The forest was already breaking as steel clashed against steel in succession. Each impact shattered bark and scattered leaves. 

Greyson moved through the trees so fast that reality was having a hard time keeping up.

Grant, the Sword Saint, staggered back half a step, his boots grinding into the earth. His greatsword came up on instinct, parrying another strike. 

Then another and another.

There were simply too many to counter.

Greyson’s Resonance activated, and he split. Time seemingly fractured around him as copies of himself appeared, charging at the Sword Saint from different directions.

Grant’s eyes widened.

How is he only ten?

Still, his title was not earned lightly. 

Grant’s greatsword swept in perfect arcs. He parried strikes that came from impossible angles, steel screaming as blade met blade. Each impact was precise, each deflection immaculate.

The doubles fell away one by one. 

But then—

A clockhand blade slipped through, a shallow slash cutting across Grant’s side.

The man froze in disbelief. Warm blood welled beneath his armor. His divine protection flared too late, golden light rippling uselessly across the skin that had already been cut.

“Impossible,” Grant breathed.

His Resonance had turned aside blades, spells, even fate itself, but Greyson had undone it. More precisely, it was like the boy had struck Grant the instant before he was protected.

Greyson surged forward again, speeding up further, time having no hold on him. 

Each clash grew more violent as the forest itself was being dragged through rising distortions.

After countless exchanges, Grant finally managed to catch both of the boy’s blades. His greatsword bit down between the clockhands, locking them in place.

And that was when he saw the boy’s face clearly.

Greyson’s eyes looked wrong, silver… but completely empty. There was no reflection or spark. It was as if something vital had been scooped out of him and discarded.

Greyson activated his Resonance again, and time rewound violently. Days, months, and years collapsed inward, all targeted at Grant. He was gradually stripped of experience and muscle memory—

Grant grunted. “My body...?” 

He decided to stop holding back. Golden light exploded from him, and his divine aura roared, forcing time to snap back under sheer will. The pressure cracked the ground beneath them. 

Then, Grant released the greatsword with one hand and punched.

“Hah!”

The blow struck Greyson square in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. 

Before the boy could recover, Grant’s other hand snapped to the back of his neck. 

One strike. Precise, practiced, merciful.

Greyson went limp, falling unconscious.

Grant caught him before he hit the ground.

 “I've got you.”

The forest stilled, no longer trembling.

Grant looked down at the boy in his arms. 

He was too light, too small. The blades had slipped from relaxed fingers. 

For a moment, sorrow crossed Grant’s face.

“What kind of monster,” he murmured, “would turn a child into this?”

But he barely had time to breathe.

Suddenly, the temperature collapsed. 

Snow fell from a sky that had been clear seconds ago. Ice raced across the ground in violent patterns, spiderwebbing up tree trunks and rocks alike.

Grant’s breath misted, then thickened.

He turned slowly.

The forest had entered winter in a single heartbeat.

The Sword Saint lowered Greyson carefully against the frozen earth. Then, he straightened and reclaimed his greatsword in one smooth motion. The blade hummed faintly with Divine Resonance.

“Who’s there?” he shouted.

The cold deepened. 

Grant did not wait for sight. He swung his greatsword, carving a golden, blazing arc through the air. The energy struck a distant tree and obliterated it. The trunk collapsed in a thunder of splintering wood and falling branches.

From within the debris, a figure leapt and landed a short distance away, feet touching the ground without sound.

Grant’s grip tightened. “Another child...?”

This one was even younger than the one he had just fought.

His pale skin was untouched by the cold, eyes sharp and utterly alien. Around his neck flowed a long white scarf. He was beautiful and delicate.

Frost’s gaze slipped past Grant, resting on Greyson’s still form. 

Immediately, his eyes widened, turning sharper and more dangerous. They snapped back to Grant, gaze colder than ever. 

And then—

The air screamed as heat bled from it. Molecules slowed, threatening to stop altogether. The environment itself protested, cracking and shrieking as it was forced into stillness.

Grant inhaled and nearly choked. 

“What the—”

His lungs burned as the air grew too cold to function, breath tearing painfully through him. Even standing was becoming an act of resistance.

Yet, behind him, Greyson lay unfrozen. It was as though the cold knew better than to touch him.

Grant roared and flared his divine aura fully. Golden heat wrapped around him, slowing the hemorrhage of thermal energy, preventing his body from locking.

Frost raised one hand, and the world responded.

Moisture condensed violently as molecular motion failed. The sky glittered as cryogenic shards formed. Thousands of crystalline spears shimmered overhead, all pointed toward Grant.

A suspended execution.

Grant exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the greatsword as he looked up at the sky full of ice.

“Are you kidding me?”

Then, the sky fell, cryogenic crystals descending in violent barrages. Hundreds of spears shot through the frozen air toward Grant. 

The Sword Saint roared in defiance, turning into a storm.

“GRAAAAAAH!”

His greatsword carved impossible paths through the hail, each swing placed with precision. Ice shattered upon contact, exploding into clouds of diamond dust. 

His speed was monstrous, his control absolute. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation. He parried shard after shard perfectly.

But then—

It was merely a slip in judgment. His blade grazed the ice, but it did not shatter. And the trajectory shifted from the deflection.

A few ice spears veered toward the small, unmoving form on the ground.

Frost’s eyes widened, panic cracking through the stillness.

“Grey!”

But Grant moved faster, stepping between the shards and the unconscious boy without thought. 

Ice slammed into him, one shard after another. They failed to pierce him as Greyson’s blade had, but the impact still bit deep.

Grant staggered, breath ripping from his lungs.

The barrage ended.

But before the Sword Saint could react further, Frost crossed the distance. His pale hand reached out and pressed against Grant’s chest armor.

Contact.

And the effect was immediate. Heat bled away violently, the divine protection screaming under the strain. 

Grant’s breath hitched as frost raced along his armor at a rapid pace, crawling toward his throat. 

His muscles stiffened, his body beginning to lock.

“Listen to me!” he screamed.

But Frost did not respond, his gaze cold and cruel.

Grant snarled and pushed with willpower. His aura detonated in a violent pulse, ripping heat back into existence by sheer force. 

The blast hurled Frost away, scarf snapping in the air.

Grant followed through. Using the flat of his greatsword, he swung, and the blow struck Frost squarely.

The boy flew, his small body crashing through the air and slamming into a tree. Ice exploded outward on impact.

Grant staggered back, panting hard. His skin felt numb, armor rimed with white. His lungs burned as he forced air in, breath misting thickly. 

Still, he stood. 

His eyes went first to Frost. Then immediately, he turned to Greyson, who was still unconscious, unharmed.

Grant exhaled shakily, relief cutting through the pain. His shoulders sagged just slightly, strength leaking out with the breath. 

He looked back toward the tree again where Frost lay, concern etched plainly across his face.

“Good…” he murmured weakly, voice hoarse. “He’s still alive.”

Silence settled over the space as he gave out another sigh.

Yet… 

The forest remained frozen.