Opposite the cavern, the back side of the dome served as the group's training yard. It was secluded enough to provide a modicum of privacy, yet open enough for Cassandra’s purposes. She stepped into a circle of yellow lights.

  The lights pulsed once.

  Then she turned and unsheathed her blade.

  Sunlight glittered along the slightly curved, polished surface of Galatine, Cassandra’s legendary blade. It was a katana whose slender elegance belied its lethal precision. As a paladin without a god, Cassandra relied upon no divine patron; instead, she drew strength from an unshakable conviction born solely from within herself. Galatine, though it bore no divine blessing, resonated deeply with her disciplined aura, a perfect extension of her will.

  The folds of her layered robes flowed gently around her like an intricately patterned dress that met a robe. Cyrus didn’t know what the word for the outfit was, but while he observed the flowing threads of crimson, gold, and white, the word kimono popped into his mind. The odd robe seemed explicitly tailored to balance freedom of movement with dignity while still allowing her the elegance she demanded.

  “Let’s begin,” Cassandra said. Her fingers tightened around the wrapped hilt of Galatine, yet she remained calm. “Show me everything you have.”

  Still outside the ring of lights, Cyrus arched a brow at her.

  “Are you nervous?” Matti asked. The big man stood next to him. “No shame in it if you are. Cassandra has many titles. The Sword Saint. The Paladin of the Blade. She’s fought masters of every style on Yaerellis and beaten them all.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?” Cyrus laughed at the absurdity of it. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

  Cassandra’s smile, although faint, turned reassuring.

  “A fair feeling. Unlike the others, I know something about fighting without relying on the System. I've earned my sword, skills, and auras without the System. The levels and menus are extraneous baggage that separates us from our true power.” Cassandra’s eyes seemed to assess Cyrus from head to toe. “I suspect you’re the same.”

  He moves like a fighter—no hesitation in his stance. Confused or not, his instincts run deep. He might be more dangerous than even Maija thinks.

  Cyrus appreciated the faith, but he wished he shared it.

  “She’s good at this, man. Follow your instincts, and if Cass cuts off one of your limbs, Maija can reattach it.” Matti grinned absurdly.

  “… what?” Cyrus asked.

  Gods, but he’s easy to tease. How did he handle a Voidship crash? If he actually did, Cass’ll be the one in trouble here, not him. Matti didn’t have the decency to look guilty, and he even smirked!

  “It was a joke,” Cassandra said with a glare. “Don’t make me kick you out of the training area, Matti.”

  Matti raised his hands in mock surrender, but his grin only widened.

  Cassandra sighed and shifted her grip on Galatine. The blade gleamed beautifully in her right hand, reflecting the lights of the circle around the sparring area.

  Why does Matti always insist on making this harder? If Lyessa were here, she’d keep him quiet. Gods, I hope she’s safe…

  With the tedious monotony of a well-practiced gesture, Cassandra motioned Cyrus into the training circle.

  “I don’t even know how to hold a sword,” Cyrus grumbled—but he walked over the line.

  The moment his feet crossed the boundary line, a sudden crackle of static surged through lights and cameras. An intense burst of light, then they all sputtered, flickered, and died. Only the light of the lowering sun remained, and the hum of electronics vanished, leaving a deep, eerie silence.

  “Cameras went offline,” Matti observed, his casual tone suddenly gone. Concern crept into his voice.

  “I see that,” Cassandra agreed, her stance tightening instinctively.

  This isn’t coincidence. It feels deliberate. Is this Cyrus’s doing? Maybe something reacting to him?

  “Did… did I break something?” Cyrus asked, anxious and uncertain what had happened.

  Damn. This guy is a walking anomaly. Can’t wait to see Maija’s face when she hears about this. Matti’s thoughts degenerated into mental pictures of his sister sputtering, pointing, and swearing.

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps something doesn’t want this recorded,” Cassandra answered. Her stance shifted, and both hands firmly held onto Galatine.

  Whatever Cyrus is, there’s far more here than any of us understand. If we’re lucky, we won’t discover it too late. He’d better get me Lyessa back.

  “Wait, you’re going to attack me still?” Cyrus asked with a surge of panic. “Not only do I not know how to use a sword, you didn’t even give me one!”

  “Then use your hands, body, instincts,” Cassandra replied mercilessly. She took a single step forward. “Trust yourself. Fight as if you have no choice because someday, you might not.”

  Without further warning, Cassandra attacked.

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  Galatine moved like lightning, a blur aimed directly at his chest. Cyrus’s body moved instinctively, sidestepping faster than he consciously registered. Cassandra pivoted instantly, her sword tracing a graceful arc. She tested again. He ducked, rolled, then rose in confusion—uncertain if their match was limited to the ring of broken cameras and lights.

  “Interesting,” Cassandra murmured, clearly impressed. “Your body remembers what your mind does not.”

  Cassandra came at him from multiple angles, with feints and rapid slashes. Each swing of Galatine was swifter, stronger, and still Cyrus dodged.

  He’s faster than he realizes, Cassandra thought, impressed despite herself. Instinctive responses like these only come from years of training. Who was he before this?

  “You’ve done this before, Cyrus,” Matti opined from the sidelines, his gaze intent upon each flick of Cassandra’s blade. He continued to rub the discs between his fingers like a weirdo. “Your body remembers.”

  And damn, he’s good. If Alor’s intuition is correct, this guy might be precisely what we need. Matti’s thoughts were intense, interest in the match mixed with cautious hope. Maija’s going to hate it.

  Cyrus shook his head, breathing heavily. His body moved in ways he didn’t know it could, in directions he couldn’t see in, and he kept feeling disoriented. His spatial awareness didn’t seem to keep up with his movements—or at least, his conscious spatial awareness didn’t.

