Chapter 16 The Path Forward


    Yonas sat by the dying fire, arms wrapped around his knees, fingers digging into his arms. The warmth of the flames barely touched him.


    His mind felt like a storm—thoughts crashing, clashing, circling back on themselves with no answers, no sense. His breathing was steady, but only because he forced it to be.


    He didn’t trust his own body anymore.


    The fire crackled, its light flickering across his face, but he barely noticed. His eyes were locked on the flames, unfocused, vacant. He wanted to rest. He needed to rest. But every time he so much as blinked—


    There he was.


    It lasted only a fraction of a second, but it felt like an eternity.


    The grip around his throat. The dead, hollow eyes staring back at him. The weight in his limbs as he was dragged into nothingness. The sensation of choking, of fighting against a force that wasn’t there, yet was more real than anything he had ever faced.


    It wasn’t a dream.


    It couldn’t have been.


    The feeling hadn’t left him. His skin still crawled with the memory of it, his mind still recoiling from the overwhelming pressure of that moment. He had felt death before—when the monster had nearly torn him apart, when his body had collapsed from exhaustion—but this was different.


    Because this hadn’t been an outside force.


    It had been him.


    A voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.


    "Did you use air elemental energy in your dream?"


    Yonas flinched, his entire body tensing as he turned to Nasir.


    Nasir was watching him, eyes sharp, posture relaxed but unreadable. Yonas forced his breathing to slow, forced his fingers to unclench from the fabric of his trousers.


    He answered immediately. "Yeah."


    Nasir studied him for a second longer. "How did it feel?"


    Yonas’ throat felt tight, but he forced himself to speak. "Stronger. A lot stronger. But it wasn’t controlled. It felt like it was using me, instead of the other way around."


    The silence stretched between them.


    Then, Nasir exhaled slowly. His expression was guarded, but Yonas could see it—the flicker of fear.


    "I woke up because of it," Nasir said, his voice quieter now. "There was a sudden surge of air elemental energy. I saw it surrounding you—then, it vanished in an instant."


    He hesitated, then continued.


    "That’s when I saw you strangling yourself."


    Yonas'' stomach twisted violently.


    He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His breath was steady, but his mind was spiraling again, his body locking up.


    If the elemental energy had manifested—if it had been real—then what had really happened?


    What was the Anti-Yonas?


    Why had it felt so real?


    And most terrifying of all—


    Why had it felt like it was him?


    Yonas clenched his fists. His mind refused to settle.


    If the elemental energy had manifested in the real world… then was it truly just a dream? Or had he somehow crossed a boundary—one that wasn’t meant to be crossed?


    He stared at the fire, but the flames provided no clarity, no comfort. They flickered, twisting unpredictably, shifting in ways that felt unnatural. Or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him.


    It didn’t matter.


    The questions still swirled, relentless.


    His own hands had been around his throat.


    But had they?


    It felt like his body had been acting on its own, as if something else had been pulling the strings, and yet—he had felt the pressure, the suffocating force, the way his strength had drained like sand slipping through his fingers.


    Had it been him? Or something else?


    Had the Anti-Yonas been real?


    If it had, then what did that make him?


    A part of him wanted to dismiss it as nothing more than a nightmare. To convince himself that it was just a trick of the mind, that exhaustion had twisted his thoughts into something unrecognizable.


    But he couldn’t.


    Because Nasir had seen the air elemental energy.


    And Yonas had felt it.


    The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, but then—


    “As long as you keep using elemental energy each time, we might figure it out,” Nasir said, his voice laced with something light, almost teasing.


    Yonas blinked.


    A joke.


    It was unexpected, almost too casual.


    For a second, Yonas just stared at him. The sheer normalcy of the remark clashed so violently with everything running through his head that it caught him completely off guard.


    And yet…


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    The tension in his shoulders loosened—just slightly—but enough for him to exhale, the suffocating weight pressing on his chest easing just a little.


    It was absurd, wasn’t it?


    Everything about this.


    There was no way to explain it. No way to understand it. So why drown in questions that had no answers?


    Still, the unease gnawed at him.


