The arena within the kiln was a cauldron of oppressive heat, the flames surrounding it like the walls of a fiery prison. The air was thick with the scent of ashes and embers, each breath searing her lungs. As she turned to look for the entrance, panic clawed at her mind—the way out had vanished, leaving her alone with the formidable jotunn.
The jotunn stood in the center, his massive form casting a long shadow across the burning floor. He towered like a mountain of cracked stone, the glow of eternal fire pulsing from within him, veins of molten lava running across his skin. His eyes, twin embers of molten fury, scanned her with a mixture of disdain and disappointment. This was not the hero he had expected—just a fragile human woman.
Yet behind his fiery glare, there was something else. His movements were slow, deliberate, and though his power was undeniable, it felt as though he carried a weight, a burden he could not shed. The flames crackled with his every breath, but beneath that roar, there was a sound—quiet, almost imperceptible, hidden within the crackling of the fire. A low, mournful cry, barely audible but ever-present, like a distant wail lost in the storm.
Tenza couldn't place it at first, but the sound clawed at something deep inside her. It wasn't the fire or the heat that struck her—it was the sadness. An aching, familiar sadness, buried beneath the inferno, echoing her own. It reminded her of the nights she cried alone, curled in despair, unable to provide for her daughter. Of the times when she felt the world was collapsing around her, yet no one heard her cries. The arena, the flames, the jotunn himself—they all seemed to reflect that same sorrow.
But where was it coming from? It was as if the fire itself was suffering, as though something within the blaze was trapped, weak and helpless, struggling against its fate. Tenza's gaze wavered, her muscles tense—not from fear but from confusion. What was this feeling that gnawed at her soul? Why did the flames, which should have been a force of pure destruction, feel so much like... pain?
The jotunn's brow furrowed, his fiery gaze locking onto her as though reading her thoughts. His molten eyes glinted with a strange mixture of resentment and regret. His voice, when he finally spoke, rumbled like the shifting of tectonic plates.
"Have you ever made a wish to a distant star?" His deep, gravelly voice echoed through the kiln.
There was something in his words, a cryptic truth she couldn't grasp. He wasn't taunting her—he was waiting. Not for her, but for something else. Some hero or force he had longed for, and she was not it. He looked at her with a mix of resignation and quiet expectation, as though he had long ago given up hope that the one he waited for would ever arrive.
He took a step forward, the ground trembling beneath his weight. "I have always waited for a brave hero... a star of fire. But instead, you came!" The jotunn's fists came down like hammers, each blow a thunderous assault that echoed through the chamber. She was cornered, her back against the flames of the kiln. Her guard went up, absorbing the relentless barrage.
His attacks were methodical, each one crashing down with the weight of centuries of pent-up frustration. He wasn't just fighting her—he was venting something deeper, something ancient. But his movements, though powerful, carried an undercurrent of sorrow, of weariness. The ground cracked under his strikes, flames spiraling upward with each impact, but Tenza stood her ground.
Despite the giant's overwhelming strength, she remained standing. Her body, honed by the grueling discipline of kyokushin, became a sponge for the pain, each impact a direct attack to her heart. She did not strike back; instead, she focused on understanding her adversary. His fists were heavy, not just with physical strength, but with the weight of a deeper suffering. Each blow felt like it was aimed not at her, but at some unseen enemy that haunted him.
The flames around them roared, a backdrop to their silent struggle. She remembered the inferno she had survived, the searing pain of her past, and the fear that still lingered. This was a game, but it played cruel tricks on her psyche, blurring the lines between reality and virtual torment.
The jotunn's face twisted in disappointment, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated anguish. His attacks became slower, not from lack of strength, but as though the burden he carried was too much even for him. He saw her refusal to yield, her silent endurance, and perhaps that frustrated him even more. This fragile human woman, standing against him without striking, absorbing his blows with a quiet resilience that mirrored his own suffering.
Her body ached, her vision blurred, but her spirit remained unbroken. She wasn't just defending herself—she was seeking to understand the pain that drove the jotunn. In the midst of the punishment, she found a strange connection, a shared suffering that transcended their roles as adversaries.
She wasn't just fighting a giant. There was something more here—something tied to the sorrow in the air, to the weakness behind the fire's roar. She couldn't see it yet, but she could feel it in her bones.
As the jotunn moved, flames spiraled upward from the cracks in the ground, the heat intensifying, but her focus shifted beyond the towering figure. She couldn't shake the sense that whatever was crying out beneath the fire was connected to her. It was a faint, fragile thing—like the last thread of hope... just before it snaps.
The jotunn's patience snapped, and with a frustrated growl, he lunged forward. His colossal hand closed around her, squeezing the air from her lungs. The world blurred into a storm of pain as he slammed her body against the unyielding ground and the searing walls of the kiln. Each impact sent shockwaves of fire spewing from the cracks, the heat nearly unbearable, as if it sought to strip the very breath from her.
