"Start the timer!"
A young man moved with a graceful, mechanical rhythm — honing his body in the art of war.
Light particles shimmered at the muzzles of his firearm device.
Ten moving targets zipped across the hall. They moved so fast they left shimmering afterimages in the air.
Cain took a deep breath and focused. The magicules weren't just in the air, they flowed within him.
Flowing like a river, elusive as time itself — he had to guide it.
Then his mindset clicked into place.
Cain executed a quickdraw combo — each flick released a bullet with surgical precision.
[Accuracy: 100%]
[Time: 6.1 seconds]
[Would you like to try again?]
Cain knew his time aboard the Roosevelt Fortress was over.
'Is my strength enough? Could I really make a name for myself?'
He polished his skills, reflecting on how he could grow stronger on the battlefield.
[Time: 00:00]
The clock beeped at the wall timer signifying midnight. He had his bags ready for days.
One last look at the sterile walls — the practice room that had raised him like a second parent.
'It would be dusty again soon.'
Holstering his firearm devices, he picked up his bag.
It weighed only twenty kilograms. He'd lifted far heavier loads in training.
'It hadn't always felt this heavy.'
Of all the weights he'd lifted in ten years, this bag felt the heaviest.
Once a small child, now he had to fend for himself in this god-infested world.
He was scared. He didn't want to go. He only wanted to train more inside the Roosevelt Fortress.
'I'm an adult now, I should be thinking about gloomy things.'
But his grandfather scared him even more, his reprimand always rang through his head almost becoming a nightmare.
Lessons beaten into him — brutal, unrelenting, necessary.
'Talented? Prodigy? Born once a thousand years? That doesn't do jack shit.'
'A greenhouse flower withers fast when war burns down the roof.'
The words rang on his head over and over, the old man would never say nonsense to him.
He was beaten bloodied and senseless by the old man to make these words second nature to him.
Cain knew how the world worked. Still, some part of him rebelled at the old man's methods.
"If I ever have a son, I'll make sure not to beat him like that."
He wrote a letter to his grandpa, grateful — time from a Virtuoso-level like him was priceless.
The bruises lasted for weeks. The pain was real, but so was the privilege of being by the old man's side.
He left the note on the table, turned off the lights, and stepped out of the room.
Under the moonlight, Arthur stood on the balcony, wind pressing against his unaging metal frame, too still to be called waiting.
His emotions, swept away by the wind, hid in the cracks of his stoic, logic-bound face.
As Cain approached him in armlength, he handed the boy a box, patted his shoulder and nodded then turned back away.
Inside was a terminal, a holographic smartwatch.
Cain studied the device, strapped it onto his wrist, and drew blood to register with the Trifecta Database.
'What should I address him? This… This won't be the last time. Maybe I should address him formally instead of calling him grandpa.'
"Fortress Master, may the spirit of our fellow men bless you."
That was all he could muster to say.
The grandfather had no words to exchange.
Arthur had never shown warmth — not out of hatred, but fear. Fear that Cain would walk the same path.
He wanted Cain to hate him, to resent him, to see him as something unworthy.
Looking at his shaky metal hands, he could only grip them tightly.
'I can feel it. My body is giving out.'
Cain could only see the back of the old man peering to the horizon.
He was still doing his job. He couldn't even look back at his grandson one last time.
Despite every reproachful word and agonizing injury, he endured.
Only two words ran in Cain's head.
'Thank you.'
Hearing the boy walk away, Arthur could only whisper his wishes in the wind.
"Never be like me. Be stronger, smarter and…"
"Be free."
His breath stayed steady.
His shoulders didn't.
Grinding his teeth, he did his best for the tears to not spill his eyes.
He could only give this much to his grandfather.
To not see him cry.
'A photograph… just one. Something to prove he'd mattered to the old man. A memento at least…'
But Cain couldn't help feeling downcast as the old man wasn't fond of these sentimental things.
"If I die, don't mourn me, Cain. No funeral, no fuss. Just toss my ashes over the gods you've already brought down."
He remembered the grin from his metal face, the old man had kept something from him.
'Instead of being sad, I should just do something productive.'
Mimicking the old man's voice in his head, Cain rubbed his face on his sleeves and started familiarizing himself with the terminal.
He knew the old man, always giving his best — quietly, discreetly.
Clenching his fist, he looked at the device. A storm of emotions churned inside him.
[Achievement] [0]
[Credits] [11 Gold]
[Licenses] [23]
[Media] [1]
[Shopping] [0]
[Social] [Friends – 109]
[Web]
In the media section he saw what appears to be a fragmented image. Parts of it were deleted and expunged due to secrecy.
'This should be a map, right?'
He knew — even this might've gotten the old man in trouble.
Looking through all its details, he deleted the file immediately and rebooted everything to factory settings.
'Three hundred kilometers from Borderwall, huh?'
"I remember this area was called Borderwall Perimeter. Why is it so far away then?"
The Roosevelt Fortress stopped in a canyon, its patrol destination still tens of thousands of kilometers away, this was as far as they could go for Cain.
As he was getting near the exit of the chute, he braced himself and conjured magic.
Weight reduction.
Exiting the shooting tube, billowing winds and harsh sleet hit Cain's face as he looked around midair.
Flight was conjured wordlessly, yet as he flew farther and farther from the fortress his tears spilled forth uncontrollably.
'I'm all alone now. Uh… I should at least shout a goodbye.'
"Grandpa, Uncle Julius, Aunt Roberta! I'll get stronger fast!"
As he shouted his goodbye, the starry sky parted like a tenebrous maw, grinning with crooked lies and caressing with delicate deceit.
Above, the heavens grinned — gods, giants, and immortals watching with silver-fanged hunger.
Rustles of unseen prey and stalking predators echoed near and far.
He took deep breaths, yet he felt — afraid.
"Isn't this just a stroll?"