He Who Walks the Grave

Kazuya had learned many harsh lessons in Eldora, but none as cruel as the simple fact that survival demanded change. He could no longer afford to be weak. He could no longer afford to hesitate. If he wanted to live—if he wanted to find meaning in the endless cycle of death—he needed to grow.

The first step was learning to fight.

Lilith had been relentless in her training, drilling him on knife work, hand-to-hand combat, and even basic evasive techniques. He was far from an expert, but he was no longer completely helpless. The fear of confrontation still gnawed at him, but he had begun to accept it, to face it head-on. And yet, something was still missing.

Power.

The kind of power that could tip the scales. The kind of power that could keep him from dying like a rat in the streets.

Magic.

Eldora was strict. Overwhelmingly so. It controlled not just its people but knowledge itself. Magic was not forbidden, but it was heavily restricted, limited to those who had royal approval or noble lineage. Unauthorized use could mean imprisonment—or worse.

That meant there were only two ways to learn it: be born into privilege, or find someone willing to teach in the shadows.

Lilith, of course, knew someone.

They met in an underground chamber beneath the slums. The air was damp, thick with the scent of old parchment and burnt incense. A single lantern illuminated the small room, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls. Sitting at a wooden desk was an old man, his face wrinkled with age, his eyes sharp as daggers.

"So this is the one?" the man muttered, barely glancing at Kazuya.

Lilith nodded. "Yeah. He wants to learn."

The old man scoffed. "Does he now? You realize what you're asking for, boy? Magic isn't a game. It's a responsibility. A burden."

Kazuya met the man's gaze, unwavering. "I don't care. If it helps me survive, I'll learn whatever it takes."

The old man smirked. "Good answer. Let's see if you have what it takes."

Magic in Eldora wasn't just about chanting spells or waving a wand—it was an extension of one's will, a force that required absolute control. The old man, who introduced himself as Orin, explained that magic was drawn from the lifeblood of the world itself, an energy called Ether.

"Every living thing has Ether," Orin said, pacing the room. "But not everyone can use it. It requires discipline, focus. And above all, a strong enough will to command it."

Kazuya listened carefully, absorbing every word. "How do I start?"

Orin tossed a small candle onto the table. "Light it."

Kazuya raised an eyebrow. "With magic?"

"No, with your charming personality. Of course, with magic. Now focus. Feel the Ether around you. Channel it. And then command it."

Kazuya hesitated but closed his eyes. He focused, reaching out for something unseen. At first, there was nothing. Then—a faint tingling sensation, like static brushing against his skin.

He grasped at it, willed it forward.

A spark. Small, weak, but real.

It fizzled out in an instant.

Orin chuckled. "Not bad. At least you have some affinity. Keep practicing."

Kazuya gritted his teeth. He had expected failure, but not this quickly. Still, he had seen a glimpse of it, proof that it was possible. That was enough.

He would master this, no matter how long it took.

Kazuya was returning from Orin's hideout when it happened. A pair of men blocked his path in a narrow alleyway—thugs, judging by their tattered clothing and the crude knives at their sides.

"Look at this," one of them sneered. "A lost little lamb. Must be our lucky day."

Kazuya didn't respond. He didn't panic, didn't freeze like he once would have. Instead, he took a slow breath and tightened his grip on the small knife hidden beneath his sleeve.

He had trained for this.

The first thug lunged, his blade flashing in the dim light. Kazuya sidestepped, barely avoiding the strike. He countered with a quick slash, but the man twisted away, laughing.

"Oh? This one's got some fight in him."

The second thug rushed in. Kazuya ducked low, driving his knife into the man's leg. A pained howl filled the alley. He didn't stop—he couldn't stop. He pulled his knife free and turned just in time to block another attack, the impact jarring his arm.

For the first time, he felt it.

The Ether.

It surged within him, responding to his desperation. Instinct took over. He focused, willed it outward.

A burst of force exploded from his body, sending the remaining thug stumbling back. It wasn't fire, or lightning, or anything as dramatic as he had imagined. Just raw energy. But it was enough.

The thugs, realizing they had underestimated him, cursed and fled.

Kazuya stood there, heart pounding. He had won.

For the first time, he had truly fought back—and survived.

When he returned to Lilith that night, she immediately noticed something different about him.

"You're not walking like someone who just got their ass kicked," she observed, leaning against the wall.

Kazuya smirked. "Maybe I didn't."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Instead, she tossed him a small apple. "Then keep that streak going. You'll need it."

He caught the fruit, rolling it between his fingers.

He had a long way to go. He still wasn't strong enough. He still didn't understand the full extent of his curse. But for the first time since arriving in Eldora, he felt something new.

Hope.

He would survive. He would grow stronger. And one day, he would find the answers he sought.

No matter how many times he had to die to get them.