The sun slowly rose over Komorebi-no-Mura, spilling its light through the thick canopy of leaves that filtered the rays into soft beams. The air smelled of damp moss and living bark. Amidst this paradise of green whispers, Arata savored a simple breakfast: fresh berries and dried meat, brought to him by Mia, who smiled shyly.
His body still held a strange sensation of lightness. It wasn't fatigue or pain, but a lingering echo of that rocky armor that had enveloped him the night before. It was as if his skin remembered the weight... or the absence of it.
Despite the seemingly peaceful atmosphere, the village's eyes followed him. Murmurs of branches and hushed voices intertwined with the forest's whisper. The elves looked at him with a palpable mix of awe and distrust. Some moved aside when they crossed paths with him. Mumen, the most expressive in his suspicion, kept his jaw clenched and his brow permanently furrowed whenever Arata passed nearby. His eyes never forgave him.
The only one who seemed to want to be by his side was Mia. The little Faunir, with her long ears soft as moon petals, never left him. Her eyes reflected genuine concern. She offered him more berries, adjusted his seat, made sure he rested. Her warmth was a balm amid so much invisible tension.
One day, as the sun's rays barely kissed the edges of the village, Satoru appeared.
"Your power..." said the elder, his voice rough but warm. "It is vast and complex."
He sat before Arata with the patience of trees that have seen generations pass.
"What happened last night... that rocky armor was not an attack. It was an early manifestation. Raw, clumsy, but genuine. The beginning of something still sleeping inside you."
Satoru narrowed his eyes, as if observing not Arata, but an ancestral memory.
"The place where you sealed your pact... is sacred ground, Arata. According to ancient chants, there was born the Celestial Dragon of the Void. Or at least, where its essence first descended into the world. The primordial gods — fourteen, according to legend — created not only the elements but also the legendary Familiars that embody them. You... are linked to one of them."
Arata's eyes widened in surprise. Despite everything he had lived through, it was still hard to grasp.
"Ten'ryuu," said Satoru solemnly. "The Celestial Dragon of the Void. Its domain is not simple force, but Pressure in its purest form. Density, compression, gravity, weight... even the void between things. All fall within its reach."
Arata clenched his fists. That very night he had felt his own existence tremble under the power of that name. Ten'ryuu. The one who crushes without touching.
"But that power is not controlled by force," added Lyra, appearing at his side as if the forest itself had brought her. "It is like the Earth to us. It is not dominated. It is understood. It is listened to."
From that day, the training began.
Satoru did not teach with commands but with silences. He guided him to the underground rivers of Pressure, showing him how to listen to the world's weight.
Arata spent hours in stillness, sitting on the earth. Breathing. Closing his eyes. Trying to feel.
The first week, he felt nothing.
The second, he thought he felt a feather fall. The third, a branch crack. But not from the wind, rather from his energy, from his will. Or so he believed.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks, into months.
One day, he managed to concentrate his internal pressure into a single point: his fist. The strike wasn't strong. But it shattered a rock the size of his head. Small bursts, like mini explosions of compressed air, began to emerge from his body.
"You're starting," Satoru told him, nodding without surprise. "But there is still a long way to go."
And so it was.
One night, under the full moon, Arata ventured into a secluded clearing. He lay down on the grass, his back touching the sky. The stars twinkled like holes in the veil of the world.
He closed his eyes.
He remembered Lyra's words: "Familiars are not just external entities. They are part of you. Part of your soul."
Then he wondered: could he... speak with Ten'ryuu?
He focused his energy on the black Mark on his back. He felt the unmoving, vast eye, almost alive, carved into his flesh like a crack into infinity.
And then, something happened.
It was not the crushing pressure he had felt at the altar. It was softer. More... ethereal.
Before him, in the middle of the clearing, appeared a figure made of mist. A woman.
She had no face. No defined body. She was a white silhouette, almost translucent, floating like a sigh in the night. But her eyes... two orbs of warm light, serene and distant, looked at him with indescribable sweetness.
The voice he heard did not cross the air. It caressed his soul.
"Arata..."
It was not a greeting. It was a call. A recognition.
"Your path is one of great weight. A shadow rises... and approaches this forest. It comes seeking what it believes is its own."
The voice was soft, feminine. But there was weight behind each word, as if time itself supported it. As if the gravity Arata trained with so much effort flowed naturally from that presence.
"It does not come alone. And it will not come with mercy..."
The breeze thickened. Arata's heart pounded as if it recognized something his mind did not fully understand. It was a warning, but also a prayer.
The figure vanished as softly as she had appeared, as if she had never been there. Only the stars remained, and the quickened beat of his chest.
"...It was not Ten'ryuu," he murmured. "But it was... someone."
He jumped up.
He ran.
"A woman made of mist?" Lyra asked, frowning, after Arata recounted everything with his face still pale.
"She didn't speak with words," he answered. "It was... as if the air itself spoke to me."
Satoru listened with narrowed eyes, without interrupting. When Arata finished, the elder nodded slowly.
"A warning," he said. "Perhaps not from a god... but certainly from a force that watches over this forest. Or over you."
Lyra did not hesitate. Within minutes, the elven scouts vanished among the branches like silent shadows, heading north, toward where the vision had pointed.
Satoru placed a hand on Arata's shoulder.
"Prepare yourself. Pressure does not only exist inside you. It will also come from outside. And when it does, you will have to withstand it... or break."
Arata lowered his gaze.
Then he raised it.
And in his eyes — black as the void, irises like cosmic vortices — shone a faint spark of determination.