"Stay still."
Cire was jolted back to reality by Praesul's deep, commanding voice.
Right… That beast injured me again, and I fainted. I need to stop this. One day, I might not wake up. He clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at him. Survival wasn't just a necessity—it was his only path forward.
But there was a glimmer of pride buried in his thoughts. I did it. I wielded Virtus and killed a Sigil. Yet doubt crept in. 'If Praesul hadn't been there… I'd be dead.'
The masked man had saved him again, and Cire couldn't decide how to feel about it. Gratitude warred with unease. Praesul was an enigma—powerful, distant, and impossible to trust completely.
Cire lay on his rough bed as Praesul tended to his injuries. Gritting his teeth against the sting, he turned to face the masked man.
"Why do you help me?" Cire asked. "I don't get it. What do you gain from this? What do you want?"
Praesul didn't respond immediately. He finished binding Cire's wounds before straightening to his full height. "Rest now, boy. I'll bring you dinner. Sigil meat will do wonders for you. Enjoy your kill."
Cire's brows furrowed, irritation bubbling up. "Why? What do you expect from me? I'll repay you, I promise."
Praesul's glowing eyes locked onto him. His hand landed firmly on Cire's shoulder. "There's nothing I want from you, boy. You just need to grow. Get strong and get out of this place."
His voice, though firm, carried a faint undercurrent of something unexpected—worry, or perhaps tenderness.
"Now rest. Training continues tomorrow," Praesul said, brushing past him and heading for the door.
"Wait," Cire called out. "How many locks did that Sigil have?"
Praesul stopped but didn't turn. "None, boy. It was a Lockless. But don't get discouraged. You did alright." He stepped through the door, leaving Cire alone with his thoughts.
The following morning, soreness greeted Cire in every inch of his body. He dragged himself to a small pool of water to wash up. Gazing at his reflection, he noticed the large scar spanning his upper back—three jagged cuts from the Sigil's claws. Yet, strangely, there was no pain. The wound had almost completely healed.
'Is Praesul some kind of doctor?' he wondered, running his fingers over the scar.
His reflection caught his attention again. His black hair now shimmered with faint purple streaks. He tilted his head and frowned. When did that happen? Touching his face, he allowed himself a rare thought. I think I look… decent.
"Falling in love with yourself, boy?" Praesul's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Cire flinched but managed to avoid slipping into the water this time. He turned, glaring at the masked figure.
"Catch," Praesul said, tossing a wooden dagger toward him. Cire barely caught it in time.
"Today, I'll teach you the basics of combat and wielding Virtus. You killed that wolf, but your performance was pathetic."
Cire wanted to protest but held his tongue. He knew Praesul wasn't a normal human—and his knowledge was invaluable.
"You used Virtus out of pure instinct," Praesul continued, "which is a good start. But to wield it properly, you must understand it."
Cire nodded and closed his eyes, focusing on the energy coursing through his body.
"Virtus flows freely because you allow it," Praesul explained, pacing. "But you must dominate it—bend it to your will. If I want Virtus to make my punches stronger, I channel it. Shoulder, arm, hand, fingers."
He demonstrated with a punch so powerful it sent a deafening shockwave through the cave.
"To master Virtus, you must master your body. Every movement, every intention must align. That's how you turn chaos into precision."
Cire watched in awe as Praesul repeated the technique, each movement smooth and deliberate. A sense of clarity washed over him. 'So, to fight effectively, I need to understand how my body works—to command Virtus instead of letting it run wild.'
"Show me how you'd face me," Praesul said suddenly.
Cire gulped, adjusting his stance to mimic what he'd used against the wolf.
"Mmm. Wrong," Praesul said, shaking his head. "You're not facing a beast. You're facing a human. Adapt your stance. Assess the threat."
By the end of the day, Cire was utterly exhausted. His arms ached from throwing the same punch over and over. Praesul studied him silently, his expression unreadable behind the mask.
"Enough," Praesul grunted at last. "What are you standing around for? Find dinner. If you hurt yourself, I won't save you this time."
Cire blinked.
"What in the name of Desire are you doing? Go!"
Startled, Cire ran toward the door to Praesul's room. He found himself staring at a smooth wall.
'How am I supposed to open this?'
Mimicking Praesul's tone, he said, "Obra." Nothing happened.
Frustrated, he touched the wall and tried to sense Virtus. Slowly, a faint energy began to stir. An intricate rune appeared, glowing softly.
'So that's it.' He pushed Virtus into the rune and repeated, "Obra." The rune flared brighter, and the stone door slid open.
'Another mystery to figure out', Cire thought, stepping through and beginning his ascent.