A day had passed.
Astafa was tasked with leading Kisatsu and Rivulet to the Reco Department, housed on the top floor of an eight-story building—a lone skyscraper towering over the campus.
With every flight they climbed, the crowds thinned.
Kisatsu drifted down the hallway, the floor polished, clean as he stared down at the ballpark-size quadrangle through walls of thick glass.
A faint reflection loomed when he walked close, his violet eyes hooding.
“I never realized the quadrangle looked this big.” His voice was a thin sound against the peaceful quiet.
Rivulet caught his gaze and turned his own toward the glazed partition.
“You seem quite fond of large places, don’t you?”
“I’m just…
amazed—I can’t naturally explain it.”
Seconds later, they reached the Department, their footsteps a humble whisper across the hallway.
“We’re here,” Astafa said.
They stood before a lofty double door.
Kisatsu and Rivulet couldn’t help but notice its undeniable resemblance to the training chamber’s entrance, an eerie quiet settling over them.
They marched through the door and first descried Alistare, perched in the distance, arms spooled as he slumbered.
It was the same position Kisatsu and Rivulet had seen back in the Airport.
“That man really does fancy napping in the open, doesn’t he?” Rivulet remarked, a dry edge to his voice.
“I’m honestly itching to crown him the Team’s oversleeper.”
“Since he can veil himself within his own dimension, he’s developed a habit of nodding off just about anywhere,” Astafa replied almost instantly.
Rivulet’s forehead creased in slight confusion, head tilting.
“But we saw him napping yesterday.
Does that mean he’d already veiled us within his dimension?”
“…And because of that, he tends to deactivate the ability by accident in the middle of his slumber,” Astafa continued, tone clipped, flat.
“Ah…
makes sense, I suppose.”
The moment the door closed with a soft click, the man stirred.
A ball of white-blue light levitated in the center of the room—like stationary globular lightning—acting as the only source of illumination.
The floor, walls, and ceiling shimmered into mirrors, their reflections staring back from every angle.
Strangely enough, every corner only reflected them once, as if something were preventing an endless mirroring.
“Rivulet Moschastem.” Alistare’s voice was a rasp that broke through the trance.
Rivulet straightened immediately, posture a rigid post at the sudden mention of his name.
“Y—Yes, sir!”
“How many Rage types are there?”
“Three, sir.”
“And which of them did I showcase yesterday?”
“It falls most likely under the Dimensional category.”
“Correct.
Now…” Alistare glanced over the three.
“Do any of you know your Rage type?”
No one answered.
Kisatsu looked down at his hands, as if searching for the answer in the ridges of his palms.
“I believe mine is Versatile—though, strictly because it’s the most common of the lot,” Astafa muttered.
“I’m still unsure, to be honest.” Rivulet’s voice was brittle, creeping with uncertainty.
I’ve always had this dream of soaring through the air like a bird of prey.
I’m not sure if it has any relation to that, though.
Kisatsu glanced at them before turning to Alistare.
Holy shit—I don’t know how this works.
Versatile, Dimensional, Conditional—I’ve totally forgotten what separates them from each other.
But the names are already obvious, aren’t they?
Should I give the same answer as Rivulet instead?
“E…
Excuse me—how do they work again?” He finally mustered the courage to ask, trying his best not to tremble.
But instead of the scowl Kisatsu had expected, Alistare chortled gently.
“Hah.
I’ve been pining to re-explain this to the new members, hoping you won’t shut me down and call it ‘too basic’ or ‘common sense.’ They’re exactly what they sound like, really.”
He rose from a phantom chair that didn’t even seem to exist, arms unfurling and settling at his sides, a smug look on his face.
T-T-There wasn’t a chair the whole time?
Rivulet almost let out a squeak of disbelief.
“To put it simply, Versatile—like Astafa said—is the most common Rage type.
It’s far more prevalent than the other two—in fact, almost every knight you’ve encountered possesses it.
Abilities falling under this category are mostly elemental, things you can manipulate like energy.”
Alistare joined his hands at his lower abdomen, fingers pressed together like a church steeple.
He paced to the side, movement steady, unhurried, reflection following him like a shadow.
“If they’re not elemental, they’re abilities you can cast freely, anytime and anywhere, without complying with specific conditions.
For example, being able to shapeshift into whatever form you fancy—that’s a prime example of a Versatile Rage type.”
He stopped and turned to pace in the opposite direction.
“Conditional Rage type, as the name suggests, comprises abilities that can only be cast under certain circumstances.
It’s the rarest category by far, and you may or may not have even seen someone possessing it.”
He halted and turned to them briefly, placing his hands at the small of his back.
“I suppose you might’ve heard the tales of people turning into werewolves once the moon has reached its zenith.
Someone possessing that ability—needing a full moon to manifest it—is essentially a sorcerer with a Conditional Rage type.
His feet pivoted sideways as he continued his march, voice even.
“Lastly, we have the Dimensional Rage type.
It’s effectively the most formidable category of the three, involving the physical creation of a pocket dimension.
Naturally, it consumes significantly more Rage than the other two, depending on the scale of the realm you’re looking to build.”
His demonstration finally came to an end as he angled his gaze to face them fully, arms folding back into place over his chest.
“Finally, these Rage types are determined at birth.
You can’t learn how to use a Dimensional ability if you never innately possessed it in the first place—the same applies to the other two.
That’s the one rule that can’t and shouldn’t be broken.”
Kisatsu recalled the time Harlan had once locked him inside his dimension—an image he pleaded to forget.
