“Come on, Kiel! You need to learn how to use a sword and improve your physical conditioning to get strong like me!” Aidan, my ‘father,’ shouted enthusiastically, tossing me a wooden stick. His eyes gleamed with childlike pride, as if, in that moment, he was the most fulfilled man in the universe.

— Someone molding a hero, one who would be so important that this man would give his own life if necessary. The reason? A fraternal love beyond what I could comprehend, and despite everything, trust in a hope for the future.

I looked at him, feeling a strange mix of fascination and disbelief. His emotions were almost palpable and alien to me. I could see beyond his superficial excitement. To him, this was just another father-son learning moment, but for me... it was an unnecessary game for reasons he could never understand. Not yet.

As I watched the wooden stick spin in the air, my thoughts drifted, capturing the vastness of the sky above. The clouds, lazily moving, seemed in a deep slumber, echoing the calmness of the environment—something I knew very well from other existences, albeit only in a few of them. The mountain wind sliced against my skin like a vivid memory of times when this mortal body wasn’t even mine. My nostrils filled with the scent of nearby conifers, a tranquil fragrance that kept me calm despite everything.

I felt the stick touch my small hands, and for a moment, I hesitated, absorbing the texture of the rough, rudimentary wood. The rejection of the task Aidan imposed began to manifest in my mind, but it wasn’t the kind of childish refusal he might have expected.

It was a deeper reluctance, an echo of the ages I had lived before finding myself in this fragile, childish form. My body, so small and vulnerable, seemed out of place on a battlefield—even if this was merely a playful duel between father and son. It was as if the agony of fighting for survival was nudging at me.

But something stirred within me—a curiosity. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to entertain the idea, to play along with this naïve attempt to teach me something I had already known before—and in the process, not feel the weight of time.

“I’ll show you what I’m capable of, Dad,” I declared, allowing a mischievous smile to form on my lips. But inside, there was something else—an underlying irony. I knew the art of war, even if he couldn’t imagine it.

I surveyed the surroundings, taking in the terrain. We were near the river, where the uneven ground created small treacherous ridges. The sound of the flowing water in the background was almost a song to me, a symphony of times immemorial. My mother slept peacefully on the distant grass, oblivious to the scene. I could feel the gentle warmth of Zenite, the sun, bathing everything in a bluish light—like a source of... light, star, one of the four, but here? Never mind...

Aidan, on the other hand, was preparing with exaggerated seriousness, raising his wooden sword with a posture he believed to be perfect. He laughed, his voice echoing through the air. “Hold it like me, son,” he said, demonstrating with an exaggerated flourish, his blond hair dancing in the wind. He seemed like a giant to me, due to his size.

Seeing him so engrossed in the game reminded me of something. It wasn’t about winning, but about remembering past times, of real battles, where victory or defeat meant the life or death of countless beings.

I remember it perfectly—armies of tiny Arthropods marching into war on a tropical planet. A work of art, all in the name of their queens, battling for others' resources. None of them intelligent, but how strange it was to be in that hive mind… It’s one of the reasons for my steely psychology. Now, it was just an innocent duel with a wooden stick, and even so, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was under my control, like in that insect war.

The wind blew stronger. The leaves rustled around me, and suddenly, everything felt more intense. The stone beneath my feet, the distant sound of the water, the warmth of the sun... all conspired in my favor. I already knew how to win. And it wouldn’t be just with strength, but with cunning.

“Are you ready, Dad?” I asked, my voice still carrying the innocence of childhood.

The duel was about to begin. But for me, it was just the start of something far more trivial.

I tried to imitate his stance, but as soon as I adjusted the two-handed grip, an immediate discomfort spread through my body. Something inside me screamed that the posture was wrong. The feeling was familiar, as if I were denying my true self, where my left hand was dominant.

I instinctively adjusted my body, holding the stick differently, with my left hand relaxed but firm. The position felt natural to me, as if I had done this thousands of times before. Perhaps I had, in other lives or in one specifically. Aidan, however, noticed the change immediately. His eyes narrowed, and the line of his smile softened slightly.

“No, like this, son,” he said gently, but there was a note of insistence in his voice. “Hold it with both hands, like I showed you.”

I looked at him and, for the first time, felt a spark of rebellion ignite within me. “I prefer it this way,” I responded with an unexpected firmness for a five-year-old. There was something more behind those words, something he couldn’t understand. I wasn’t just being stubborn—I was following an ancestral instinct.

Aidan’s expression faltered for a moment, doubt flashing in his eyes before he recomposed his proud teacher facade. He shook his head, as if disagreeing, but decided not to press the issue.

“Suit yourself, but don’t complain if I’m tough on you,” he said with a smile.

