The World Beyond the Rift

A Silent Question

Barolt's fingers trembled slightly as he held the locket in his hands. The small, silver casing had long since lost its original shine, dulled by time and the countless times he had traced its surface absentmindedly.

Click.

The locket opened, revealing a tiny, faded photograph.

A woman's face.

Her features were soft—gentle, yet unfamiliar. Her eyes held a warmth he had never known. A small, almost hesitant smile lingered on her lips, as if she had been uncertain when the picture was taken.

"Is this my mother?"

It wasn't the first time the question had crossed his mind.

Nor was it the first time he had asked his father.

And yet, Adam had never given him a straight answer.

"Why does it matter?" he had once said, brushing the question aside. Another time, he had simply responded with a flat, "Some things don't need to be known."

That wasn't an answer.

That was avoidance.

Barolt closed the locket with a soft snap and clenched his fist around it.

Even if his father refused to answer, he would find out one day.

One way or another.

Flies in the Shadows

Far beyond Barolt's awareness, eyes watched. They always had.

Adam had long since noticed them. The noble families had been watching him for years, observing, recording, analyzing. Their tactics were meticulous, their patience endless.

And yet, it was all pointless.

Adam allowed them to watch.

Not because he couldn't remove them. But because it was easier this way.

"Flies will always circle around a feast."

If he were to act, the nobles would send more than just spies. They would escalate. They would become a problem, and Adam had no interest in wasting his time on irrelevant nuisances.

He walked the streets of the city, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable.

But his senses were never idle.

He could feel them. The dull presence of those who believed themselves hidden. The way their gazes lingered. The faint, near-imperceptible fluctuations of mana in the air as they used concealment techniques.

Pathetic.

They were skilled by normal standards.

But to him?

They were nothing.

The Training of the Body

Morning arrived, bringing with it another day of training.

Barolt stood in the clearing outside their home, muscles sore but eager, breath steady but expectant.

His father stood before him, arms crossed, watching.

"Show me," Adam said simply.

Barolt nodded and stepped into his stance. He had trained his body for years, focusing on conditioning, strength, and endurance. He had learned the forms his father had shown him—strikes, counters, footwork.

He launched forward.

A punch—direct, fast, controlled. A step to the side. A pivot. A strike from below.

Adam watched silently as Barolt cycled through the techniques.

Efficient, but lacking. Strong, but not enough.

He let it continue for a few moments before raising a hand.

"Stop."

Barolt halted instantly.

Adam approached, his presence heavy. "You've trained your body. That was necessary." His gaze sharpened. "But what you're doing now—these movements? They are nothing but imitations."

Barolt frowned. "But—"

Adam cut him off. "Strength means nothing if you don't understand how to use it."

Barolt clenched his fists. "Then teach me."

Adam smirked slightly. "Fine."

A Lesson in True Power

Adam moved.

In an instant, he was behind Barolt.

Barolt barely had time to react before—

Tap.

A single finger lightly touched his back.

And in the next moment—

CRASH!

Barolt was sent hurtling forward, his body slamming into the dirt. He groaned, trying to push himself up, his arms shaking from the impact.

"What… just happened?"

Adam walked over, his steps slow, deliberate.

"That was a single touch," he said. "Not a punch. Not a kick. A touch."

Barolt gritted his teeth.

"This is why I told you that you're weak," Adam continued. "You've built strength. But you still fight like everyone else."

Barolt looked up. "Then what should I do?"

Adam crouched down, meeting his son's gaze.

"You need to understand something."

He tapped Barolt's chest—right over his heart.

"The energy everyone else uses—mana? It's borrowed. It exists in the world, and they take it in. Ki is the closest term to what I use, but it is not the same. It is life itself."

Barolt listened intently, every word carving itself into his mind.

"What I use… is beyond that."

Adam's hand moved slightly. And in that instant—

Barolt felt it.

A pressure. A force unlike anything he had ever sensed before. It wasn't just energy. It wasn't just power.

It was something else.

Something greater.

Something that didn't just exist—it commanded existence itself.

And then, it was gone.

Barolt gasped for breath, his body feeling insignificant under the weight of that brief moment.

Adam stood. "The energy I wield isn't something that can simply be controlled. It is absorbed. It is claimed. It is become."

Barolt stared at him. "Then… can I use it?"

Adam chuckled. "No."

Barolt blinked. "What?"

"You are too weak," Adam stated bluntly. "Your body can't handle it. You'd die before you could take your first step."

Barolt's hands clenched.

"Then why tell me?"

Adam smirked. "Because you need to understand what you could be."

Silence.

Then—

Adam turned. "Your training will change."

Barolt's breath steadied. "How?"

"You will no longer use energy."

Adam's gaze sharpened.

"You will become it."

The Fusion of Power

"The technique I will teach you is not like what others use."

Barolt listened carefully.

Adam continued, "Most people coat themselves in energy. They enhance their bodies for temporary strength."

Barolt nodded. That was how most warriors fought.

Adam smirked. "That's idiotic."

Barolt blinked. "…What?"

"Coating energy is a waste," Adam said. "It's inefficient. It's temporary. It's weak."

Barolt frowned. "Then… what's the alternative?"

Adam's expression turned sharp.

"Fusion."

Barolt's eyes widened.

"Instead of coating energy around your body," Adam explained, "you will spread it. Into every cell. Every molecule. Every fiber of your being."

Barolt swallowed. "Is that… even possible?"

Adam chuckled. "Try."

Barolt hesitated. Then, he closed his eyes.

He reached inside himself, searching.

Then, slowly—he began.

The energy moved.

It spread, not around him, but into him. Into his flesh. Into his bones. Into his very being.

For a single second, he felt it.

Power.

And then—

Pain.

His entire body screamed.

Barolt collapsed.

Adam caught him before he hit the ground, lowering him gently, as if handling something fragile.

He sighed. "Two seconds. Better than I expected."

Barolt's unconscious form twitched slightly, his body struggling to recover.

Adam sat beside him.

He stayed there all night.

Because no matter how strong he was—

He was still a father.

SOMEWHERE FARAWAY,

The Saintess stood within the sacred chamber, her expression calm, yet her heart was anything but.

The vision had come again.

She closed her eyes, letting the memory unfold.

A battlefield. A sky split apart. A young man standing amidst the ruins—unshaken, unwavering.

She had seen this image countless times before.

The boy in her vision wasn't a child. He wasn't a beginner. He was a warrior. An existence standing on the cusp of something terrifying.

A force unlike anything she had ever witnessed.

Not just strength. Not just skill.

Something beyond understanding.

And now, after years of uncertainty, she finally knew.

"The boy in my vision is alive now."

She could no longer ignore it. The timelines had aligned. The moment she had foreseen was approaching.

The boy—Barolt—was no longer a mere infant. He was growing, training, walking the path toward what she had seen in her vision.

But that wasn't what disturbed her.

What truly sent chills down her spine was the other presence in the vision.

A figure standing opposite him.

Not a demon. Not a beast.

Something far worse.

A man.

A force of pure darkness, an overwhelming presence that swallowed all light. His power was suffocating, unnatural, unlike anything that should exist in this world.

The moment the vision had revealed his presence, the Saintess had nearly collapsed from the sheer weight of it. Even now, the memory of that power made her shudder.

"Who is he?"

Her fingers tightened slightly.

Even as an S-rank, she could only glimpse fragments of the future. But what she had seen was enough.

The battle she had witnessed—no, the war—was not one that should ever come to pass.

And yet, fate was already moving toward it.

Barolt… You are at the center of it all.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

She had to act. She had to find him.

The world's fate might depend on it.

And it all led back to one name.

Barolt.