Kasir's smile lingered in Kaiden's mind like a bad aftertaste as he walked away from the mansion. The memory of their conversation churned in his thoughts, twisting his gut. The noble's words had been polished, his tone disarmingly sincere. But something about the story—about him—felt off.
It wasn't just a gut feeling. Kaiden had learned to trust his instincts over the years, but this was something deeper, more precise. A part of him could almost see through Kasir's tale, as if it were a tapestry with threads out of place.
"Does he really think I'd fall for a stupid lie like that?" Kaiden muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. The frustration in his voice cracked slightly, and he winced. Talking to himself when he was mad always felt… weird. He could almost hear his own voice in his head: You sound so edgy. Like one of those wannabe anti-heroes. Stop it.
He shoved the thought aside, his mind snapping back to Kasir's story.
As Kaiden turned a corner, his memories tugged at him. A flash of the past—another time, another place—rose to the surface.
He was younger then, maybe twelve, and standing in front of a merchant who had been bragging about the quality of his goods. "Best swords in the market!" the man had exclaimed, holding up a blade that gleamed in the sunlight.
Kaiden remembered staring at the sword, tilting his head. It was shiny, sure. But there was something… wrong. A faint flicker of insight nudged at him, and he found himself blurting, "You're lying."
The merchant's smile faltered. "Excuse me, boy?"
Kaiden couldn't explain it, but he felt certain. "That sword. It's brittle. If someone actually swung it, it'd snap like a twig."
The merchant's face turned red, but before he could argue, an older man passing by had paused to inspect the blade. He struck it lightly against a stone column, and the blade cracked. The merchant scowled and packed up his wares, muttering under his breath.
At the time, Kaiden had thought it was just a lucky guess. But that wasn't the only time it happened. Over the years, similar moments cropped up, leaving him both confused and intrigued. He never told anyone, though—not even Lady Seris. How could he, when he didn't understand it himself?
Kaiden's thoughts snapped back to the present. He touched the corner of his right eye instinctively, frowning.
"I need to figure out what this is," he muttered.
Instead of returning to the inn or wandering aimlessly, Kaiden made his way to the colosseum. It was quiet today, the stands empty. After yesterday's fight, the arena's atmosphere seemed almost peaceful—a stark contrast to the chaos and bloodshed it usually hosted.
Kaiden entered the training area, glancing at the various equipment strewn about. He hadn't come to train his body, not today. He had a different purpose.
He sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor, closing his eyes. Flow. He needed to tap into it.
Lady Seris had explained the basics once: Flow was a connection, an extension of one's will into their body and beyond. Nobles wielded it like second nature, but for Kaiden, it felt elusive, like trying to grasp water with bare hands.
He focused, trying to summon the sensation he'd felt in fleeting moments. A warmth spread through him, faint and uneven, like embers trying to spark into a flame. Slowly, he directed it toward his eyes.
For a brief second, nothing happened. Then, the world around him shifted.
Kaiden gasped softly. His vision was different—not sharper, but deeper. He could see everything within himself, like layers peeled away to reveal the truth beneath. Veins pulsed faintly, blood coursing through them in rhythmic waves. Muscles flexed and contracted, even as he remained still.
"This is…" Kaiden trailed off, overwhelmed. He blinked, and the image flickered. The strain of maintaining the Flow in his eyes began to take its toll, his breath coming in short bursts.
Still, he pushed on, studying what he saw. Parts of his body—his arms, legs, even his core—seemed uneven. Some muscles were overdeveloped, while others lagged behind. His training, it seemed, hadn't been as balanced as he thought.
"Great. I'm a lopsided mess," he muttered, though his tone was more amused than frustrated.
He released the Flow, letting his vision return to normal. The sudden clarity vanished, leaving him slightly disoriented.
"So that's the 'transparent world'," he murmured. The term felt oddly fitting, though he wasn't sure where it had come from.
Kaiden stood, stretching out his limbs. His body still ached from the fight, but he couldn't let that stop him. He might not have full control over the Flow, but he could still train.
Instead of focusing on brute strength, he decided to hone his techniques. His fists moved through the air in deliberate patterns, each strike flowing into the next. Sweat dripped down his brow as he repeated the movements over and over, refining them until they felt like second nature.
For two hours, he worked tirelessly. Every punch, every step was calculated, each mistake noted and corrected. By the time he finished, his muscles burned, and his shirt clung to him uncomfortably.
But despite the exhaustion, he felt a sense of accomplishment.
As Kaiden made his way back to the Kasir mansion, he couldn't help but think about what he'd learned today. The Flow, his uneven training, the strange power in his eye—it was a lot to process.
"I've got a long way to go," he muttered. His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of determination beneath it. He wasn't sure what Kasir's endgame was, but one thing was certain: he wouldn't be a pawn in someone else's game.
For now, though, he had to bide his time. Save Elira. Survive. And maybe, just maybe, figure out who he was along the way.