Aidan made the first move, his wooden stick cutting through the air with precision, but with deliberate sluggishness. Even with all my confidence, the strike came faster than I could counter. I raised my stick, blocking the attack, but the force of the impact reverberated through my small arms, making them tremble. The sound of wood clashing echoed among the trees, mingling with the rustle of the leaves.

I instinctively retreated, my feet stumbling over the small ridges of the uneven ground. I tried to emulate Aidan’s confidence, but it was clear that my movements were far from the precision that inhabited my ‘father’s’ body. My current body was limited, fragile. Aidan, on the other hand, stood firm, pressing on with precise strikes, forcing me to take a step back… then another.

He was acting like a tutor who didn’t want a fight, just for me to react. He was holding back, as expected since his opponent was a child.

As he advanced, my mind worked quickly. It wasn’t a matter of strength; it never had been. It was a matter of strategy. I noticed the pattern in his movements, the small details he unknowingly repeated with each attack. A heavier step on the left, a predictable angle in his right hand. I just needed a moment, an opening, to show him that his ego, his underestimation of me, was misplaced.

The stones beneath my feet seemed to conspire against me, and soon I felt the ground become more sloped, dangerously close to the stream. The waters ran with a steady force. My feet stumbled over a hidden root, and I nearly fell, but I recovered just in time to dodge another weak strike.

Aidan laughed, amused by my apparent inexperience with swords. He had no idea that I was merely adjusting, measuring the terrain, calculating each movement. He thought I was retreating out of fear. But I knew better—I was leading him toward several roots of the tree.

My eyes narrowed when he finally stepped wrong onto a root, and that’s when I decided to act. At the exact moment Aidan lifted his stick for another unbalanced strike, I quickly ducked, almost in a pure evasion movement, contrasting with all the sloppy ones I had made before, letting his attack pass over me. The wind sliced through the space where my head should have been—a strong blow, but calculated not to hit me.

Exhaustion began to creep in, but I didn’t give in. I used the close proximity to land a devastating blow... for my size, of course.

I struck at his leg, but he countered immediately, forcing me to retreat again while he left me wide-eyed: a backflip at the exact moment I struck, showing off his acrobatics.

Fool, he was completely exposed. Anyone without supernatural reflexes wouldn’t have had a chance to exploit that opening. But me? I had inherited my ‘mother’s’ genes and possessed a sharp awareness that allowed me to see the world with almost brutal clarity. In a swift and precise movement, I lunged with a direct thrust, hitting his stomach with the wooden stick.

The muffled sound of the impact echoed in the air, and, for a brief moment, Aidan’s confident smile disappeared. He stepped back, instinctively placing a hand where my blow had landed. His distorted expression indicated that, despite it being just a simple training session, he had felt the pain. Perhaps more than he had expected.

For an instant, I thought I had won. But the pained expression quickly morphed into something darker. His eyes sparked with an intensity I hadn’t seen in him before. Without a word, he moved differently—more agile, more fluid. Something had changed. The technique he had showcased before now took on a wilder, more unpredictable edge, as if he had abandoned the formality of the duel.

His next strike came like thunder. His stick cut through the air with impressive speed, and I found myself forced to retreat. I blocked the attack, but the impact was so strong that my arms shook. The shock of the wood reverberated through my body, and despite my plan, I realized I couldn’t keep up with that pace for long.

The following strikes came fast and relentless. He was no longer playing; he had realized his son wasn’t a naïve child. Every attack carried with it more than just physical skill—it was as if he were testing me, pushing me to my limit. I moved as best I could, dodging and blocking pathetically, but I felt the rhythm of the fight slip away from me. With each advance, it seemed I was a step away from being defeated.

Then I made a mistake—I’m not perfect, after all. A particularly strong blow hit my right shoulder. A sharp pain shot through my arm, making me falter. I almost dropped the stick, but I held on. Aidan didn’t stop, advancing, and for a moment, I thought he had forgotten who I was. Or perhaps he was trying to draw something more out of me.

Then something strange happened—I felt my mind cloud over. My vision began to blur. The world around me seemed to slow down, and a blinding light filled my field of view. Everything became hazy, and for an instant, I lost track of where I was.

My memory reset, like I had gone back in time.

The white room was immaculate and endless, only the echoes of our bodies colliding breaking its absolute serenity. The only imperfection in that environment was my cosmic essence leaking from several wounds, dripping onto the floor like a dying star. I lay sprawled on the ground, feeling the cold synthetic surface invade me, and above me, like a presence of light created by deities, was Void’Rift, a Cosmic Creature, floating like a constant threat.

“Get up, Noir... You don’t look like one of us. Stop being pathetic and honor your mask by using your power,” he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. His mask hid his face, while his foot pressed down on my chest.