Episode 10: Bond and Break

  Chapter 031 - You Have Grown

  The boulder eased back to the ground with a dull thud. Wallan lowered his arm. Across the clearing, Vynelor did the same. A thin hush settled over them, and a faint sound of wind threaded through the tall trees. Wallan glanced up toward the boy in the tree.

  “What a surprise,” he said. “You can still use it.”

  Vynelor swung his legs once before answering, “I wanted to show off.”

  Wallan nodded with a straight face. He didn’t smile, but it was just a small, tired motion of acknowledgment. He raised a hand and brought a scrap of cloth from their camp with a thread. The fabric floated across the air in clumsy arcs until it landed in his hand. At least his Telekinetic Magic could carry something as light as that. He wiped his face with it, breathing slower now.

  “It only took me a few days to get to this point,” he said. “It took you a few years.”

  Vynelor snorted, half-offended. “That’s because you’re more experienced. And I was a baby, too. I bet you couldn’t grow faster than me when you were little.”

  Wallan didn’t answer right away. He just tossed the cloth aside and leaned against the boulder with a long exhale.

  Vynelor shifted slightly on the branch. His voice was quieter this time, without the teasing tone. “You did get better.”

  Wallan looked up.

  “I mean it,” Vynelor said, glancing away. “I wanted you to use magic.”

  Wallan grunted softly. “Just slower than I’d like.”

  The boy nodded, and for a moment it seemed like that was the end of it. But then he looked down again, his voice tentative. His gaze focused on his palm, comparing it to Wallan’s calloused ones. He narrowed his sight, the trace of wonder sounding curious in the thread of silence. Then he asked, “Say… how do Adaptation Paths really grow faster? Is it true that they go up faster if your level’s higher?”

  Wallan walked over and sat on the boulder with a soft grunt, stretching his legs out with a wince. “It’s more about the stats than the level,” he said, rubbing the side of his knee. “Level’s just a number. Imprints are what shape your system, not the level.”

  He leaned back, gaze drifting upward. The trees swayed gently above them, leaves glinting with faint green light that pulsed like veins. His eyes followed the trunk of the nearest one. A strip of moss curled along its bark, creeping higher with patient determination. Each inch of rise seemed slower than the last.

  “Looking at the moss,” he murmured, “it’s pretty much the same. It gets harder the higher your level. That’s the part no one tells you.”

  He ran a thumb over a scar near his knuckle, eyes half-lidded. “When you’re starting out, the system listens easily. You push, you grow. However, later on, you may struggle to earn a single imprint. You can spend months trying to gain the smallest edge, and still have a long way to go. The system stops rewarding shallow effort. You have to mean it. Every part of you. The deeper you go, the more it asks in return.

  “Some folk give up at that point. It’s emotionally taxing to want more when you want freedom in adulthood, a time to rest and appreciate life. Some pretend they’re still climbing when they’re just treading in place. Me?” He paused. “I stopped counting a long time ago. It’s been ten years.”

  Vynelor was quiet for a moment. He dropped from the branch with a soft thump, landing barefoot on the dirt. He asked, “So, if imprints matter that much, then what makes the system decide when to level up? It’s not like APs where you see their EXP.”

  “For every six imprints you gain in your stats—any stats, doesn’t matter which—you level up once.”

  He picked up a loose stone, tossed it into the air, and caught it. “It doesn’t care how you grow. Just that you do. Again, levels just remind you how far you’ve run. It means you’ve lived through enough experiences that your system has had to adapt. A warrior is mightier than a king, and righteous love is greater than a cold heart. But they do not say everything about a person.”

  He glanced at Vynelor. “That’s where Adaptation Paths and Temperament Slates come in. Every person grows in their own shape. The system watches that, and learns. It builds, you could say.

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  “That’s what APs and TSs are. They’re not just skills. They’re your reflection. They’re where your effort pools when you weren’t even looking.”

  Vynelor didn’t answer right away. He stood and walked up to Wallan, a hand reaching out in a steady movement. The man watched as he remained seated. Then, the child bent low to grab the calloused hand. He lifted it to look at every dirt and wrinkle covering his skin.

  Then he said, without quite meeting Wallan’s eyes, “It’s cold.”

  Wallan blinked, unsure of what he was doing.

