Andrea exhaled and sank back into her chair, folding her arms. “You’ve been training Eryndor. I’m surprised you didn’t know about his magic.”

  “I trained his body, not his magic,” Pungence replied evenly. “That’s what the academy is for.”

  Andrea tilted her head. “So what about Valerius? What did you find out about him?”

  Pungence’s eyes sharpened. His voice dropped like a hammer.

  “He’s been with the giants. That’s where he learned Bravo.”

  Andrea stiffened. “…And?”

  Pungence’s gaze turned grave. “He is the new candidate… for Project Might.”

  Andrea’s blood ran cold. “…What?”

  The evening was heavy with silence. Shadows stretched across the great hall as Pungence leaned against the tall window, his eyes glowing faintly under the dim light.

  “He’s been the new candidate for the last two years,” Pungence said at last, voice deep and unshaken.

  Andrea blinked, her brows furrowing. “Candidate? You’re not talking about the ones trapped in the Rift, are you? …You’re telling me he survived their training for years? How?”

  “They had something I didn’t know about.” Pungence turned slowly, his gaze sharp as a blade. “An ability beyond any Elvhein. They can regenerate. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Andrea’s lips parted, disbelief flashing across her face.

  Pungence stepped closer, his words heavy, deliberate. “I’ve always been skeptical. I didn’t want to believe you. But it seems you were right… they’re more than just rare-breeds.” His voice dropped into a near whisper. “…I think...they’re the Originals.”

  Andrea’s breath caught.

  “It all makes sense now,” Pungence continued. “Their absurd growth. Their unmatched senses. And Valerius…” He clenched his fist tightly, eyes narrowing. “His unprecedented two kinds of Bravo. Unlike yours, my Sentinel is unmatched. From the very first time I saw him—before he could even manipulate Vitalis—I felt it. A force not his own. Something… alien.”

  Andrea’s voice was tight. “…What are you trying to say?”

  Pungence’s chest heaved once—and then, suddenly, his lips split into a grin. A deep laugh rumbled out of him, building into thunder.

  “HA…HAHAHAHAHAHA!” His laughter shook the room. “The old woman’s stories are true. If he is who I think he is, then according to legend… that monster will return for revenge! Hahahaha! This world is about to turn upside down!”

  Andrea’s hands curled into fists.

  Pungence straightened, his voice now cold and resolute. “Very well. I’ll release Sultan. Andrea, take him to find the Grimoire. As for Valerius… I will teach him everything I know.” He turned away, the faintest smile tugging his lips. “The coming years will be glorious. My race… is about to rise from its ashes.”

  Andrea scowled. “Just make sure you don’t pass your womanizing nature on to him.”

  Pungence only smirked.

  ---

  A few minutes later, the two of them stood before the reinforced cage.

  Inside, Sultan—known mockingly as “Mr. Baby”—sat cross-legged, eyes narrowed, chains clinking around his neck.

  “I heard you agreed to help,” Pungence said, his voice filling the chamber. “If you do, I will set you free. This is a one-time offer.”

  He gripped the bars with one hand and—KRAAANG—bent them apart with ease. Sultan stared, wide-eyed, as Pungence straightened the iron again, as if it had never been touched.

  From his pocket, Pungence drew a small iron key. “This is the key to your cuff.”

  Sultan’s hand instinctively brushed against the heavy collar around his throat. His smirk faltered.

  Pungence flicked the key toward Andrea, who caught it smoothly. “If you prove true to your word, she will release you. You will take her and a few others to the location of the Grimoire.”

  Suddenly, Pungence’s hand shot forward, gripping Sultan by the head and lifting him into the air with terrifying ease. Their eyes locked.

  “We are trusting you,” Pungence growled. His voice was low, deep, and colder than death itself. “But woe betide you if you betray me, Sultan.”

  For the first time, fear flooded Sultan’s face. His body stiffened. It felt as if death itself pressed down on his lungs. He had never been so certain that if he dared to breathe wrong, he would cease to exist.

  Pungence lowered him back to the ground, releasing his grip. His gaze was sharp, unyielding. “Behave, and I might even help you break your curse.”

  Sultan’s eyes widened. “…Wha’ yuh mean by dat?”

