Gilly sat there, catching her breath, her limbs heavy and aching. She thought she'd reached her limit of surprises—but then she watched Zin do the impossible, effortlessly breaking what she thought were the world's limits. Compared to him, she felt small—insignificant even. In Genesis Camp, she had been considered average, capable at best. But here, in this strange, merciless world, every moment was a harsh reminder of how weak she truly was.
Lost in thought, she didn't even realize when sleep crept upon her.
When she stirred again, faint voices reached her ears—followed by the gentle poke of a stick at her side.
"Is she dead?" someone whispered.
Startled, Gilly jolted upright, blinking against the fading evening light. A small crowd had gathered around her while she slept on the training ground. Some of them chuckled; others watched curiously, unsure if she'd suddenly collapsed from exhaustion.
Among the faces, she recognized Pom.
He grinned down at her. "Looks like you were too tired to make it back to your room."
Before she could reply, he glanced around. Zin was nowhere in sight. Pom rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully.
"You must be starving. C'mon—let's grab a bite."
Without waiting for her answer, he gently led her away from the training field, guiding her into the lively streets. They stopped in front of a nearby tavern, its creaky sign swinging gently with the words: "Morith" carved into the wood.
Inside, Pom gave her a quiet seat tucked in the corner, away from the bustle. He strolled up to the counter, exchanging easy words with the staff—his familiarity with them was clear. When he returned, he slid into the seat across from her.
"Don't worry. It's on me," he said casually, flashing a grin.
But Gilly noticed the weight of curious eyes—older villagers watching her from across the room. Their gazes lingered longer than comfort allowed.
"Do I... look strange or something?" she asked, uneasy.
Pom seemed caught off guard, then waved a hand. "No, no. You look fine. It's just that..." He paused, then smiled softly. "Forget it. When you get the chance, go see Ephini or Valmor. They'll explain everything."
Their food arrived, carried by an elderly man and a small girl—both of whom shared Pom's gentle features. Pom patted the little girl's head warmly before sliding a plate of roasted turkey in front of Gilly.
"This is for you," he said. Without another word, the pair returned to the counter.
Pom leaned back with a smirk. "Don't worry. That's my dad and daughter."
Gilly relaxed, and they ate in quiet peace. But her mind wandered—haunted by her weakness.
As they finished, Pom glanced at her seriously. "Something on your mind?"
Gilly hesitated, then finally asked: "How do I become stronger?"
Pom leaned back, thoughtful. "It's not about getting strong."
That confused her. If anyone could offer guidance, surely the city's head guard could. Yet his answer only stirred frustration.
"I know you want strength," Pom continued, "but that's not what matters—not here."
Gilly frowned. He stood up, motioning her to follow.
"Come. I'll explain on the way."
As they stepped into the quiet street, Pom spoke, his voice low.
"Strength isn't the issue. Conviction is. Why you fight—what you stand for—that's what shapes power here. Some people are stronger because their conviction is clear. Their purpose is sharp. The world responds to that."
She listened, but the knot in her chest tightened. That answer didn't help her helplessness.
Pom glanced sideways. "So... why do you need to be strong?"
The question stopped her cold. It hit something deep—a space she hadn't dared explore. She fell silent, mulling over the emptiness where that answer should have been.
At last, they returned to the training ground.
Pom smiled faintly. "When you find your answer, come find me. I'll teach you what I know."
Then he left, striding off to drill his knights, leaving her standing alone—grappling with that single question.
As the dusk deepened, Zin appeared behind her without a sound.
She yelped when his hand touched her shoulder. "How—when—?!" she gasped.
He grinned and held out a sword—a familiar one.
"I noticed the blade you used yesterday wasn't right for you. So..." He handed her the katana-style sword she had wielded in Genesis. "This should feel better."
Without another word, Zin strode toward the eastern woods. Gilly hurried after him.
When they reached the forest's edge, he turned to her with a rare smile.
"Today's goal—simple. Bring back a chunk of rock from the river shore. Twenty-seven kilometers that way." He pointed into the distance.
Then, his grin widened. "Try not to die on me today."
With that, he vanished into the forest.
Gilly sighed, steeling herself. No more thinking. Just do it. She inhaled deeply, cleared her mind, and jogged forward into the shadowed woods.
The kilometers crawled by. One... two... six... ten. At the tenth marker, she finally stopped beneath a great oak, chest heaving.
This is why I'm so weak... My body's pathetic. She clenched her fists, bitter but awake to the truth: her spirit wasn't lacking—but her strength was.
After resting, she heard a rustling nearby.
Tense, she gripped her sword, heart racing.
A lizard scuttled out, blinked at her, licked its eye, and waddled off.
She exhaled slowly, chuckling at herself.
Darkness crept in; the sun had set. A crescent moon rose high, casting faint light. Gilly sighed. The voice in my head usually helped with this... but it's been silent for three days now.
She gathered wood, tearing a strip from her tunic to make a crude torch. The light helped—but barely.
She pressed on.
Just two kilometers to go.
In the distance, the outline of the great boulder emerged—a shadow in the gloom. She trudged closer until she stood before it.
The boulder towered nearly twenty-three feet high, carved with strange, timeworn markings.
Oddly... she could read them.
"Dear finder, keep the path. Beyond the boulder lies death in the flesh."
Weird... sounds like a bad warning in a game. She smirked, brushing off the unease.
Drawing her sword, she swung hard against the stone.
CLANG!
The blade rang, vibrating in her hands. It was like striking iron with wood.
Gritting her teeth, she struck again. And again. And again.
Time blurred. Her torch flickered low, the moons brightened—two full, two crescents. Their glow filled the clearing with soft silver light.
Gilly slumped, breathing hard. The rock barely bore a scratch.
Frustrated, she sat down.
It's impossible... But something stirred. She felt it—the intent in her strikes mattered. Each time she focused her will, the blade bit deeper. She smiled slightly.
Again. Rest. Strike. Rest.
Time faded away.
The moons watched silently.
For the first time in this world, Gilly enjoyed the struggle.
A low howl rolled across the forest—then another, and another. Her breath caught.
I'm surrounded.
Predators. Carnivores.
Her grip tightened on the sword. Unlike last time with the herbivore... this time they hunted meat.
And this time, she would not run.
She stood, facing the unseen enemies as the moonlight bathed the clearing—waiting for the first shadow to strike.