Mysteries of the Eternal Skies

Chapter 8: Iron and Blood in the Heart of the Island

The morning was heavy. Mist crept from the sea, swallowing the village and choking the forest.

Adam rose first, his eyes gleaming with the sharpness of a sage who knows that every day in this place is a new battle.

He tugged Gyro by the shoulder:

— "Get up. Today is not for rest. Today is for iron and blood."

They ventured deep into the forest. The ground was muddy, thorns scratched their feet, and humidity clung to their skin.

Adam moved without hesitation, choosing his path between the trees like an expert, watching every shadow, listening to every sound.

At the heart of the forest, by a massive dead tree, Adam declared:

— "We start here."

He began collecting rusty pieces of iron from the remains of an old ship swallowed by the mud.

He sat down, took a chunk of metal, and put it in his mouth.

He tried using his Devil Fruit power, but the iron was harsh, the rust stuck to his tongue, the impurities cut into his gums.

Each attempt ended in coughing or blood dripping from his mouth.

Sometimes he managed to extract a small piece of pure metal. Other times, he spat it all out with a bitter taste lingering.

Days passed, and each day the training got harder.

Adam sat for hours, repeating the process—learning how to separate impurities from metal, how to control the power without losing grip.

Sometimes exhaustion hit him. Sometimes he grew angry with himself. But every failure became a new lesson.

At night, he sat in the shadows, his features sunken with fatigue. The faint violet aura would glow around him whenever he neared success—or when rage consumed him after failure.

He studied his fist, trying to feel the metal slowly fusing with his bones.

Each pure piece he managed to extract, he merged into the bones of his hand and fingers—sometimes crafting tiny blades that slid between his knuckles, and other times simply reinforcing his grip.

During the day, he trained Gyro in the use of the small blades.

Each day, he gave him a new one and instructed him to place it in his mouth—learning to control it with his tongue, to spit it with speed and precision.

Whenever the boy cut his mouth or bled, Adam would gather medicinal herbs from the forest—but this brought a new challenge:

Many herbs looked like those from his old world, but some had different scents or shapes.

He tested each plant carefully—rubbing it between his fingers, observing its effect on skin, or tasting it.

Sometimes he discovered poisonous herbs and warned Gyro, other times he found ones that accelerated healing and kept them carefully.

Weeks passed, each harder than the last.

Adam became tougher, his fists heavier and stronger.

Gyro became bolder, striking his targets with growing precision, swallowing pain with each new trial.

In the evening, they sat near a faint fire—Adam watching his metallic fist, and Gyro gently touching the tiny blade in his mouth with a mix of pride and fear.

— "Tomorrow, we search the village for a navigator with a ship. We need a strong vessel to reach the island of deadly beasts.

Training here is done—but the real lesson begins there."

Gyro nodded. And for the first time, a glint of challenge sparked in his eyes.

In the shadows, the shine of metal glistened in Adam's hand, and a faint violet aura surrounded his body—

as if the whole fo

rest was watching the birth of a new power.

End of Chapter 8