Then vanished into the building's darkness.
Hector watched him go, then looked down at Thomas...
Who kept running, fighting, sweating, trying.
Parte 2 - The breath: Inheritance and the Burden
The silence of the clearing weighed heavily like lead.
Thomas stood motionless in front of the open box, staring at Calil's daggers. He couldn't reach out, not yet.
— He was going to kill me… — he murmured, almost to himself.
— He was — confirmed Hector firmly. — And he almost succeeded.
Thomas ran a hand over his face, tired. His breathing fluctuated between control and revolt. The wind blew among the trees, humid, carrying salt and old leaves.
— You told me Octavius watched me. For days... And I didn't even notice. — His tone was tense. — And you knew it, too. You both knew. And still...
Hector crossed his arms without reacting.
— What if he had attacked? What if he saw my daughter? — Thomas's voice rose. — Did you protect me or test me?
Silence.
Thomas stepped back, looking around. Nature seemed to listen.
— They... saw Olivia. Saw Gabi. And I didn't even sense it.
Hector stared at him for a moment before speaking.
— The answer to your question is simple: yes. You were vulnerable because you still don't know this world. But now you're here. And you won't be a victim anymore.
Thomas bit his lower lip, the metallic taste of his scar still lingering. Anger rose within him like a contained blaze—but he suppressed it, buried it deep.
— And these daggers? — He gestured toward the box with his chin. — Why did you give me these?
— Octavius asked me to.
Thomas widened his eyes.
— What?
— He handed them to me, asked me to pass them on to you. He said… you shouldn't have been dragged into this. If anyone could bear the burden of those blades, it's you.
Thomas approached slowly, stopping in front of the box.
— Did he give up on revenge?
— No — said Hector calmly. — He understood there's no room for revenge in this world. Only survival.
The words echoed strangely inside Thomas. Survival. Was that it? No right or wrong, just staying alive.
He extended his hand, touching one of the dagger's hilts.
A chill immediately ran up his arm.
It wasn't cold. It was… dark. An invisible weight spread from his wrist to his shoulder, as if something tried to drain his energy. A presence.
He carefully lifted the dagger from the box.
It felt heavier than it looked. The blade didn't reflect light—it absorbed it. Holding it tightly, he felt his arm tremble slightly, as if the object responded.
— What's in these blades...? — he whispered.
— Yandu bones — Hector replied. — Used by Calil for over ten years. Bathed in corrupted Ayvu. These daggers… have a history.
Thomas hovered a finger over the blade without touching it. He could sense a subtle magnetism. It felt like a dormant creature. A trapped spirit.
— It's like they're breathing — he murmured.
— They are. They feel. And if you use them long enough… they'll feed on you.
Thomas swallowed hard.
— Then why give me something like this?
— Because your blood is already on them. They'll accept you faster than any other weapon.
— And if I refuse?
— They'll wait. And slowly… take you from within.
Thomas dropped the dagger back into the box, stepping away. The air felt heavier. His palms were sweating.
— So that's it? A cursed gift?
— It's a reminder. And a tool. It's up to you to decide which will be stronger: your will… or their hunger.
Thomas rubbed his face again. He was exhausted. But alive.
More importantly: he was on the path.
He looked up at Hector.
— And now?
— Now we begin. You have four weeks. And two Yandu cores to acquire.
Thomas looked at the sky, clouds slowly clearing to reveal a patch of blue between the trees. The wind now felt denser, breathing along with the clearing.
He took a deep breath, lifted the box with both hands.
And carried the weight.
Part 3 - The heart: Preparation
Night fell slowly.
The distant sound of the sea filtered through the forest. Unlike the city, silence here wasn't absence but presence. Every rustling leaf, every insect buzzing, every gust of wind announced itself clearly.
Thomas sat shirtless by a circle of stones, knees bent, arms resting atop them. Sweat from the day had dried on his skin, leaving salt stinging fresh wounds from past trials.
The daggers rested a few meters away, inside their wooden box.
He hadn't touched them since Hector delivered them. Nor did he plan to anytime soon.