She endured—her body, trained to withstand pain, absorbing the brutal punishment. But even resilience had its limits. With a final roar, the jotunn hurled her toward the heart of the kiln. She braced herself for the inevitable plunge into the flames, expecting to be consumed by the fire.
But instead of flames, she crashed into cold, unyielding iron bars. The impact rattled her bones, and for a moment, the world was still, except for the crackle of distant fire. As she lay there, disoriented and gasping for breath, the scene around her twisted into something eerily familiar. The bars, the confinement—it was just like the jail cell from her past. A haunting memory surged up, of a time when she'd been accused of a crime she didn't commit, powerless against a system that had branded her guilty.
Her pulse slowed, the suffocating heat strangely comforting against her skin. She struggled to sit up, her breath labored, when a sound reached her—soft at first, then unmistakable. A faint, mournful cry.
Her eyes darted toward the source. Beyond the iron bars, a phoenix lay in a bed of ash, its once-vibrant feathers now dull and lifeless, its majestic form reduced to a shadow of what it once was. The bird's sorrowful cries echoed in the chamber, filling her with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. It was trapped—just as she had been. Her own fear of the flames seemed to vanish in the presence of its suffering.
Driven by instinct, Tenza threw herself against the bars, her fingers clawing at the iron, desperate to break them. But they held firm, cold and unforgiving, as blood smeared across her hands. Her heart raced with frustration, her mind screaming for a way to free the creature.
Then her HUD flickered to life, pulling her out of her panic. The debuffs from the jotunn's relentless assault flashed across her eyes—pain, exhaustion, weakness—but a new icon appeared among them. Natural Resistance to Fire.
She froze, staring at the words. The game had acknowledged her real-life ordeal. Her survival had become her strength, woven into the fabric of this world. The flames that had once been her greatest fear now posed no threat.
The phoenix's cries grew weaker, its vibrant spirit dimming before her eyes. Helplessness gnawed at her. She had lived through this before—watching something beautiful die without the power to stop it. The pain was familiar, but now, something was different. The flames no longer harmed her; they were a part of her, a reflection of the inferno within her soul.
Suddenly, a surge of understanding coursed through her. The fire was not her enemy—it was her element, born from her survival. Her HUD blinked again, and a new spell appeared: "Eld," a tier 1 fire spell from the ancient askafroan branch. She could feel the power of the flames stirring in her veins, waiting to be unleashed.
The jotunn, who had expected her to burn, watched from afar, confusion and grudging respect warring on his stone-hewn face. He had underestimated her. His molten eyes followed her movements, now unsure of what she had become.
Tenza approached the phoenix again, kneeling before the bars. In its sad, tired eyes, she saw her own reflection—both of them trapped, bound by forces they couldn't control. She reached through the bars, her hand trembling as she extended it toward the phoenix. It didn't recoil. Instead, it allowed her to touch its once-magnificent feathers, now brittle and ashen.
Tenza wiped a single tear from its eye. Her HUD flickered once more. The notification appeared: "Tears of the Phoenix: for healing and rebirth."
She gazed at the glowing tear resting in her palm, a mixture of awe and understanding flooding her. This wasn't just a game mechanic—it was a symbol, a gift. The phoenix's tears were her path to healing, both for herself and for what was to come. They held the promise of rebirth, of rising from the ashes, just as she had done countless times in her life.
As she rose to her feet, the flames surrounding her flickered in acknowledgment. She was no longer afraid. She was ready. The fire within her, once a source of pain, was now her strength.
The jotunn's molten eyes engaged on her, and for the first time, she saw something else there—a hint of fear.
The oppressive heat of the kiln weighed heavily upon her, the flames casting flickering shadows that seemed to dance like a thousand watchful eyes. She could feel their gaze—millions of unseen spectators, judging her every move. The silence was broken by the booming voice of the jotunn, resonating from the heart of the arena.
"It is okay to surrender. Every player who comes here seeks strength," he rumbled, his voice echoing off the walls of the kiln. "But you, you are fixated on something far beyond the game. If you follow the normal path, you could seek the techcrystal and surpass others. Yet, you are here. Why did you choose to face me?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes and reached out with her senses, feeling the fire's heat curling around her. It was no longer a threat; it was a reminder—of her past, of her pain, of everything that had driven her to this moment. Memories flooded her mind, each one sharper and clearer than the last: her daughter's smile, her daughter's tears. The thought of her daughter becoming a woman, waiting far away, gave her the strength to rise.
Slowly, Tenza stood, her silhouette glowing in the fire's light, the flames licking her skin as if they recognized her now. Her voice, steady despite the storm within, broke the silence, "I have met extraordinary people who wield powers beyond my understanding. Ho-jin moves through light like a ninja, Sagar can save souls from hell, Sky fights angels and demons with science, and Sensei Leonardo's wisdom enriches my life, even though I don't deserve it."