  Vynelor scratched behind his ear. “I wonder what my parents would say when they meet a cold person like you. You promised they’d be waiting for me, right?”

  He was frozen for a moment. The question made his spine tingle. Again, he restrained the thought, the very thought that should’ve been told long ago. But Wallan refused to speak about it. Pressing his lip, he said with unnoticed restraint, “Yes…”

  The child smiled. “When I find them, I want you to live with them. Maybe train them to be strong, too. But please don’t slap them,” he chuckled. “I want to show them who you are to me. The soft but mean man. Big man too.”

  Wallan looked away for a moment, unable to hold his gaze. “They may be big too,” he whispered.

  Vynelor laughed. “Then I got three big parents! Isn’t that cool? I get loved three times more.”

  He then pulled Wallan up from the boulder. The man followed the boy’s movement, bringing them to the center of the canopy with sunlight peeking down on them. His hand gripped tighter on Wallan’s.

  He said, “You said my system shows my ambitions and what I enjoy. Well, I enjoy my life right now. You taught me how to catch a fish. Someday, I will hug another person who loved me so much. But you have to keep me safe. That’s why I want to teach you magic, like how you taught me fishing. That way, when you get strong enough, you can ward off enemies. That way, you can protect me.”

  Wallan’s eyes widened. He didn’t breathe for a moment. Vynelor’s hand was still in his, warm and certain. That smile, light, open, and undeserved, burned through him. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. His chest tightened from something heavier that was too big to name.

  His vision shimmered, blinking once, twice. And then:

  ● System Interruption ●

  You needed to hear those words.

  All Stats — Decreased by 10% until mental equilibrium is restored.

  ● System Update ●

  Emotional Contradiction Threshold — Fulfilled

  Temperament Slate is Shifting…

  Heartfrost ? Lv. 8 → 7

  He stared down at their joined hands. Still unable to speak. But then, slowly, Wallan exhaled long but shakily. His hand squeezed Vynelor’s.

  “You have grown,” he said, voice low and strained. “More than I thought… More than I hoped—”

  But before he could say anything else, something stirred around them. The rustling stopped. Animals ran the opposite way. The winds changed course. Trees waved wilder and more frantically. It became quiet. Almost too quiet.

  Wallan’s eyes turned sharply. His head spun around a tense body. He held Vynelor’s hand. He held them tight. And he ran.

  Quick Speed ? Lv. 30

  Wallan found a thick tree and hid behind it. He brought Vynelor close to him, hugging the child tightly while his head faced to the side.

  Vynelor was confused, completely lost by the sudden change. “What—”

  But he was quickly shut by Wallan’s hand. “Quiet…” Wallan said sharply but quietly. There was almost no reaction time. He cut his words halfway when there was a rustle from afar.

  Out from the trees, a figure stepped into the clearing—armor sharp with pointed plating, a jagged sword drawn low.

  Then another emerged.

  A third.

  A fourth.

  Within seconds, twelve soldiers surrounded the campsite, forming a slow, circling line like vultures closing in on a dying prey. They spotted the clearing with all the equipment present. They crouched near the firepit. Some picked through pots. One of them lifted a makeshift sleeping cloth with his blade.

  They grunted. “Sir,” one of them called, fingers brushing charcoal, “someone was here. Not long ago.”

  The trees stirred behind them. Then a tall man stepped through.

  Xollor.

  He emerged with no rustle or warning. His armor glistened too cleanly for the wild. Magic wrapped him in fine, humming bands of crimson light. At his side, a sword pulsed with a dark-scarlet edge, glowing like it wanted to smell something.

  He said nothing at first. He moved forward and crouched beside the fire ring. A fresh footprint caught his eye. It was a small footprint. A child’s.

  His eyes darkened. Flickers of something deep and unnatural lit in them. And bhe stood.

  “The boy is near,” Xollor said quietly. “Find him.”

  The soldiers nodded in pairs and vanished in separate directions.

  Xollor remained.

  He turned his head slowly, toward the trees, toward the place where Wallan and Vynelor were hidden. He stared. Longer than necessary. And then…

  Gone.

  A single flicker of displacement. Barely a blur was left from his trail. This speed was far beyond what Wallan could imagine. No wind could find him and follow.

  When it was finally quiet, Wallan leaned close and whispered, “Run.”

  Happy new years! Hope everyone has a blessed time with others and with yourself.