Standing under a vast, open sky, its azure hue stretching infinitely above me. An elusive image of my father. I couldn't remember his name or the details of his face, but the essence of that time remained vivid.
My father had taken my hand, guiding me to feel the wind's gentle caress as he taught me the art of sky-bending. "The sky is always connected to us," he had said, his voice warm and reassuring. "It carries our hopes, our dreams, and our fears. Just as the stars are bound by the heavens, we are bound by our destinies."
I had closed my eyes then, imagining the clouds drifting lazily overhead. His words painted a picture in my mind. I pictured stars twinkling like diamonds scattered across a deep velvet backdrop, the moon casting a silver glow that illuminated everything around us. The beauty of it all filled me with wonder and possibility.
"Imagine," he continued, "that the sky above is endless. It's a place where we can go beyond the limits set for us. When you bend the sky, remember that you are tapping into that infinite potential. The sky is not just a barrier; it's a gateway."
Even now, as I lay in the darkness, I struggled to hold onto that memory, its edges blurring like clouds in a shifting breeze. There was comfort in the recollection, warmth contrasting sharply with the cold reality of my current situation. I felt a pull toward the sky, a longing that echoed within me, reminding me that I was more than just a player in a game.
In the depths of my unconscious mind, I envisioned the sky clearing, the sun breaking through the clouds, flooding the world with light and warmth. I felt my father's presence beside me, his lessons a guiding force as I sought to navigate the challenges ahead.
Yet, as that memory faded, I awoke with a start, the weight of my current reality pressing down on me. I remained in a world where the sky above felt out of reach, filled with challenges I had yet to overcome. But the lesson from my father lingered, igniting a flicker of determination within me. I could still feel the remnants of that connection, urging me to push forward, to strive for something greater, just as the sky had always promised.
When I finally woke up, still feeling groggy, I noticed something strange: my feathers were falling out. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the sleep, but sure enough, a bunch of my feathers were drifting down like leaves in the fall. "Seriously?" I muttered, annoyed. Why did this have to happen now?
I tried stretching my wings, hoping it would help, but instead, a few more feathers floated away, spinning slowly in the air like they were dancing. "Great, just what I need," I groaned. "Can't you just stay put?"
Feeling frustrated, I wished they would just return to my wings. To my surprise, the feathers froze mid-air for a second, hanging there like they were considering my request. Then, with a goofy rush, they all flopped back into place, settling in as if nothing had happened.I blinked at my wings, a mix of relief and annoyance hitting me.
"O"
I sat at my desk in the classroom, surrounded by the other Regulars, the air thick with anticipation as Lero-Ro commanded our attention. The large monitor behind him flickered to life, and a wave of excitement and nervousness coursed through me.
"Welcome, Regulars! Today marks the beginning of your next test: the Position Test! You will be assigned specific roles, each with its own strengths and weaknesses. Pay attention!" His voice echoed around the room, and I leaned forward, eager to absorb every detail.
The screen displayed the five main Tower Positions: Fisherman, Spear-bearer, Light-bearer, Scout, and Wave Controller. Each role had its own distinct traits and abilities, and I found myself captivated by the possibilities each one offered. As I scanned the descriptions, a tension built in my chest.
Lero-Ro paused, a glint in his eye that hinted at something more. "However, there's a unique twist this time. The Administrator has pushed for a new kind of training that combines the roles of Fisherman and Wave Controller."
Lero-Ro continued, his eyes scanning the room. "Kael will be taking lessons that incorporate both aspects. You'll be guided by none other than Yu Hansung himself."
"Wait, what?" I muttered under my breath, my mind racing to catch up. A combined role? This was unprecedented.
At that moment, every eye in the room shifted toward me. The whispers and murmurs faded into an almost tangible silence, and my heart raced as I registered their reactions. I was the only one chosen for this unique combination. The weight of their gazes felt heavy, and I could sense the confusion, curiosity, and perhaps a hint of envy among them.
"Me?" I barely managed to whisper, my stomach twisting. I hadn't expected this level of attention, let alone the responsibility that came with it.
The murmurs intensified around me. "He's the only one?" "Why is he so special?" "Can he really handle both?"
Lero-Ro seemed to sense my discomfort and addressed the room. "Now, I know this is a surprise, but the Administrator rarely meddles with training, which makes this opportunity all the more unique. Kael, you have the chance to learn from one of the best."
"Does anyone even know how this works?" I asked, looking around the room. "A Fisherman and a Wave Controller? It sounds crazy."
Lero-Ro nodded, acknowledging my uncertainty. "You'll need to internalize skills from both roles. This combination will provide you with a broader range of abilities on the battlefield."
I couldn't shake the feeling of pressure settling over me. "What if I can't keep up?" I blurted out, my voice a mix of apprehension and determination.