    Was that truly a dream? Or had he stumbled into something far worse?


    Nasir’s smirk faded, his expression shifting. His eyes sharpened.


    The teasing was gone.


    "Listen," he said, his voice low and firm. "If you ever see that thing again—run. Don’t fight. Don’t try to test your strength. Just run."


    Yonas swallowed, the air between them shifting once again.


    This wasn’t a simple warning.


    The weight in Nasir’s voice was different—like someone who had seen something they shouldn’t have.


    Something that couldn’t be fought.


    Something that shouldn’t even exist.


    Yonas nodded instinctively, the gravity of Nasir’s words sinking deep into his chest like a stone.


    He didn’t even consider refusing.


    Because deep down—


    He already knew.


    Fighting something like that wasn’t a test of strength.


    It was a death sentence.


    Yonas didn’t sleep properly that night.


    Even after Nasir’s warning, after the fire had burned down to embers, his mind refused to rest. Every time his eyelids drooped, even for a second, he saw it. The figure. Himself, yet not. Its fingers tightening around his throat. The lifeless, hollow gaze staring back at him.


    It was a blink—just a blink—yet in that moment, time stretched unbearably long, warping into something unnatural.


    If I fall asleep, will I wake up?


    The thought refused to leave him. He had almost died before, but this was different. This wasn’t an enemy, a monster, an outside threat.


    It was him.


    And that terrified him in a way he couldn’t describe.


    He didn’t know when he finally drifted off, exhaustion dragging him into unconsciousness. But when he woke the next morning, his body was heavy, his limbs sluggish, his mind still trapped in the remnants of that nightmare.


    He didn’t mention it.


    Instead, he buried it. Drowned it in his training.


    The days passed in a haze, blending into each other. Yonas barely noticed. He focused only on the next movement, the next fight, the next moment. His body moved on instinct, pushing past fatigue, pushing past thought.


    Every day, he fought goblins, each battle bringing him closer to perfection—but not quite there. He was still missing something. Still taking too long. Still not executing the perfect kill.


    And that wasn’t good enough.


    The Anti-Yonas had shaken something in him, but not in the way he had expected. He wasn’t paralysed by fear anymore. He didn’t flinch at the memory. He didn’t feel weak.


    He felt hungry.


    Not for food. Not for rest.


    For growth.


    The longer he took to become stronger, the lower his chances of survival the next time something like that happened.


    And Yonas knew—deeply, instinctively—that there would be a next time.


    Nasir didn’t push him too hard. Not after what had happened. His training remained rigorous, but there was no added pressure, no impatience. He allowed Yonas to move at his own pace, reinforcing the idea that progress would come through mastery, not recklessness.


    Yonas didn’t resist.


    He absorbed.


    His mind became sharper. His stance more stable. His attacks cleaner. The hesitation he once had—the momentary gaps in his form—vanished.


    By the time the week had passed, he wasn’t afraid anymore.


    Not of the dream.


    Not of what lay ahead.


    But the shadow of that presence—the weight of it—remained.


    And Yonas vowed that next time, he wouldn’t be the one who was powerless.


    The fire crackled softly as the night settled over the camp. Yonas sat cross-legged, sharpening his sword with slow, measured strokes, his mind still caught in the endless loop of training, improvement, survival.


    Nasir, sitting opposite him, watched in silence for a moment before finally speaking.


    “There’s something you should know.”


    Yonas glanced up, his sharpening slowing.


    Nasir leaned back slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “The council has ordered the construction of a new school in Thalrune. A place for students with elemental aptitude.”


    Yonas'' grip tightened on the whetstone. He hadn’t expected that.


    “A school?” he echoed, his mind struggling to shift gears from training to something… different.


    Nasir nodded. “Not just any school. One built for people like you. It’s already nearing completion. They’ve set the trials for 13/01/909. Classes start on 1/5/909.”


    For a moment, Yonas didn’t say anything. The words settled in his mind, the weight of their meaning pressing against the sharp, focused drive he had built over the last week.


    A school.


    An actual place for people like him.


