A month after the incident, the castle had placed guards at every entrance and exit to ensure that Nyxander would never slip by again.
Inside Nyxander's room, he just woke up in his small, rounded baby cot and stretched his little titan body, shrinking it down. The act was almost playful, like a mischievous shadow slipping beneath the door, and he began to wander. The castle's silence was a stark contrast to its usual buzz of life, and Nyxander's curiosity burned brighter with each empty room he explored.
As he moved through the hushed halls, a warm breeze drifted from beneath a peculiar door and gently caressed him like some whispered invitation. Intrigued, he padded toward it, his tiny form aglow with the soft light of his curiosity. Beyond the door lay an area unlike any he had ever seen, a world unto itself.
Before him stretched the ground in a sandy expanse, like a vast desert, but eerily still, with no winds blowing or dunes shifting. Overhead, the sky was an endless, smooth, blue canvas, bereft of stars or galaxies, as if it were painted so by a hand that was searching for simplicity. The space was artificial, contrived rather than natural.
"The laws here…" he muttered, moving a cautious step forward. "They're different."
Where outside the chaotic pull of the void dragged at him, slowing his movements, this place was finely tuned, refined to flow with an effortless harmony. With every step he felt lighter, freer, as if he had shed the invisible chains binding him.
Wow, amazing," he whispered, his tone full of wonder. His little body now moved with an uncanny grace, and a spark of determination ignited within him. "There must be a solution to the void disturbance. I need to figure it out."
Smitten by this euphoric sensation, his thoughts were suddenly disrupted by a sudden shaking of the ground.
"Baaam! Boom! Boom!
He suddenly felt the ground quake and jolt his small frame. Stumbling, struggling, not to lose his balance amidst these continuous, strong tremors that had shaken the space unstoppably. The vibrations ceased just now, leaving behind an uneasy stillness.
"What could this have been?" he asked in a whisper. Now, more curious than afraid, he began tracing the origin of the disturbance.
After a few steps, he found the cause: a figure towering like a storm in the calm-your father, Zephyrion. The huge titan was training, his movements sharp and pointed as he hurled gigantic fists and kicks. Every blow shook and rippled space itself around him, bending as if the void itself obeyed the will of this being.
Nyxander's eyes widened, the realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning. "Yes. that must be it," he murmured, his small hands curling into fists. "The secret technique to escape the void's pull and move freely within it.
Determined, he started to imitate the movements of his father, his tiny form a pale comparison to the powerful strikes before him. With each try, his focus sharpened and his resolve deepened. Hours passed, and Zephyrion, pausing for breath, noticed a strange fluctuation take place in the surrounding void.
He turned, his gaze falling upon his son, who was into the training with the same fervor as his. A smile tugged at Zephyrion's lips, a rare sight, full of pride and warmth. Encouraged by his son's determination, Zephyrion pushed aside his fatigue and resumed his training, his voice firm yet gentle as he began guiding Nyxander's movements, refining the boy's raw efforts into something remarkable.
This is how the rhythm of life unfolded within the castle. Fifteen years later, in that same secluded space, father and son faced each other in a sparring session that crackled with energy. "You've been pulling off some strange moves over the past few years. I don't know where that knowledge comes from, but even I've learned a thing or two from it," Zephyrion remarked, stretching his massive frame, muscles rippling like tightly coiled steel ready to strike.
"You're the only father I know who doesn't show a shred of sympathy, not even leaving an opening for his son to win," Nyxander replied, his tone half playful, half exasperated. Now towering at 15 feet, his long white hair flowed behind him like a cascading river of light, shimmering as streaks of white lightning danced through it, crackling softly in the still air.
"I wouldn't know about sympathy," Zephyrion said with a dry smirk, "since no one remembers being born. Save that excuse for the day you face someone stronger. Until then…" He clenched his fists, the space around them rippling faintly like a fragile mirror on the brink of shattering. "Snap back and show me more of those strange tricks of yours." With a mocking gesture, he placed one hand on his waist, his other hand stretching outward, fingers curling in a taunting beckon.
"Fine," Nyxander said, his voice low but brimming with resolve. Without hesitation, he charged forward, each stride a burst of lightning as streaks of white energy spiraled behind him like smoke from a roaring engine. Zephyrion braced himself, his massive form shifting into a battle stance, ready to counter. As Nyxander neared, his father launched a thunderous punch, a blow that could cleave mountains.
But Nyxander bent low, just enough to evade the strike, his movements fluid yet calculated, like a river flowing around an unyielding rock. Twisting his body with precision, he raised his right elbow in a sharp arc toward Zephyrion's waist. The attack, swift and cunning, was halted mid-flight as Zephyrion caught the elbow with his left palm, his grip unyielding as iron.
"So, yet another trick, huh?" There was a teasing edge to Zephyrion's voice, although a vibrating pride could feel strong in his tone. "Let me bless you with my fist." With this said, he charged his Titanic fist-a strike as though the heavens were weighing them down-aiming directly into the head of Nyxander.
Nyxander brought his left hand up quickly to intercept the blow; it was an explosion of contact that sent shockwaves rippling out. However, the raw force plucked him from the ground, sending him flying backward like a leaf in the face of a raging hurricane. He tumbled across the independent training space, bouncing and rolling- each impact a thunderous drumbeat against the earth.
" Hah," Nyxander breathed heavily, his chest heaving up and down as if to catch his breath, much like a bellows. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples, shining iridescently in the soft light of the space. Raising his head slightly, he gave his father a half-smirk, his voice tinged with playful exasperation. "Dad, you don't even control your strength. Do you really want to kill me?"