The next morning after their arrival, Skida stood before them in the center of the training grounds. "Today, we begin the assembly. Dismantle the sand, but this time, guide it back through the filter of your mana. Reconstruct it into steel."
She paced between them, explaining further. "Don’t rush. Build it in stacking parts, like a stone house. Brick by brick."
Kuma looked like a ghost. He hadn't slept since the village; the Wanderer had spent the night listening to his friend’s muffled screams as he woke from one nightmare only to fall into another.
Skida stopped in front of him, her eyes narrowing. "Still mourning the village women?"
Kuma turned his gaze away, his jaw set. Skida moved, gripping his jaw and forcing him to look at her. "I don’t tolerate weakness. If you can’t handle blood on your hands, I’ll end your misery right here, right now."
Kuma shoved her hand away, his eyes flashing anger. "I only need to be strong enough, right?"
Skida grinned. "That’s the spirit. Hate me if you will, I don’t care. But my men must be ruthless."
"Be careful what you wish for, General," the Wanderer said.
Skida laughed mocking his audacity. "Enough chatting. Assemble."
They began. The Wanderer dismantled the handful of grit, feeling the void swallow it, then opened the back door. He tried to force the returning energy into a singular shape, but his control was shaky. In his palm, the sand manifested as a spikey ball of raw iron. He looked over at Kuma, who took longer to assemble. In his friend's palm sat a perfectly smooth, polished sphere.
"I’m proud of you both," Skida said, though her eyes lingered on Kuma’s perfection. "Wanderer, keep practicing the construction. Kuma, you need speed. Precision is useless if you’re dead before you finish the shape. No one waits for you in a real battle."
The sound of iron boots hitting stone cut the lesson short. A soldier sprinted toward them, rasped.
"General! News from Lythra. The civil war has begun."
The Wanderer’s eyes widened. "Lythra?"
Skida caught his reaction. "You’ve been there?"
"You could say so," he replied, his mind racing through the streets of a city he once knew.
"That place has been a thorn in our side for a long time," Skida said, looking at the letter the soldier gave her.
"From what I know, Tharos prefers isolation," the Wanderer countered. "He wouldn't seek a fight."
Skida looked at him with newfound curiosity. "You’re full of surprises, maggot. But you’re part of my personal unit now, so we can speak plainly. Tharos isn’t the problem, just an old Qi zealot preaching dead traditions. Rohan is the issue."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "We’ve been pushing them toward this chaos for months. Divide and conquer. It looks like the cracks finally gave way."
She turned back to the messenger. "Deliver the news to the Council. Tell Joven that Skida sends her congratulations. This is the first step toward the Empire of Draemir."
"You mean Joven Draemir?" Kuma asked, his voice hushed. "The ruler of Draemir?"
Skida’s expression was one of cold ambition. "Soon to be the Emperor of Draemir, yes."
"He plans to attack Lythra?" the Wanderer asked.
Skida tilted her head, watching him closely. "Does that bother you?"
The Wanderer hesitated. Images of Lythra flickered through his mind, the place of his first memories in this world, a city that had ultimately rejected him. "My feelings won’t matter," he said finally.
"True," Skida said. "But let’s clarify one thing. Do you believe Joven is the true ruler of Draemir simply because of his birthright?"
"If not him, then who?" Kuma asked.
Skida grinned. "What is a ruler without an army?"
"It's your decision, then," the Wanderer noted.
"My dear Wanderer," she said, leaning in, "everything in Draemir is my decision. Joven only finds the breath to speak it. Continue your practice. I have matters to attend to."
As she walked away, Kuma turned to the Wanderer. "So that’s it. She scouts the talent, forces them into blood pacts, and builds an army that answers only to her."
"I think there’s more to it," the Wanderer replied, watching her retreating figure. "A few soldiers, no matter how strong, wouldn't make her this confident. We’ll find out soon enough. She doesn't see us as a threat, we need to use that. We find knowledge, and maybe we find a way out of these chains."