    For as long as he could remember, it had just been his brother. The only person near his age he had any real bond with. He had never had friends, never had comrades, never had the experience of growing alongside others.


    And now, suddenly, there was a chance.


    His chest tightened—not in fear, but in something else.


    Something exciting.


    He set his sword down, staring into the fire. “A school for elemental swordsmen?”


    Nasir smirked slightly. “For anyone with elemental aptitude. Swordsmen, elementalists, anyone who meets the requirements.” He exhaled, glancing up at the sky. “The council actually moved fast on this. Faster than I expected.”


    There was something in his tone—a note of respect.


    Yonas tilted his head. “You sound impressed.”


    Nasir nodded. “I am. It’s rare to see the council take action this quickly. Usually, things drag on with too much debating, too much hesitation. But this time… it’s like they knew they needed this.” He paused before adding, “This could be a real opportunity for you.”


    Yonas didn’t need to be told that.


    It was more than just an opportunity for growth.


    It was a chance to prove himself.


    A place to train, to become stronger, to push himself beyond what he could achieve alone. And more than that—


    For the first time, he would be among others like him.


    He might finally have people to fight alongside.


    But…


    His excitement dimmed slightly as a thought surfaced. “I don’t know how strong I actually am,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I’ve only fought goblins. I don’t know how I compare to others my age.”


    Nasir’s expression remained unreadable for a moment before he said, “That’s exactly why this is a good thing. You’ll find out.”


    Yonas absorbed that.


    He wasn’t arrogant. He knew his strength wasn’t at its peak. But was he falling behind? Was his growth slow?


    He didn’t know.


    But what he did know—


    His determination.


    His obsession.


    His refusal to fall behind.


    He wouldn’t let himself be weak.


    No matter where he ranked, no matter what he faced—he would keep climbing.


    The fire crackled again, the glow flickering over his face as he finally exhaled.


    “So, how do I enter?”


    Nasir smirked. “You’ll take the trial, like everyone else. But first…” He gestured toward Yonas’ sword. “You focus on getting stronger.”


    Yonas smirked back, picking up his blade.


    That was the plan all along.


    Far from the quiet campfire where Yonas and Nasir spoke, another scene unfolded.


    The kingdom of Draeven stretched out beneath the night sky, its vastness illuminated by the glow of lanterns and the mechanical hum of its heart. From above, the city appeared far more organised than the rough, sprawling settlements of Valoria. Roads cut through it in calculated patterns, winding around massive castles, towering structures of iron and stone.


    And at the centre—


    A fortress unlike any other.


    Larger than even the grandest noble estates, its silhouette loomed over the city, its surface gleaming with the faint shimmer of mechanical constructs. Cogs adorned its outer walls, some moving, others still, as if they were a part of something far greater than the eye could see.


    Despite its grandeur, there was something unnerving about it. Something cold.


    A place built not just for rule, but for control.


    But the true shadow of Draeven did not sit within that grand fortress.


    It stood on the outskirts, where the city’s poorest districts lay. A place of rusted buildings, narrow alleys, and chimneys that coughed black smoke into the sky. It wasn’t as broken as the Hinterlands of Valoria—Draeven’s poorest still had access to the kingdom’s advancements—but it was a different kind of poverty. One where progress came at a cost.


    Where only the useful survived.


    Inside one of the many dimly lit buildings, a man stood by a cracked window, his gaze fixed on the towering fortress in the distance.


    His silhouette was sharp against the faint light, his posture rigid with purpose.


    There was no hesitation in his movements. No wavering.


    His fingers tapped lightly against the wooden frame, a slow, rhythmic motion, the only sound in the otherwise silent room.


    His expression didn’t shift. Not when the wind rattled the glass. Not when the distant hum of Draeven’s machinery filled the air.


    And then, as if speaking to no one but himself, he murmured—


    "All will be ready in two years."


    No emotion. No excitement.


    Just a statement.


    A fact.


    The words lingered in the air, swallowed by the heavy silence that followed.


    Outside, the smoke continued to rise. The cogs of Draeven continued to turn.


    And in that quiet, the world moved ever closer to whatever was coming.