"Then you adapt," Lero-Ro replied firmly, his tone unyielding. "This is the Tower. Adaptability is key. You've proven yourself capable so far. Now, it's time to elevate your skills."
As he concluded, the room fell silent once more, all eyes on me. The weight of their stares pressed down like a physical force, and I felt a mix of fear and excitement swirl within me. This was my moment. It wouldn't just be about survival; it would be about rising to meet the challenge head-on.
I took a deep breath, my heart racing. With Yu Hansung guiding me, I had a shot at mastering something truly unique. As my classmates resumed their chatter, I felt a flicker of resolve ignite within me. This was my chance to prove myself, and I wasn't going to let it slip away.
The days that followed my selection for the Wave Fisher position felt like a blur of intensity and exhaustion. Training began early and ended late, with every session pushing me to my limits. Yu Hansung, my instructor, had a reputation that preceded him, and I quickly learned that his training style was as rigorous as it was insightful.
"Welcome to Wave Fisher training, Kael," he said one morning, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "This is not just about learning to fight; it's about understanding how to flow with the shinsu around you."
I nodded, eager to absorb every word. "What do I need to do?"
Hansung gestured to an expansive training area that mirrored the chaotic arenas we had fought in before. "You'll be learning to combine the agility of a Fisherman with the strategic manipulation of a Wave Controller. Your goal is to master both close-quarters combat and shinsu manipulation."
"Sounds straightforward enough," I replied, trying to mask my nerves.
"Don't underestimate it," he warned, his gaze steady. "The Wave Fisher position requires versatility. You'll need to engage dynamically, darting in and out of combat while manipulating shinsu to control the battlefield."
As our first training exercise began, I quickly realized just how difficult that would be. Armed with a spear-like weapon that felt foreign in my hands, I practiced thrusting and sweeping motions, focusing on precision and speed. Each time I missed a target, I felt the frustration build.
"Remember, Kael," Hansung called, his voice cutting through my concentration. "You're not just attacking; you're creating opportunities. Every strike should set you up for your next move."
"Creating opportunities?" I echoed, my mind racing as I tried to process his words while maintaining my footing.
"Yes," he said, moving closer. "As a Wave Fisher, you need to manipulate your environment and the flow of shinsu. This means understanding the battlefield and your opponents. Watch how the shinsu moves and use it to your advantage."
Days turned into weeks, and I began to embrace the rhythm of training. I spent hours honing my skills, practicing footwork, and learning to weave shinsu into my attacks. But the physical toll was immense. I became a training zombie, my body aching and fatigued, but my determination pushed me forward.
In one session, Hansung explained the intricacies of shinsu manipulation. "Imagine it as water, Kael. It flows and ebbs, much like your movements in battle. Learn to ride that wave."
I squinted at the shimmering air around us, feeling the pressure and weight of the shinsu. "How do I control it?" I asked, frustrated at my inability to harness its power.
"Start small," he advised. "Focus on creating a shinsu barrier around yourself. It will protect you and allow you to practice redirecting incoming attacks."
It took several attempts, but slowly, I felt a flicker of success. As I formed a barrier, I could sense the energy vibrating against me. "This feels… different," I muttered, surprised by the feedback from the shinsu.
"Good. Now, try to combine that with your weapon." Hansung's voice was steady, encouraging me to push further. "Use your needle to cut through the shinsu, creating waves that can destabilize your opponent."
Over the next few days, I became consumed by training. I lost track of time, the outside world fading away as I focused solely on my development. The others might have been living their lives, but I was a machine, a fighter on a singular mission.
With each passing session, I transformed. My movements became fluid, my strikes more precise. I learned to transition seamlessly from melee combat to shinsu manipulation, catching even myself off guard with my newfound abilities.
But I also faced setbacks. On days when my body felt heavy and my mind foggy, I struggled to channel my shinsu effectively. "You're overthinking it," Hansung reminded me during one particularly grueling session. "Trust your instincts. The shinsu responds to your intent, not just your movements."
"Easier said than done," I grumbled, wiping the sweat from my brow.
"It's a process," he assured me. "Every great fighter has gone through this. You're on the right path."
As I pushed through the fatigue, the sort of apartment floor where we trained transformed into a second home. The walls echoed with our movements, and I began to feel a sense of belonging among the other Regulars. They watched as I stumbled and improved, our training sessions blending into a shared journey.
After one particularly exhausting day, I collapsed onto the ground, panting. Hansung approached me, a knowing smile on his face. "You've come far, Kael. Just remember, this journey is as much about your mind as it is about your body. Don't let the exhaustion cloud your focus."
I looked up at him, my chest heaving. "Thanks, Hansung. It's just… hard sometimes."
"Every climb has its challenges," he said, extending a hand to help me up. "But you have the potential to be more than just a fighter. Embrace it."