They weigh too much, he thought.
The sky was partly clear, revealing a mosaic of stars through breaks in the clouds. Thomas stared upward for minutes. He thought about Olivia sleeping without him, Gabrielle asking why her father hadn't returned, and how he'd explain everything someday.
But now… now there was only the body, and the body needed to be ready.
The next morning, training began before sunrise.
Hector woke him abruptly, snapping a branch near his head.
— Three minutes to be up. No brushing teeth, no thinking. Just stand up.
Thomas didn't answer.
He simply stood.
And ran.
Nearly ten kilometers into the forest, no warning, no preparation. Raw running. Hector led ahead like a war beast, dodging trunks, leaping roots, stepping precisely.
Thomas almost vomited twice.
But didn't stop.
Returning to the clearing, Hector pointed to a smooth rock.
— Sit. Close your eyes. Now listen.
— To what?
— Your Ayvu. And the silence between sounds. You won't get up until you hear both.
What does that even mean?
Thomas tried.
He sat for two hours. Sweating. Feeling every ant crawl. Stomach rumbling. Legs burning. Mind screaming.
But he didn't move.
Then came pull-ups.
At the plateau's edge, Thomas raised himself until his arms numbed. Hector watched silently.
— Planche — commanded Hector.
Thomas fell.
Tried again.
Fell again.
Again.
And again.
Until he bled.
Until his shoulders gave out.
Until, briefly, his body floated.
Hector nodded silently.
By the fifth day, Thomas held a tuck planche for ten seconds.
By the sixth, he attempted isometric muscle-ups, pausing mid-rise.
By the seventh, his body transformed. Muscles rippled beneath skin like tense cords. His chest no longer heaved erratically—it breathed rhythmically.
Part 4 - The soul: System Activated
Between each series of exercises, Thomas grabbed his phone and updated the data.
He recorded repetitions. Stability. Performance. Heart rate. And fed the data into his system.
During longer breaks, with the laptop on his lap, he integrated drone footage into the system. He utilized biomechanical analysis software, corrected his posture, and compared with old footage.
Thomas also integrated several machine learning models into the system — small algorithms he had trained with his own data. Fed daily with transcribed voice records, sleep patterns, heart rhythm, and even variations in how he typed on his phone, these models began to create a sort of emotional, physical, and cognitive map.
It wasn't just about numbers. It was about understanding when he was on the brink of exhaustion… even before he noticed it himself.
The system warned him when his breathing grew too shallow during certain exercises. When repetitions decreased despite stable BPM. When his words in voice logs became shorter, apathetic.
It was like an artificial sixth sense.
After weeks integrating drone sensors with a chest tracker, precision smartwatch, manual readings, and the software he'd been developing since the hospital, he completed the first version of what he'd simply call the Leveling Progression System.
Thomas had become a true fanatic about his own evolution, or as Olivia would say, "his ADHD was acting up."
Upon finishing another training sequence — an isometric bar hold followed by a failed unilateral muscle-up — he pressed two buttons on his wrist.
The display lit up with a soft blue glow. Thin lines of text began to scroll across the screen. Data. Graphs. Alerts.
And, finally, the system stabilized.
At the bottom, the primary metrics appeared:
- Brute Strength: 42%
- Cardiorespiratory Endurance: 59%
- Muscular Stability: 36%
- Ayvu Control: 14%
- Ipo Intensity: 68%
- Fatigue Level: 71% (Alert: Collapse Zone)
- Neural Focus Level: 52%
And above, highlighted:
- Current Level: 18
Thomas stared at the screen for a few seconds. Took a deep breath.
— Still only an eighteen… — he murmured.
He walked to the plateau's edge, the drone activated and automatically adjusting its height to follow him.
Thomas pressed a button and saved the reading.
On the screen, metrics froze like a snapshot.
The display gently vibrated with continuous monitoring. And while his body still throbbed from exhaustion, his mind spun quietly.
He was tired. But for the first time in days... satisfied.
The Ayvu bar, though timidly, finally began to expand slightly.