So that’s Dimensional…
still nasty, though.
He did not have to trap me in such place, I’m certain.
He paused, trying to connected even more dots.
I wonder what Dad and Ryurei’s Rage types were—I’ve never seen them use their abilities in person.
The priest was immediately the next thing that came to his mind, causing him to plow his brows.
Do these even apply to him?
Before he could pull himself back, the bright violet light he’d seen in his dream flashed across his mind, his eyes widening.
Wait—that dimension…
He shook his head, a quick, sharp snap to rationalize his thoughts.
No…
it seemed like it was all just pure energy.
I couldn’t move back then, and it only appeared in my dream.
“Your task today is to manifest your Rage type.
This will likely involve tapping into your maximum output.” Alistare turned toward their reflections on the polished wall.
“To test if your Rage type is Versatile, I want you to target your own reflection with whatever ability you’ve discovered,” he added.
“For non-elemental attacks, simply harbor a bit of malice toward your reflection until a part of you morphs into a weapon or some such thing.”
Everyone fixed their gaze toward their own reflection in the different walls.
Kisatsu glanced at his palm, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, before looking back ahead.
Something like a fireball would work, eh?
He raised his hand and leveled it toward his own reflection, as if trying to summon fire out of oblivion.
His gaze hardened as he hoped heat would magically manifest on his palm, arm swaying uncontrollably.
Alistare noticed the strain from the corner of his eye.
“What is it you’re trying to do, Kisatsu?”
“Making a fireball…
sir.” The boy didn’t turn, gaze fixed ahead, hand hovering in the air with a shaky, unsteady motion.
Alistare approached him, steps measured, careful, so as not to break the boy’s focus.
“Are you quite certain the element you possess is fire?”
Kisatsu’s shoulders slumped before he turned to Alistare, hand dropping.
“N-No.
Does it matter?” This story is hosted at g.com.
“Yes.
How can you use fire attacks if your Rage constitutes a frost element?
You can’t learn how to use other elements—it’s predetermined, as I’ve said.
Just focus on manifesting the element inside you.” Alistare gestured to his own palm with his finger.
“Understood.” Kisatsu turned back toward his reflection, aiming his hand at it once more.
Damn.
That’s kind of sad.
So possessing the superpower I’ve been wishing for since I was a child is but forever a dream?
Alistare strolled away to observe the others, hands tangled at the small of his back.
“If you’re certain your Rage type isn’t Versatile, let’s move on to Dimensional,” he said.
“Take note that we’re skipping Conditional, since we’d have to meet specific conditions to activate the ability.
I’m going to give you the liberty of self-discovery on this one.
I’ll remind you, it might take a fair bit longer than the other two.”
Rivulet constantly envisioned himself assailing his own reflection, descending like a hunter stooping at blinding speed.
His eyes were half-lidded, gaze fixed ahead.
His nails had already sharpened into short, fine-edged talons resembling an eagle’s predatory claws.
“Imagine yourself creating a small pocket dimension where you can hide your own gear or even your own body—somewhere only you can access.
Try transporting the target—your own reflection—into that dimension.”
Alistare stopped and paced in another direction, reflection matching his footfalls like an indelible ghost from the other side.
“Once you achieve that, you’ll be locking yourself in an undecorated realm and simultaneously vanishing from the real world.
If you suddenly disappear into thin air, I’ll take it as a success.”
Suddenly, the glass facing Astafa shattered, a sharp demolition that pierced through the dark, vitreous chamber, followed by the shockwave of a localized, small blast.
His hand hovered in the air, fingers splayed.
Kisatsu’s gaze instantly snapped toward the shattered wall, his own hand remaining cold, devoid of the heat he’d been straining to manifest.
Rivulet stood unbothered, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
Alistare watched Astafa, a gleam of amusement flashing across his features.
“Oh?
So you possess elements as well, alongside that monster inside you, Astafa?” he asked, voice curling with a mix of genuine surprise and curiosity.
“I…
decided to test if I could…
manage something other than my…
shapeshifting ability.” Astafa’s breath heaved in husky, shallow pants.
Behind the ruined crystal wall hid a black, empty void—a backdrop of intense darkness that even light itself refused to illuminate.
Kisatsu found himself staring deep into the cavity before turning to Alistare, a hint of uneasiness in his eyes.
“A—Are we inside a dimension?”
“Yes,” Alistare answered.
“As long as my ability is active, any damage caused will be concealed and considered fake by the real world.”
With a casual flick of his wrist, the smashed wall flickered back into its original state—a smooth, untouched glass that reflected them again as if it had forgiven them.
Kisatsu stared back at the glossy mirror image before glancing toward Astafa, chest tightening with a wave of envy and insecurity.
He can do that?
On top of what he can already do?
He turned his gaze back toward his designated wall, eyes dimming with an undeniable dejection.
Everything returned to being all about his own inadequacy again.
If I had that same amount of strength…
would it have been enough for me to save at least Ryurei back then?
Before he lingered more than he could bear, he slapped his cheeks with a sharp smack, a brief, localized sting to pull himself back from drowning in rumination.
Now’s not the time to be insecure!
But there was one more detail he refused to miss—the way Astafa had looked when they first fought.
Even if he’s become that strong…
someone with a look like that doesn’t have a better life than me, either.
His eyes snapped back to his reflection, sharpened with a newfound resolve.
Just because I’ve suffered a lot, it doesn’t mean I’m destined to become stronger…
He froze.
His gaze dipped once more, the thought settling with a weighted realization.
Not destined to become stronger…