  “I did a background check on you,” Pungence said coolly. “Your disability—it wasn’t from natural causes.”

  Sultan froze. “What…?”

  Pungence’s smile widened into something dangerous. “If you want to know more, you’ll have to come back to me. But know this—if I see you again, I may just take you to Striker’s Hell myself.”

  His voice dropped into a blade-edged whisper.

  “Are you willing to take that risk?”

  ---

  Valerius came home, reached for the doorknob—

  CRUNCH.

  It shattered in his palm. His eyes narrowed. He pushed the door open, and the entire frame exploded off its hinges, slamming against the wall with a thunderous bang.

  What the…?

  He strode to the dining room, picked up a glass—

  CRACK. Shards spilled from his hand.

  Another. Shattered.

  Another. Broken in two before he even lifted it.

  One by one, every glass he touched cracked like dry twigs.

  Valerius’s jaw tightened. What’s going on…?

  He turned to the fridge, tugged the handle—

  RRRIIP. The entire door tore free in his grip.

  His breath slowed. His pulse sharpened.

  Two years with the giants… I never had to hold back. Gravity there was hundreds of times Yardrad’s. Everything was built for them—massive, indestructible. I didn’t even notice… I’ve become too strong to interact with normal things.

  Behind him, Stereen’s quiet voice broke the silence.

  “Your siblings went through the same thing. Mr. Pungence taught them how to focus. It took a while, but eventually, they stopped destroying everything they touched.”

  Valerius turned, his voice low. “This has never happened before.”

  Another voice cut the room, deep and sharp.

  “That’s because you were in a place that wasn’t fragile like here.”

  Pungence stood in the doorway, a bottle of alcohol in hand. He twisted the cap, drank deeply, then lowered it with a sigh.

  “I taught your siblings a technique,” he said. “Muscle Threading. It’s the only way to stop yourself from crushing everything.”

  Valerius’s brow furrowed. “Muscle… Threading?”

  Pungence stepped closer, placing the bottle down with deliberate care.

  “Instead of using your entire muscle group every time you move, you learn to thread your power. You don’t grip with the whole arm—you isolate. One thread. One fiber of muscle. Not one percent of your strength, not even a fraction. A single line.”

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  He lifted the bottle again, massive fingers dwarfing the glass, yet it didn’t break.

  “With practice, you’ll hold something as fragile as an egg without breaking it. That’s control. That’s mastery. You’ve lived with giants—there you never had to think about restraint. But here…” His eyes burned into Valerius. “…you’re going to live among people who are breakable. You’ll need to learn this, or you’ll destroy everything you touch.”

  He straightened, his presence heavy.

  “Stereen,” he called.

  Stereen appeared instantly. “Yes, sir.”

  “Get me a few hundred glasses.”

  “Yes, sir.” She hurried off.

  Pungence turned for the door, glancing back once.

  “Come with me, boy.”

  Valerius followed him out into the yard.

  Pungence stood, folding his massive arms. His voice rolled like a hammer striking iron.

  “Muscle Threading is precision. Feel your body. Each fiber. Each strand. Right now, when you grip something, you fire all of it—like trying to pick up a feather with a warhammer. You’re going to learn to move a single thread at a time. Fail, and you’ll shatter it. Succeed… and you’ll be able to hold the world without breaking it.”

  ---

  The sun sat high, casting sharp shadows across Pungence’s training yard. Stereen had arranged the crates neatly on a long wooden bench — hundreds of glasses stacked in rows, glittering in the daylight.

  Valerius stood before them, arms folded, eyes narrowing at his own hands. “How do I do it? How do I stop breaking everything?”

  Pungence stepped into the light, towering over him, his voice firm but steady.

  “Listen carefully, boy. Muscles don’t work as one lump of power. They’re made of fibers — tiny threads, millions of them, layered and twisted together. When you grip something, your brain sends a signal through the nerves. That signal tells your muscle fibers how many of them to fire.”

  He crouched, snatching up a handful of dirt, letting it pour slowly from his palm. “Normal people fire only what they need. A child lifts a spoon — a few fibers. A soldier lifts a sword — hundreds. But you…” He jabbed a finger at Valerius’s chest. “You’ve trained in a place where your body always assumed it needed maximum output. The giants rewired your nervous system. Now, when you try to pick up a glass, your body recruits every fiber in your arm — enough strength to lift a mountain — and the glass doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Valerius frowned, clenching and unclenching his fist. “…So I have to undo years of instinct?”

