***

“Elena…?”

Irin scanned the room, peering around the piles of dream shards and out the open door. It wasn’t just that Elena was no longer there—it felt more like she was never there to begin with.

Moments ago, when he was sure Elena had still been with him, there were no noises nor signs of movement to suggest she had left, no traces of Possibility to suggest some form of spatial travel, and no evidence of a third party having done anything to her.

It was as if the world itself wanted him to believe that she was never there to begin with.

He called out her name again, but of course, there was no reply. 

“No… No— She can’t have just disappeared…”

He turned to the piles of dream shards—what he had once accepted were nothing more than objects—empty husks of what used to be.

But Elena had told him they were unfulfilled dreams—remnants of identity, and moreover, they had voices. Those voices were capable of saying things she could understand, so if he was able to see a world anywhere near her own, why couldn’t he himself hear them?

Without even being able to begin constructing a plausible explanation for Elena’s disappearance, he turned to the dream shards instead.

“Dream shards… Based on what she said, the name makes sense, but… why did we call them that?”

He couldn’t bring himself to touch them like Elena did. She was different from the people of the Confluence, grasping Possibility itself beyond how even experienced adventurers knew to.

Even still, he tried to appreciate the faint reflections their fading surfaces could still show. He wondered what would happen if someone tried to reconstruct their old purposes—their identities—rather than building new roles atop them.

But those were just unrealistic hypotheticals, weren’t they?

If only he could have a conversation with them—comprehend the value still within them—rather than merely telling them what to be.

“Please, tell me… If there’s any part of you that can still see—that can still sense… I need to know what happened to her.”

And the world responded.

《The conditions for [Skill], [Systemization], have been met.》

When he was previously informed of his eligibility to access a new [Skill], his system had failed to even provide its name, not to mention a proper explanation. In fact, every other remnant of other [Skills] he had attempted to claim throughout his life failed to be registered.

《Eligible targets have been identified. Proceed with conversion?》

“Conversion?”

Was this how he could obtain the answers he sought? 

A brief flicker of confirmation passed through Irin’s mind, authorizing the proposed conversion. Only, no answer flashed through his consciousness, and Elena’s disappearance was no better understood.

Instead, in the blink of an eye, the pile of dream shards before him vanished, their Possibility coursing towards him, and in their place hovered a new panel that instilled him with a sense foreign to both his body and mind.

《The selected targets have been converted into [Skill], [Tenacity].》

“...A new skill…?”

For some reason, that unfamiliarity aligned with him more than any mimicry of shaping ever could.

“The ability to draw out the innate power of unfulfilled dreams… [Systemization], and the ability to manifest their persistent will… [Tenacity].”

He remained still, his eyes entranced—glued onto those words.

“But… this still doesn’t—”

An unfamiliar voice suddenly caused his body to jolt.

“Hey! What do you think you’re—”

By the time Irin turned around, a worker of the Shard Plant had already entered the room, eyes locked onto his position. 

“...What have you done with the dream shards?” he asked slowly, raising the hammer held tightly within his grasp.

“Wait—!” Irin shouted, holding out his arms, but it was too late.

“Thief!”

The worker slammed his open hand over a button fixed onto the wall beside the entrance as he lunged towards Irin.

Blaring alarms caused him to wince, wanting to cover his ears, but he knew better than to hunker down with a hammer swinging towards his face.

“Duck.”

He crouched with his back slightly hunched before dashing towards the door.

“I can’t persuade him now, but… I have to find someone I can talk to—someone that might understand what just happened—!”

But before he could reach the door, the strained grunting of the worker told him to roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the trail of the flung hammer as it smashed into and dented the wall just ahead of him.

“I have to prove my innocence with someone that’ll talk to me!”

Upon forming that thought, his movements slowed, weighed down by a crushing realization. Even if he could somehow show someone the [Skill], wouldn’t that only prove that he had taken them?

“Why’d you stop?!” the worker mockingly yelled, slamming a Possibility-imbued fist into the side of Irin’s body and flinging him out the open door.

 《[Skill], [Tenacity], has reduced incoming physical damage and pain.》

“...Did I really steal these shards…?”

