As morning settled gently over the land, Daylan lay sprawled on the floor, asleep from sheer exhaustion after his training. Slowly, he shifted, eyes drifting open to stare up at the ceiling.
Spiral Force System
[SPIRAL FORCE SYSTEM]
All things grow when they tarn. All truths are found in layers. All power builds when cycled.
Type: Advanced Ability
SUB-ABILITIES
Spiral Edge: 32% per cycle.
Spiral Edge: Rewind up to 1.1 minutes. Max 7 loops per day.
Spiral Force: Max 10 per day. Less understanding.
Spiral Mind: To slip into another's skin at will, and taste the world through borrowed senses. Less focus.
Dark Spiral: 36% per use. 2 minutes. Max 8 per day.
What does that mean? I'm too tired for this.
He rose to his feet and noticed the others awake, sharing their usual girlish chatter in the kitchen. Without paying them much mind, Daylan walked past and headed to his room.
The day was nothing short of ordinary.
Medora took it upon herself to teach Astara how to prepare breakfast, her laughter echoing through the walls as she mocked Astara's hopeless attempts.
When Daylan was finally served, he forced himself to eat every bite—even though it was a disaster.
It was the blind leading the blind; Medora was just as terrible as her student. But with Astara's sword resting lightly against his neck, he really didn't have much of a choice.
Before long, they were ready to head back into the city, hoping to uncover something—anything—about the phantoms. With their masks tucked beneath their overcoats, they stepped onto the streets once more.
In the first few minutes on the road, Daylan's mind was consumed with finding a better way for them to conceal their masks—maybe even his dagger too. Lost in thought, his pace slowed while the others walked ahead, leading the way.
He stared at the road, but he barely registered where he was going. Passersby had to pause or swerve to avoid bumping into him, casting puzzled glances his way. But his thoughts led nowhere—he needed trial and error to figure things out. By the time he snapped out of it, Astara and Medora were already far ahead.
This isn't possible… They are leaving me behind on purpose.
He slowed his pace, hands tucked in his pockets, as he maneuvered through the crowd.
'To slip into another's skin at will, and taste the world through their senses' huh? I've got to try it.
Fractal Echo
He glanced at the passersby, doing his best to make brief eye contact with a few of them. In those fleeting moments, he didn't just sense their thoughts—he felt their emotions: happiness, sorrow, hidden nervousness, even fear.
It never lasted long—eight seconds at most—and the impressions were hazy. But it was enough for him to begin understanding his ability.
As Daylan strolled along, he spotted Medora and Astara standing before an adventuring guild board posted outside the guild. Astara waved him over, urging him to hurry, but Daylan kept walking at his own pace, unconcerned and unbothered.
As Daylan drew closer, Medora pointed to a note pinned beneath a wanted poster.
"We'll keep killing as many people as we please until you show yourself. Just so you know—the Poet we knew was also quite the comedian.
We must see you within a day. Otherwise, they'll be gone.
—PHANTOM."
Daylan clenched his fist.
Daylan had expected at least an actual wanted poster of them—something that showed authority, not just strength, but influence. Instead, the Phantoms revealed themselves as little more than lawless barbarians. Nothing was going the way he'd imagined, but one thing was certain: when the battle came, the law wouldn't matter.
Without wanting to raise suspicion, they casually walked away from the board. But to confirm how serious the Phantoms' threat was, they visited the other two guilds in the city. Each had a different portrait of a missing person, pinned with the same chilling message.
Still, Daylan needed more. They tracked down the families of the missing, and the truth became clear—they had all been kidnapped the night before.
They stood a few yards from Spine Street, next to a weathered statue of a Cupid, silently pondering their next move.
"Ah. I think I should go alone," Daylan said.
Medora and Astara exchanged confused glances.
"It'll be scary, sure. But going in together might get us all killed—and we can't just leave those people to die," Daylan said. "So, I'll go in alone, stir up some commotion, and make sure my arrival forces them to release the hostages."
He glanced at them both. "I want you two to stay nearby, just in case. But if things go south, only Medora steps in. You do nothing, Astara."