Kuma nodded grimly. "Alright. Let’s get back to it."
Seasons passed. Training turned to routine, and routine turned to war.
The training was grueling, but the results were undeniable. The Wanderer manifested his third mana circle, the ethereal rings humming with the power of the Spiral. Kuma, meanwhile, surged ahead to his sixth circle, a rate of growth that surpassed anyone in the history of Draemir.
Under Skida’s commands, they spent the months on the move, securing borders, raiding outlying settlements, and methodically expanding Draemir’s reach toward the Lythran frontier. For Kuma, the horror of the first village had faded into a dull numbness. Severed limbs and cooling corpses were just the scenery of his daily life.
Their first true test came at Rockhaven, a fortified trade hub that sat like a splinter in the path to Lythra. The regular army had been stalled at the gates for weeks. Skida sent the two of them in at midnight.
The Wanderer conjured clouds clashing to mask their approach, a storm of wind and lightning. When they reached the reinforced ironwood gates, Kuma knelt and touched the grain. He dismantled the bonds of the wood in a surgical radius. A three-meter hole ceased to exist, leaving a circular opening for the Draemiran vanguard to pour through.
Kuma was hesitant to join the massacre, children's wails pushed him back, leaving the Daemiran soldiers to finish the dirty job.
The Wanderer led the charge, his hands manifesting iron spikes from the earth, impaling the guards before they could even sound the horn. By dawn, the Rockhaven flag was being used to wipe the blood from their boots.
As they pushed closer to Lythra, the missions became more frequent and more visceral. They were tasked with "resource reclamation." A polite Draemiran term for raiding villages for Anima-sensitive materials.
In a mountain village called Crestfallen, they encountered a group of rogue Qi practitioners. It was the first time the Wanderer felt the familiar weight of Qi against his mana since he left Lythra. He engaged their master, a man who moved with the fluidity of a mountain stream. The Wanderer had to balance his three mana circles, grinding his teeth as he used the "back door" method to disassemble the very air around the practitioner, creating a vacuum that choked the man’s techniques. Kuma, meanwhile, moved like a ghost, his sixth circle allowing him to manifest a forest of metallic blades that tracked the movement of any archer on the walls.
Kuma’s nightmares became quieter. He stopped apologizing to the people he unmade. Skida’s orders were clear after Rockhaven, join the killing or join the dead.
During a raid on a Lythran supply caravan, Kuma dismantled the horses and the wagons with a flick of his wrist. When the survivors begged for mercy. But he simply reassembled the iron from the wagon wheels into a single blade that finished the job.
"Is this the growth you wanted?" Kuma had asked one night, cleaning a splash of crimson from his cheek as they sat by a campfire.
The Wanderer replied. “ It's us or them.”
He stared into the fire then continued. “ I have my own demons other than Skida, they also push me to kill more, to grow more”
Kuma replied. “ I thought the nightmares would stop eventually, but each death sparks new ones.”
The Wanderer sighed and said. “ I don't enjoy it either, but we are the ones killing them …crying about won't change anything."
Kuma paused for a moment then said. “ Even the children?”
He deflected saying, “Let’s get some sleep Kuma.”
Kuma replied. “ I'll take the first watch, you sleep now.”
They also learned the true depth of Skida's reach. Her strings were woven into every corner of the city. Even Joven didn't issue orders unless she vetted them first. Most of the Council members moved according to her whims, making her the true ruler of Draemir from the shadows.
But her control wasn't absolute, one of her personal approached the duo hinting an uprising against Skida is being woven.
Unsure of this was a test from Skida or not, they decided to ignore him for now.
Few days later they saw his body hanging on the gates to rot.
On this day, she stood before them on the familiar stone of the training grounds. She looked at the two men they had become hardened and lethal.
She dropped into a combat stance, her mana beginning to ripple the air around her. "You’ve had enough training," she said, a predatory spark in her eyes. "Show me what you’ve actually learned. Come at me. Both of you."