A Void of Exhaustion
Layron didn't remember when his body had finally given up.
One moment, the battlefield had been roaring around him—the shattering of Bowsungun, the echoes of Shion's laughter, the weight of victory pressing against his aching body.
And the next—
Silence.
He didn't dream.
There was no sensation of time passing, no flickering images, no fragmented thoughts. Only darkness. A deep, endless void where pain and exhaustion had finally pulled him under.
Until—
A breath.
Faint at first. Shallow. Weak.
Then, another.
A slow return to reality.
His senses stirred, sluggish and heavy, as if buried under layers of fatigue. The dull ache in his limbs was the first thing he felt—an echo of every movement, every strain his body had endured. Then came the faintest sensation of warmth—a contrast to the biting cold of the battlefield.
His fingers twitched.
He inhaled.
The air was different. Not the sharp, dry scent of dirt and sweat from the training grounds. Not the lingering tension of battle.
It was familiar.
A mix of aged wood, faint traces of parchment, and something herbal—medicinal.
A place of rest.
Home.
Layron's eyelids twitched.
Then, slowly—he opened his eyes.
The world was blurred at first. Afternoon light streamed through the window, casting warm golden hues across wooden walls. Shadows stretched along the floor, shifting slightly with the sway of curtains caught in a gentle breeze.
The ceiling above him—he recognized it.
Wooden beams, slightly uneven. The small crack in the corner. The way they curved inward, just slightly.
This was his home.
His gaze drifted downward, and that's when he saw them.
Two figures.
One leaning back with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The other perched on a chair, mechanical eyes flickering with soft golden light.
A voice broke the silence.
"About damn time."
Layron blinked.
Shion.
The archer's usual composed demeanor remained, but there was something in his gaze—something different. Not concern. Not amusement. Just observation.
Falkren, perched beside him, tilted its head.
[[He's alive.]]
Shion scoffed. "Yeah, no thanks to himself."
Layron swallowed, his throat dry. He tried to sit up—
Pain.
His ribs protested instantly, a sharp shock running through his torso. His muscles, stiff and bruised, screamed against the movement. He gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply as he fell back against the mattress.
His head spun.
Shion raised a brow. "Yeah, you're not getting up anytime soon, genius."
Layron managed a hoarse whisper. "How long…?"
Shion leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee.
"Since yesterday."
Layron frowned, trying to piece together the fragments of memory. "Yesterday?"
Shion nodded. "Training ended in the morning. You collapsed before anyone could check if you were still breathing. Frankly, I thought we'd be dragging a corpse back instead of an unconscious idiot."
Falcon clicked its beak. [[We could have left you there.]]
Layron let out a weak chuckle, though it hurt to laugh. His body felt like it had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together.
He glanced down at himself. His shirt had been removed, replaced with fresh bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. His arms bore smaller wrappings, covering the wounds from Bowsungun's relentless arrows.
Yet—
Something felt… off.
The pain was there, but it wasn't as bad as he expected. His wounds should still be raw, his body far too battered to even shift.
But instead—there was a dullness.
A faint sense of healing far beyond what rest alone could provide.
Layron looked up, eyes narrowing at Shion.
"You did something."
Shion raised a brow. "What makes you say that?"
Layron flexed his fingers, testing his limits. "I know how injuries feel. This—" He shifted slightly, wincing, "—should hurt a lot more."
Shion smirked, but it wasn't his usual cocky grin.
"Smart enough to notice, at least." He stretched, leaning back. "Yeah. The wounds caused by Bowsungun don't heal like normal injuries. If left alone, they'd fester, keep tearing open, never close properly."
Falcon ruffled its feathers. [[Your body was ruined.]]
Layron blinked. "Then how am I—?"
Shion tapped his fingers against the armrest. "Falkren and I have some tricks up our sleeves. Let's just say you wouldn't be conscious right now without them."
Layron exhaled, letting that sink in. He could press further—ask how, ask why—but his body was still too drained to care about the details.
Instead, he nodded weakly. "I owe you."
Shion scoffed. "Damn right you do."
Falcon's eye flickered. [[And you still lost.]]
Layron frowned. "What do you mean? I won. I broke Bowsungun."
Shion smirked, shaking his head. "Did you, though?"
Layron's brows furrowed. "I stopped the training. I did what I was supposed to do."
Shion's gaze sharpened. "And then what?"
Layron hesitated.
Shion leaned forward.
"You collapsed."
Layron said nothing.
Shion's voice was steady, but pointed. "Winning means standing at the end. If this were a real fight, you'd be dead. You didn't win, Layron. You survived. There's a difference."
Layron clenched his jaw.
Shion continued. "And let's not forget—" he gestured at himself, "I never even fought seriously. I stayed at a distance. I let my technique do the work. You never fought me. Just Bowsungun."
Layron's fingers curled against the bedsheet.
Shion exhaled, standing up. "Listen, kid. You did well. You figured out how to counter a technique that was designed to overwhelm you. But don't fool yourself into thinking that makes you strong."
Layron looked up, and for the first time, there was no arrogance in Shion's gaze.
Only honesty.
"You've got talent," Shion admitted. "But you're still weak."
Silence filled the room.
Layron inhaled deeply. He could argue. He could push back.