"How sure are you that this will work?"
Medora asked, her voice edged with concern.
Daylan turned to her and let out a deep sigh. "In truth, I don't know," he admitted. "I'll be going at night—hopefully, that boosts my chances of making it out alive."
Daylan had only seen things like this in movies and stories. Spending most of his time indoors and rarely watching the news, he was unfamiliar with such brutal realities.
Whether he could actually save those people remained a mystery—even to him. All he could do now was trust in his ability to talk.
Taking in Daylan's words, however reluctantly, they began strolling through the city. They returned to the guilds multiple times, checking for any new updates from the Phantoms—but there was nothing.
Daylan couldn't stop thinking about the people the Phantoms had kidnapped. He kept glancing at the clocks hanging on buildings, counting down the hours until nightfall. His fingers twitched restlessly as they walked, and he barely joined in their conversations, hardly touching his food.
Guilt and fear weighed heavily on him—he knew all too well that it was his actions that had put those innocent lives in danger.
After what felt like an eternity, the night finally fell. They stood at a safe distance from The Coffee Shop. Without a word, Daylan stepped forward, putting space between himself and the others before turning into a dark alley.
There, he slipped off his overcoat and pulled on his mask. A moment later, he emerged from the shadows with calm confidence—at least, that's how it looked—and strode toward The Coffee Shop.
Daylan was trembling in his boots—uncertain of what might happen, and more than anything, afraid he might come face to face with his father. He stood at the entrance of The Coffee Shop, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
The moment he stepped inside, the old man behind the counter—bruised and bloodied—glanced at him but said nothing. Silently, he twisted the coffee machine's nozzle and gestured for Daylan to head inside.
As soon as Medora and Astara saw Daylan enter the shop, they quickly moved to a nearby spot where Astara could tune in to everything happening inside. Their fists clenched, unease written all over their faces as they listened, tension thick in the air.
The moment Daylan stepped into the tavern, he was greeted by the sight of four men lounging on benches, drinks in hand. Their presence was heavy, their eyes fixed on him with unsettling intensity. Daylan swallowed hard, nerves tightening as he met their gaze.
The moment they spotted him, the four men rose to their feet and began walking toward him. Daylan's head snapped around, eyes scanning the tavern for any sign of the captives.
One of them smirked. "So, you're the Poet? Where's the King and the Soldier? You lads really think you're something, huh?"
The four of them burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room.
Daylan, masking his nerves, joined in their laughter. His voice rose above theirs, bold and unshaken, forcing them to pause and glance his way. Then, just as suddenly, he fell silent, his tone dropping cold and sharp.
"Are we done laughing now?" he asked.
"Where are the people you've adopted?"
Their expressions twisted with confusion.
"Wait… you actually came here for them?" one of them said, almost amused. "Didn't think of you people as the heroic type."
He smirked. "If you really want to see them… then fine."
A shuriken suddenly appeared in his hand, and with a swift flick, he hurled it upward. In an instant, blood began to drip onto the floor. Daylan slowly tilted his head upward—his eyes widening as he saw them.
The captives were bound and hanging from the ceiling… their throats slit by the shuriken's strike.
Daylan's heart sank, his eyes flickering with the onset of tears. The sight before him crushed him, a wave of guilt and helplessness threatening to overtake him.
"I think I'd like to keep you for myself," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "Since you managed to take down twenty-three of our men, I'm sure you'll make for a fine piece of meat."
The other three, clearly amused, returned to their seats as if settling in for a show. Daylan stood frozen—shocked and disoriented—realizing that the world didn't work the way he had imagined.
He raised his hands, smirking. "Don't tell me you're actually feeling sorry for them." He laughed, cruel and loud.
Before Daylan could react, a shuriken whizzed past—slicing cleanly across his cheek.
Daylan slowly turned his head toward him, his eyes dark with fury. He was angry—no, beyond that—he was seething, every inch of him burning with rage.
"If this is how it is…" Daylan muttered, his voice low and steady. "Then so be it."
Energy Manifest