That question made his heart ache almost as much as the dull throb in his left side.

And as the sun’s rays illuminated his still falling body, momentarily blinding his eyes, he could faintly see the silhouettes of incoming armored guards prepared to knock him out and whisk him away.

“No.”

 《The voices of [Skill], [Tenacity], acknowledge your desire.》

“[Tenacity] is their will.”

He bit down hard as he crashed onto the rough ground, tumbling for a bit before flipping himself into a low, more balanced stance.

 “Our traditions— Our methods are flawed.”

“Stop him!” the guards barked at the passersby along the nearby street, but they only backed away.

“These shards live on through me.”

With newfound determination in his eyes, Irin broke into a sprint, tracing back along the route he and Elena had taken to arrive at the plant. As he weaved between outreaching arms and soaring weapons, then scrambled up a ladder onto the unobstructed rooftops, he began to find it rather ironic that his story before and after Elena both revolved around running away.

Shaping - First Command: Creator

A new voice rang out behind him, clear as day.

“A Shaper?!”

He could barely glimpse the one who spoke that command before a beam-like force pummeled into his chest, rocketing him into the air and across the Confluence like some convoluted reverse-shooting star.

The wind tore into his body as his balance twisted—up becoming indistinguishable from down.

Then, a crushing pain coursed through his back as one of the Central Hall’s cardinal towers now braced his impact, fragments of stone and concrete crumbling around him.

 《[Skill], [Tenacity], has reached its limit.》

“That crest…”

He had definitely seen a patch sewn over the left side of his attacker’s chest, featuring a vertically symmetrical graphic of the Central Hall reflected over the ground it stood on.

“Why is the Elite Guard here?!”

Before he could ground his thoughts, a fist armored in a golden hue soared to meet him, forcing him to haphazardly leap off the tower with as much forward momentum as he could muster.

“That’s it— Madam Overseer! Elena met with her before, so she must have a clue as to her whereabouts—!”

He set his sights on the stairs below. With any luck, if he could keep himself alive until he reached the top floor of the Central Hall, her omniscience within the Confluence could clear both of his troubles. That was the outcome he had set his heart on.

“[Tenacity]!” 

 《[Skill], [Tenacity], braces for incoming damage.》

The steps crumbled under his weight, pain jolting through his legs. [Tenacity] could no longer provide the same alleviation it once did, so raw Possibility would now have to make up for the rest.

“Deal with it!”

He scrambled through the collapsed stone, rushing to his feet and up the remaining steps, but by the time he had reached the landing, he came to the realization that the Central Hall’s doors wouldn’t budge for him.

A wave of Possibility took aim at him.

Shaping - First Command: Creator

He turned to face the oncoming attack, bracing his arms over his chest as he invoked what remained of his [Skill] once more.

That force propelled him straight through the door, leaving behind a cloud of dust and rubble as Irin pulled himself to his feet again, his back now badly scraped and bloodied from endless blows.

He quickly scanned his surroundings. Right now, he stood at the very center of the building, and the officials that were previously bustling about their daily work had all frozen in place, locking their gazes on him while steadily stepping away.

“Right now, they all see me as a criminal, but—”

He broke into a sprint again, heading towards the only visible stairs upwards as overlapping shouting followed through the front door.

Running up these stairs—drops of blood marking his trail along the ordinarily pure white marble—he continued to push on, straining both his body and his [Skill] beyond their limits. He had to remind himself that the beating he had received outside was far worse than this.

At last, he reached it—the final hall of the final floor. With everything on the line, he raced towards the door before him.

“You have nowhere left to run,” a stern voice rang out from the stairs behind him.

Irin had only managed to make it halfway.

“Damn it! If I take another hit—”

That overwhelming force of Possibility made its presence known, filling the entire hall with its pressure.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He knew there was no way his [Skill] could provide even a shred more of relief. All he could do now was hope the pain and damage wouldn’t tear his mind and body apart.

Yet, the beam never struck him.

At the very height of Irin's perception, he could’ve sworn there were countless invisible hands gripping the battlefield, wresting that attack itself and bending its destruction away from him.

And the strings puppeting those hands traced straight through to the other side of that door.