But he didn't.
Because he knew it was true.
Slowly, he leaned back against the pillow, exhaling. "Yeah… I get it now."
A pause.
Then—
Shion smirked. "Good. That means you're finally starting to think like a real fighter."
Layron exhaled, a small smile playing at his lips. "Yeah…"
But deep down—he wasn't just thinking about this fight.
He was thinking ahead.
He was thinking about what came next.
And he knew—this was only the beginning.
---
The Secrets of Bowsungun
The warm afternoon light streamed through the open window, casting long shadows across the wooden floor of Layron's house. The faint chirping of birds outside was the only sound breaking the silence—until a deep exhale filled the room.
Layron lay on his bed, his body still sore, but the sharp pain from his wounds had dulled. His exhaustion hadn't fully faded, but the fire inside him—the hunger to understand, to learn more—was stronger than ever.
Across from him, Shion sat on a wooden chair, his arms crossed behind his head, one leg propped up lazily on the table. Beside him, Falkren perched on a shelf, its mechanical eye flickering in observation.
Layron shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow under his head before finally speaking.
"Shion."
The marksman opened one eye. "Huh?"
Layron's gaze sharpened. "Your Bowsungun technique… I didn't have time to ask before. What exactly is it?"
Shion blinked once, then let out a small chuckle. "Took you long enough to ask." He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. "You fought against it and survived, but you still don't know what you were up against, huh?"
Layron frowned. "I mean, I got the basic idea… You control arrows remotely, right?"
Shion smirked. "That's the bare minimum of it. But Bowsungun is a lot more than just controlling arrows."
Layron sat up a little straighter, intrigued.
Shion exhaled, tapping his fingers against the table. "Alright, listen up, kid. Bowsungun isn't just some fancy trick where I control arrows in mid-air. It's a technique that combines precision, spatial awareness, and trajectory manipulation to create an attack pattern that no one can escape from."
Layron's brows furrowed. "Trajectory manipulation?"
Shion nodded. "I don't just fire arrows and let them fly straight. I bend them, curve them, make them stall mid-air, and even make them accelerate at unpredictable speeds. Every shot I take isn't just an attack—it's a calculated movement to limit your choices."
Layron swallowed. He had noticed that. Every time he dodged, another arrow was waiting for him.
"It's like playing chess at lightning speed," Shion continued. "Every arrow I fire forces my opponent into a worse position. The more they dodge, the tighter the cage gets. Before they realize it—there's no way out."
Layron clenched his fists. "That's why I felt like… no matter where I moved, the arrows were already there."
Shion smirked. "Exactly. You weren't just dodging attacks. You were playing my game."
Layron shivered slightly. That level of control—it was terrifying.
Shion stretched his arms, yawning. "Most people never even last long enough to notice all this. But I gotta give it to you, kid. You figured it out mid-battle and actually countered it."
Layron scratched the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed. "Honestly, I didn't think it'd work."
Shion raised a brow. "Didn't think—?"
Layron smirked. "I knew it would."
There was a pause—then Shion let out a loud laugh.
"Hah! You little bastard," he said, shaking his head.
Even Falkren let out a soft hum of amusement.
[[Cocky already?]]
Layron grinned. "Hey, I beat you, didn't I?"
Shion clicked his tongue. "Tch. You broke my bow, you didn't beat me."
Layron shrugged. "Same thing."
Shion sighed dramatically. "Kids these days… No respect for their elders."
Layron smirked—until something clicked in his mind.
"Wait a second…"
Shion glanced at him. "What?"
Layron narrowed his eyes. "Speaking of elders… How old are you exactly?"
Shion blinked.
Then—he grinned.
Layron felt a weird sense of unease. "…Why do you look like you're about to say something insane?"
Shion leaned back, resting his head on his hands. "You really wanna know?"
Layron hesitated for a moment—then nodded.
Shion exhaled. "Alright. I'm…"
A pause.
Then—
"One hundred and twenty-two."
Silence.
Layron stared at him, completely frozen.
The room felt too quiet. Even Falkren, who rarely reacted to anything, went still for a moment.
Layron blinked once. Then twice.
"…What?"
Shion smirked. "You heard me."
Layron's mind refused to process it.
"One hundred and twenty—what?!"
Shion stretched. "Yeah. Been around for a while."
Layron's brain shut down.
"That's… way older than Gramps."
"Yep."
"You look… like you're barely seventy"
"Good genes."
"That's—!!" Layron stopped himself before he lost his mind. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Wait, hold on—how are you still alive? You're human, right?"
Shion shrugged. "I was. Once."
Layron froze again.
"…What do you mean 'once'?"
Shion's smirk didn't fade, but something in his eyes darkened—just for a brief moment.
Layron caught it.
That wasn't just a joke.
But before he could ask—Shion stood up, stretching his arms. "Anyway, that's enough storytelling for today. You just woke up, don't need you passing out again from shock."
Layron narrowed his eyes.
He wasn't stupid.
Shion had dodged the question.
But one thing was clear—Shion wasn't just some long-range fighter.
He wasn't just an old war veteran.
There was something more.
Something he wasn't saying.
And Layron wasn't going to forget it.
TO BE CONTINUED…
---