Raynor sat on the edge of his bed, fingers unconsciously tapping against his knee. Even though Lira had left, the tension in his body refused to fade. She broke into my room just to test me. If she suspected something, others might as well. That was dangerous.
He exhaled slowly and pulled up the Survival System interface.
[Survival Instinct (Rank I)]
Enhances the user's subconscious danger perception, improving reaction speed and evasive maneuvers when facing unexpected threats.
His muscles still tingled from the sudden activation earlier. The skill wasn't just passive—it was deeply ingrained, reacting before he even thought to move. That was an advantage, but it also meant something else.
If my body moves before my mind does, can I truly control it?
There was only one way to find out.
The Academy's training grounds were nearly empty at this hour, save for a few night owls practicing in the distance. Raynor preferred it this way—no instructors, no prying eyes.
He grabbed a wooden dagger from the weapons rack, testing its balance. He had never been much of a weapons expert, but the Survival Instinct wasn't about mastery—it was about survival. He needed to know how far it could push him.
With a deep breath, he moved to the center of the grounds and closed his eyes.
Alright, let's see what you can do.
Then, without warning—
He slashed at the air. His body twisted, dodging an invisible strike. His heartbeat quickened, breath steady. He lunged, pivoted, sidestepped—each movement fluid, precise, instinctive.
It felt like his body was responding to an unseen battle, reacting to threats that didn't exist.
Raynor exhaled, the sensation both exhilarating and unsettling. He wasn't thinking—his instincts were.
But that wasn't enough. He needed a real test.
"Training alone?"
Raynor turned, gripping the wooden dagger tighter. A tall figure stepped into the dim torchlight—Derrin Vale.
Unlike Cassin, who despised him openly, Derrin's hostility was quieter, heavier. Raynor could feel the unspoken tension between them.
Derrin glanced at the weapon in Raynor's hand. "You don't usually train with a blade."
Raynor shrugged. "Decided to change things up."
A small smirk tugged at Derrin's lips. "Then let's test it."
Raynor had expected that. Derrin wasn't the type to pass up an opportunity to fight.
Without another word, Derrin grabbed a training sword and moved into a ready stance.
Raynor exhaled. Here we go.
Derrin struck first—fast, controlled, but predictable. Raynor stepped back, his instincts guiding his movements.
Then Derrin adjusted. His swings became sharper, less readable. Adaptation. He wasn't just testing Raynor—he was learning him.
Raynor's Survival Instinct kicked in, pushing him to weave through the attacks, dodging at the last possible moment. His body reacted before he could fully process the danger.
A low chuckle escaped Derrin. "You're moving differently."
Raynor didn't reply. He had no time to.
Then, in an instant, his instincts screamed.
Derrin feinted left but twisted his grip, aiming a sudden strike at Raynor's exposed side.
Raynor's body reacted before his mind could catch up.
His foot twisted, momentum shifting unnaturally fast. His arm lashed out, deflecting the strike. Then he lunged—his wooden dagger stopping an inch from Derrin's throat.
Silence.
Derrin's eyes widened slightly. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"That," he murmured, "was not normal."
Raynor exhaled, stepping back. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Derrin rolled his wrist, gaze sharp. "You've improved. A lot."
Raynor forced a smirk. "Maybe I just got lucky."
Derrin chuckled. "Luck doesn't move like that."
Raynor said nothing. He noticed. That was bad.
Derrin studied him for a moment before sheathing his training sword. "Whatever you're doing, keep at it."
With that, he turned and walked off.
Raynor watched him go, tension lingering in his muscles.
Survival Instinct was powerful. But power always came with consequences.
And he had a feeling those consequences were coming soon.