  Pungence smirked. “Not undo. Refine. That’s muscle threading. You must learn to choose which fibers fire, not let your body decide for you. Think of your muscles as a rope of a thousand strands. You don’t pull with the whole rope every time. You pull with a single thread… and only as many threads as the task demands.”

  He picked up a glass, holding it delicately between two fingers.

  “You’ll start here. Hold, release, hold, release. Until your brain stops screaming for full strength and starts listening again. It will hurt. Your nerves will fight you. But with enough practice, you’ll hold eggs without crushing them — and you’ll remember what restraint feels like.”

  He tossed the glass into Valerius’s hand, sharp eyes watching.

  “Now show me if you can grip without destruction.”

  “Focus,” Pungence instructed, his deep voice steady as a drumbeat. “Use as little strength as possible. Command your hand. Don’t let it act on instinct. Just by looking at an object, your mind should know how much it weighs… and exactly how much force it needs.”

  Valerius reached for a glass. CRACK. Shards spilled between his fingers.

  He scowled, grabbed another. SNAP.

  Another. SHHHH!

  Over and over, glass shattered in his grip. His jaw clenched, veins rising on his temples.

  Pungence only smirked, arms folded. “Stereen,” he called, voice calm. “I think he’ll be needing a lot more glasses.”

  Hours dragged by. The sun shifted across the yard, shadows lengthening. Glass fragments glittered like a graveyard of failure at Valerius’s feet.

  From the side, a familiar voice cut in.

  “Oh.” Eryndor descended with effortless grace, arms folded behind his back. “So it would appear you’ve encountered the very same predicament.”

  Another glass crumbled in Valerius’s hand. His eyes flicked up sharply. “How long did it take you?”

  Eryndor’s lips curved faintly. “Three weeks.”

  “…Three weeks?” Valerius echoed in disbelief.

  Eryndor nodded solemnly. “Ziraiah required five.”

  Valerius muttered, “Damn…” He picked up another glass, only to crush it instantly. He exhaled hard, frustration bubbling. “When did it start happening to you?”

  “A few months after the device within us was excised,” Eryndor explained evenly, “our strength increased precipitously. We were compelled to abstain even from the simplest gestures of contact — a handshake, a pat upon the shoulder — for they became perilous. Our growth accelerated beyond reason. As you can see…” He gestured at himself, tall and imposing. “I grew nearly seven feet in stature. I can only pray it ceases here. My size is already an encumbrance.”

  He paused, emerald eyes narrowing in contemplation. “And yet, I fear my stature is still increasing.”

  Valerius’s hand clenched reflexively — CRACK — another glass destroyed. His teeth ground together. Eryndor smiled. “…I must confess, I am rather astonished you did not undergo the same degree of growth as we did.”

  “That’s because my limiter was removed a few months ago,” Valerius replied. “I was around eight feet tall when it happened.”

  Valerius grunted, tossing the shards aside.

  Just then, a shadow dropped from above. THUMP. Ziraiah landed lightly in the yard, brushing dust from her clothes.

  “Oooh,” she said, hands on hips. “You’re doing the muscle-thread thing. Good luck, Val.” She started toward the house, but paused at the ruined doorway. Her eyes narrowed. “…What the hell happened to the door?”

  Valerius muttered, “That was me.”

  Her glare sharpened. “You better not touch my door.” With that, she shoved past and disappeared inside.

  Eryndor followed her in with a dignified step.

  Upstairs, in the window of her room, Eliana rested her elbows on the sill, chin in her hands. She’d been watching for a while, her eyes half-lidded with amusement.

  “You’ve been at that for hours,” she called down, her voice soft but teasing. “What’s the point of breaking all those glasses?”

  Valerius looked up at her, breathing hard, his hand bleeding faintly from a dozen tiny cuts. He smirked, faint and tired.

  “…Because if I don’t learn this…” He tightened his fist, shards crunching between his fingers. “…I won’t be able to hold anything without destroying it.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...