Cire barely slept for a few hours. A lingering bitterness clung to him like a second skin when he woke up. He couldn't remember what he had dreamed about, but whatever it was left him in a sorrowful and angry mood. The small, rough room felt suffocating, so he decided to wash himself under the waterfall just outside.
The cool water struck his face like a slap, jolting him awake. He stared at his reflection in the water's rippling surface. His raven-black hair, usually messy and unkempt, seemed to shimmer faintly with a purplish hue. He ran his fingers through it, frowning.
"Every day is stranger than the one before," he muttered to himself, "and I'm sure tomorrow will outdo today."
Pulling his shirt over his head, he inspected his body. His frame was frail, almost skeletal, his ribs faintly visible beneath his pale skin. His legs were even worse—thin and weak, as if they'd give out under him at any moment.
"I have the body of a boy," he said quietly, his voice laced with frustration. "If I change my mindset, maybe my body will follow."
His eyes sharpened with resolve. He thought of his father and brothers, strong and hardy miners who worked tirelessly daily. They were the toughest people he had ever known, yet the Supervisors had toyed with them.
"Were those bastards Virtus users?" he wondered aloud. "If so, they were entirely in another league. I need to train… If they're Key-Masters, I'm a hundred steps behind them—no, a thousand."
Despite the weight of his realization, his mood didn't falter. These thoughts were not depressing; they were truths he had to face. And he would face them.
As he stood to wash his legs, something strange appeared in the reflection beside him—a black mask with intricate silver patterns.
"Wahh!" Cire yelped as he stumbled backward, losing his balance and falling into the freezing water. He spluttered, emerging from the pond to find Praesul standing on the bank, staring down at him.
"You really are a strange and foolish boy," Praesul remarked with a voice as cold and sharp as the water. His purple, glowing eyes pierced through the mask's hollow sockets. "At least I didn't have to wake you up. Now, follow me. And try to keep up." He paused before adding, "You have ten seconds to dress."
Praesul turned on his heel without waiting for a reply. Cire scrambled out of the water, pulling his pants on while muttering curses under his breath. He managed to slip into his shirt as Praesul began walking briskly away.
Cire followed Praesul into the masked man's room, a sparse and shadowy space dominated by an eerie sense of order. Praesul approached an empty wall, placing his hand against the cold stone.
"Obra," he commanded, and the wall rumbled as it parted, revealing a hidden staircase.
Cire barely had time to marvel at the passage before Praesul bolted up the steps with a speed that made his movements seem inhuman. The masked man was swift and fluid, his long strides eating up the stairs mercilessly. Cire hurried after him, stumbling in his haste.
The staircase seemed endless, a spiraling nightmare that tested Cire's weak legs. His lungs burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, but Praesul never slowed. His black robes swirled around him like smoke as he ascended, each step taken with the precision and grace of a predator on the hunt.
Finally, they emerged into a glade bathed in the pale light of dawn. The glade was vast and open, resting atop a steep hill overlooking the forest. Towering trees ringed the area, their swaying branches framing a breathtaking view. At the edge of the hill, the ground fell away into a sheer cliff, where a thick mist clung to the air like a veil, obscuring the distant trees below. The sky above was a soft gradient of pinks and oranges, the rising sun casting long shadows across the terrain. The ground was covered in soft grass and scattered with jagged stones, a stark reminder of the wildness of the Mirao Forest.
Praesul waited for Cire to catch up, his silhouette stark against the misty horizon. Without a word, he placed his hand against the stone door they had just passed through.
"Tinca," he said, and the door vanished, leaving behind a featureless rock.
Cire blinked at his surroundings, realization dawning. "This is where the wolf almost killed me…" His thoughts were cut short by Praesul's commanding voice.
"Follow," the masked man ordered.
Praesul began to run again, his movements swift yet brutal. Each stride was calculated, his body coiled with power that promised devastation to anything in his path. Cire cursed under his breath as he forced his trembling legs to follow.
The forest seemed alive with danger. Shadows darted between the trees, and the rustling of leaves signaled the approach of predators. A bird-like creature lunged at Praesul, its talons gleaming, but the masked man's hand snapped out like a viper. With a single, fluid motion, he twisted the beast's neck and tossed it aside without breaking his stride. The same scene unfolded multiple times. The outcome was always the same: the beasts were different: a rodent as big as a dog, a serpent larger than Cire's body, and wolves similar to the one that almost ended Cire's life.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Praesul stopped at the cliff. The hill sloped gently down toward the edge, where the sheer drop was obscured by the dense mist below. Cire collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air. His legs felt like they might snap under his weight, and every inch of his body burned.
"Well," Praesul said, his voice cold but tinged with faint approval. "It seems you made it out of pure willpower. With that body of yours, I expected you to crumble. Tell me—what did you notice about our little stroll?"
Cire laughed bitterly, still catching his breath. "Stroll? That's what you call it?" He shook his head, looking up at the masked figure. "I noticed you turned a lot, always facing the monsters head-on. Were you chasing them?"
Praesul grunted. "Half correct, half wrong."
Cire blinked, surprised by the cryptic response. He thought for a moment before guessing again. "Then… were they chasing me?"
Praesul's glowing eyes locked onto his. "Exactly," he said. "But your understanding is shallow. Let me explain."
Praesul gestured toward the cliff, his tone growing heavier. "Those creatures are sigils. They are not ordinary beasts—they are born from the influence of Virtus. When a sigil devours another that wields Virtus, it absorbs part of their power and evolves. Unlike us, however, they evolve by creating Locks."
Cire tilted his head. "Locks? What does that mean?"
"A Lock," Praesul continued, "is a barrier that sigils create within themselves to contain their stolen power. The more Locks a sigil has, the more strength it can store—and the harder it becomes to kill. Think of it as the opposite of us Key-Masters. We unlock Keys to release our potential. They create Locks to hoard and amplify theirs."
Cire's mouth fell open slightly. "So… they're like the reverse of us?"
"Precisely," Praesul said. "A sigil with a Lock is no longer a mere beast. It's a predator, and you, boy, are the perfect prey."
Cire shivered despite the warmth of the rising sun. "Why are they after me, though?"
"Because you are leaking Virtus," Praesul said bluntly. "Your essence is spilling out of you like a beacon. To them, you are an endless feast of untapped power."
"But why would they want my Virtus?" Cire asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
"If a sigil kills a Virtus user, it absorbs a fragment of their power. But if they kill a Governor—someone like you, tied directly to a Guardian—they gain access to something far more valuable: a piece of the Guardian's strength."
Cire's heart sank at the realization. "So… I'm basically walking bait."
"Correct," Praesul said, his voice cold and unrelenting. "And you will remain a liability until you learn to control your Virtus. You've attracted these sigils because your power is spilling out of you like a poorly patched barrel. You have no discipline, no focus. That ends now."
Cire swallowed hard, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "What do I need to do?"
"You will not eat, drink, or sleep until you can contain your essence," Praesul said. "Your training begins here. I will teach you to hold your Virtus within, to make it undetectable to sigils and others who would hunt you. Only then can you begin to harness it."
Despite the exhaustion coursing through him, a spark of excitement ignited in Cire. His wish, his desire, was taking form.