The red hue cast a heavy mood over the cave. Even after sharing a meal, doubt lingered between them—less for Ryuma than for Kaz, but that didn't mean he let his guard down. He slept on one side of the cave, his grip firm on his sword, stirring whenever Kaz moved—whether to take a sip of water or relieve himself.
Kaz wasn't going to try anything—Ryuma might be his best chance at survival. So, he forced himself to relax, even if it felt impossible. The tension was suffocating. To distract himself, he turned his focus to his features, ones he had neglected until now. His trait had proven useless, and he assumed his features would be no different.
[Beyond] You have briefly touched the Primeval once, long ago—witnessing its beauty, if only for a moment.
[Prosper] You are fated to thrive when all descends into chaos; dangers will present themselves at every turn.
[Creature of Chaos] The creatures of chaos welcome you with open arms.
All of these features he had—they were all passives, each giving him an edge, especially in battle. Prosper was the most straightforward: the more chaotic the world around him, the more danger seemed to find him, the more likely he was to succeed. Beyond was the strange one. Maybe it granted him access to more abilities? Perhaps it was a primordial power, though that didn't make sense—Primeval had been the term used. Maybe it was some form of divinity. Kaz couldn't wrap his head around it.
Kaz grabbed the bone sword and made up his mind to leave, deciding to explore deeper into the cave. The air was cold, and sitting in a damp cave wasn't going to solve any of his problems—not Ryuma, not his bitter feelings, nothing. He took a few steps toward the cave opening, where the passage lay. As he stepped outside, Ryuma glanced at him with curiosity.
"Hey, mind if I tag along?"
Kaz wasn't opposed to Ryuma tagging along, but the truth was, Ryuma made him wary and tense—and it seemed the feeling was mutual. Despite the smile on Ryuma's face, Kaz could tell it was forced, a mask hiding his true intent: to keep an eye on him. Ryuma was the better fighter, no question about that. Maybe Kaz could learn a thing or two, or at least figure out what his own features could do, even if they were passive. Watching Ryuma fight might give him an edge. Kaz put on a forced smile of his own.
"Yeah, why not?"
The two plunged into the abyss, swallowed by the silent void. Shadows stretched long in the passage, their only company the skittering of unseen horrors. More Regent Scorpions lurked ahead, their carapaces glistening like shards of night. Kaz had faced a few before—he knew their rhythm, their vicious lunge—but before he could so much as tighten his grip, Ryuma moved.
A blur of steel. A dance of death.
Kaz barely caught the flicker of motion before the rift beasts lay still, their armored bodies split open like cracked stone. Ryuma's swordplay was ruthless, unerring, an art painted in blood.
Kaz watched, his gaze locked, his mind racing. There was something there—something he needed to understand. But as he tried to grasp it, it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
Ryuma fought with a grace that defied logic, a rhythm that Kaz couldn't quite follow. He knew the movements in theory, had seen countless warriors wield a blade, but there was a missing thread, an unspoken truth he couldn't yet weave into his own strikes. He mimicked the motions, yet the blade in his hand felt foreign, like an instrument out of tune.
What was he missing?
The answer danced before him, just beyond reach, taunting him in the echoes of steel.
Kaz wrestled with the mystery of Ryuma's technique, his mind chasing shadows, when suddenly—
"Hey, come look at this."
Ryuma's voice cut through the stillness, sharp and expectant.
Kaz snapped out of his thoughts and hurried to catch up. As he rounded the bend, his breath hitched. Before them stretched a vast, open chamber, the darkness above yawning endlessly. At its heart stood two massive altars, ancient and unmoving, like sentinels of forgotten power.
One bore the image of a dragon, its scales etched in masterful detail, wings unfurled as if ready to take flight. The other was adorned with two spirals, locked in an eternal embrace, twisting, writhing—fighting. It was chaos restrained, power caged within a perfect, unyielding circle.
And beyond them, a colossal ramp loomed, leading into the unknown. This was no accident. This place had meaning, purpose.
Ryuma knew it. The pride in his smirk said it all.
Kaz, however, was tired. Tired of this world, of its cruelty, of the endless cycle of suffering and struggle. And if this was just another trial, another torment carved into his fate—
Then so be it.
His fingers curled into fists. His glare sharpened, cutting through the air like a blade. If Ryuma stood in his way, if he was just another obstacle to overcome, Kaz would fight him. He didn't care how skilled Ryuma was, how untouchable he seemed.
Ryuma caught the look, his smirk faltering for just a moment.
Kaz was done playing along.
"What?" Ryuma asked, eyes widening in surprise.
Then he laughed, a rare, genuine sound echoing through the vast chamber. "Yes! These… these are where our Lineage Stones are. I can't believe we found them this early."
Kaz almost smiled at the thought—almost. But then, a dark realization settled over him like a shadow stretching long. His Prosper feature thrived in chaos, and if there was one absolute truth, it was this: when power lay waiting, danger lurked nearby.
Something was coming.
Kaz stilled, reaching out with his Eyeless Sense—one… no, two… no, three… no—
His breath hitched.
Forty.
A swarm of creatures, unseen but undeniable, surging toward them from the abyss.
"Ryuma," Kaz called, his voice low but firm.
Ryuma turned, catching the shift in Kaz's tone.
"Prepare for a fight."
There was no hesitation. Ryuma moved instantly, slipping into position. He didn't trust Kaz—had no reason to—but something about the way he spoke, the quiet certainty in his voice...
For once, it felt like he wasn't lying.