As she spoke, her clenched fist glowed with a heat of its own, a faint aura forming around her hand, not just of fire but of something deeper—her inner light, her spiritual energy stirring for the first time. Unconsciously, she had entered a state of flow, her spirit brushing against the edges of the universe, connecting with forces she had yet to comprehend. But even as this newfound power surged within her, her body could not keep up. The exhaustion from the battle, the wounds, and the fire's toll were too great.
Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees. The digital reality struggled to keep pace with her crumbling form. The world around her wavered, her avatar glitching as the game's system attempted to distinguish her virtual self from the broken body she inhabited in the real world. Her avatar's skin flickered, parts of it giving way to the raw, burned flesh of her actual body. Her right foot appeared without a shoe, burned and blistered from her past ordeal. A twisted reflection of herself—part player, part human—was struggling to hold itself together.
Above her, the spirits of the Muisca observed, their forms ghostly and distant, their judgment cold and indifferent. Disappointment radiated from them, and they began to turn away, their shadows casting over her like a weight she could not shake.
But deep within her, something stirred. The sparks of her nascent spiritual energy, faint and flickering like embers, clashed against the flames of the kiln, igniting a new resolve. With agonizing slowness, Tenza rose again. Every movement was a battle, her body screaming in pain, but her will remained unbroken.
She turned her gaze toward the spirits, unaware of their true nature, her voice thick with emotion. "I have lived a life of regret. I watched my father die because of me." Her voice cracked, the weight of her past pressing down on her like a leaden cloak. "I despised myself, hated myself for my powerlessness. Then, a celestial warrior showed me a path."
Her form, battered and bleeding, shifted again, the digital realm blending more intensely with her reality. Her avatar's face flickered between the serene image the game had assigned her and the reality of her bruised, tear-streaked expression. Burns and wounds adorned her avatar, mirroring the agonies of her real body. Her right eye, bloodshot from tears and exhaustion, glowed with fierce determination.
"He is engaged in a cosmic battle against ancient gods. He may die, and I refuse to let that happen because of me." Her legs trembled violently, but she kept standing, her heart now channeling the first raw sparks of her spiritual energy, each breath labored but resolute. "I won't let my daughter suffer as I have."
She took a shaky step forward, her bare, blistered foot leaving smudges of ash on the ground, a strange blend of virtual and physical pain. Her voice grew stronger, carrying the weight of her unshakable resolve. "I must become stronger. I may not be a Star of Destiny, but I will stand alongside them, fighting against injustice and violence. I want to compete in the World Championship. It may be an impossible dream, but it is mine. I will live and die pursuing it."
As she spoke, her body remained a paradox—a living manifestation of the real and the virtual. Parts of her avatar were now overlaid with raw flesh, burns streaking across her skin, a shoe missing as if the game itself could not keep up with the intensity of her spirit's manifestation. The DRD struggled to separate what was real and what was digital, but at this moment, it no longer mattered. She was both.
The jotunn's molten gaze flicked toward her, a low rumble escaping his chest. He watched her with a mixture of confusion and reluctant respect. "You carry the rudiments of anima," he said, his voice softer, almost contemplative. "Spiritual energy is rare in this realm. You are more than a mere player, more than flesh and code. Perhaps you are not here by accident."
Tenza's heart pounded in her chest, her body screaming for rest, but her soul was on fire. She stood, broken yet whole, vulnerable yet stronger than ever. Her avatar, her real body, her spirit—they had become one. She was no longer bound by the limitations of the game or the scars of her past.
She had become something new. Something powerful yet still incomplete, still unrefined. The flame within her burned brighter than the kiln around her.
The air hummed with palpable tension as the second round began. Tenza's fists, once wild with raw emotion, now carried a steady, focused purpose. Her guard was firm, not just a barrier but a stance brimming with intent, ready to intercept and redirect every strike. Each movement was deliberate, a dance between power and technique—her kyokushin training grounding her in strength, though still refining the precision of each blow.
The jotunn could feel the shift in her. Every punch no longer sought merely to wound but resonated with something deeper, reverberating through his hardened form and touching his core. This mortal woman, fragile and battered, was unlike the heroes of legend. Yet, there was a force within her—an unyielding spirit forged in a crucible of suffering. Each strike she delivered was not just the echo of violence, but the culmination of battles fought within her heart.
The heat of the kiln grew, stoking the flames into a searing inferno. The very air seemed to warp under the intensity, as if the world itself recognized the gravity of their confrontation. Tenza's breath came in ragged bursts, yet her movements never faltered. Each step, each punch, each counter flowed like a river from the bedrock of her soul. She was no longer just reacting—she was engaging, meeting the jotunn's colossal might with unwavering defiance.
Her fists, hardened by the weight of her life, struck with the force of a mother fighting for her child, a woman battling to reclaim her fate. The jotunn's hulking form absorbed each blow, but he could feel the difference. This was no longer a mere contest of strength, it was a collision of wills, of destinies.