  “But I don’t,” Cyrus practically spat. He felt a flesh of anger that his body could do and ‘remember’ things that he couldn’t.

  “You will,” Cassandra said firmly. She lowered Galatine slightly, enough to indicate a pause. Her voice softened, her gaze steady and reassuring. “Listen—where I come from originally, Earth, there was no System. We learned through sweat, discipline, and pain. Every skill we possessed had to be earned, not gifted.”

  Cassandra paused momentarily to ensure she could get the following words right.

  The System is a crutch—one we all lean on, even unwillingly. Cyrus doesn’t have that crutch. He’s powerful, perhaps because he is outside it.

  Cassandra, despite her thoughts, continued with conviction. “Whatever power you possess is deeper than the System’s reach. Instinctual, natural, powerful in ways that the System can’t define. Whatever you were before crashing here, you’ve earned that strength. The System may not recognize it, but I do.”

  Then Cassandra flowed like lightning, and Galatine stopped at Cyrus’s throat. A single speck of blood rolled down his neck. Cassandra grinned, then sheathed Galatine in one smooth motion.

  “That makes you both valuable and dangerous.” Cassandra bowed her head a fraction to him.

  “Dangerous enough to officially join the crew. Welcome to the club of people who frighten Maija,” Matti laughed, a friendly gleam in his eyes.

  Just in time, too. Lyessa’s been scouting alone. What are the chances everything would go sideways when Cass came in to make a report? We got to get there fast. Matti’s concern for Lyessa tightened his expression.

  “I haven’t been exactly trying to be dangerous,” Cyrus replied.

  “Exactly,” Cassandra agreed quietly, a small but genuine smile on her lips. “That’s precisely why you are.”

  “Now, what’s all this about you throwing things? Alor wasn’t clear.” Matti asked. Blunt, curious, and completely sincere, Matti studied Cyrus expectantly.

  Telekinesis, maybe? Something more complicated? Either way, we need to know what he can really do—and quickly.

  Cyrus hesitated, not out of distrust, but out of lack of knowledge. Cassandra’s gaze was one of encouragement; Matti’s was one of earnest curiosity.

  “I’m not sure myself,” Cyrus admitted slowly. “Things… happen when I react.”

  “Then let’s figure this out together,” Matti said. “Whatever you did back there? We might need you to do it again. No slight on your evasive maneuvers, they’re great, but Dungeons are dangerous places, and being able to sidestep a sword won’t cut it.”

  Cyrus nodded, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  Cassandra stepped forward again. She lifted Galatine, holding the blade horizontally in front of her. “Let’s start with something simple. You threw Machina scouts in the cave. Can you push or move things at will? Try moving my sword.”

  Cyrus’s brown eyes focused on the curved blade. He took a deep breath, letting air fill his lungs all the way, then exhaled. After a few repeats of this, he reached out and tried to grasp the sword with an imaginary hand.

  Nothing happened. So he tried again. And again.

  Come on, Cyrus yelled silently at the blade, frustration rapidly building.

  “Relax,” Cassandra murmured so low that he barely heard it. “You can’t force it. Let your body guide your mind; let intuition take the wheel.”

  Cyrus’s lips compressed into a thin line, but he lifted his right hand and closed his eyes. With a slight flick of his wrist, a rush of invisible energy flowed around his fingertips. The sensation felt like it had when he’d thrown the scavengers in the cave. Galatine shook in Cassandra’s hands, and her eyes widened in shock. The blade didn’t fly out of her hands though.

  “Good. Again. Stronger this time,” Cassandra encouraged.

  With his eyes open this time, Cyrus focused on the blade. He imagined it floating up into the air. When he flicked his wrist, the blade vibrated in Cassandra’s hand for a few seconds before it shot two or three feet up into the air. As a smile spread across Cyrus’s lips, the blade shot down into Cassandra’s hand, and she sheathed it. It felt as if she’d slapped his wrist when she took control of her sword.

  “Sorry,” Cassandra murmured when he rubbed at his wrist. “That was very impressive for not having any memory of training.”

  “Who knows?” Cyrus shrugged.

  “Not bad, not bad! Can you catch moving objects? Here, try this…” Matti seemed impressed, and tossed one of his metal discs high up into the air.

  Cyrus clenched his fist on pure instinct. Again, an invisible force rippled and surged around the metal disc in midair, freezing it in place. It hovered motionless; even its spin had been halted.

  “Handy,” Matti said with a grin.

  “Very,” Cassandra said. She had stepped up next to Cyrus, and her hand settled on his shoulder. “Your instincts run deep—deeper than your memory, at least. Whatever else you may be, you seem to have some variety of telekinesis. Very promising and extremely versatile. Also, extremely dangerous.”

  “This kind of dangerous is exactly what we need,” Matti said. His eyes sparkled, his voice filled with enthusiasm. Cyrus could see why everyone seemed to like Matti.

  “Why is it dangerous?” Cyrus asked.

  “All power without understanding is dangerous,” Cassandra answered. She gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “Without control, telekinesis can become unpredictable, even volatile.”

  Her expression remained neutral, albeit thoughtful, as she considered what to say next.

  And worse, Cassandra thought grimly, psychic powers—mental abilities of any kind—carry a stigma. They’re distrusted, misunderstood…feared. We’ll need to be careful who learns about his abilities.

  “There’s another reason it’s dangerous,” Cassandra continued. “Mental powers—telepathy, telekinesis, anything that manipulates the mind or world without clear System-granted skills—are viewed with suspicion. They’re considered taboo in most societies in integrated System Territories.”

  “Taboo? Why?” Cyrus frowned.

  “Mental abilities can be invasive,” Matti explained. “If you can throw a disc, maybe you can move something more vital—or someone’s thoughts, emotions, or even dominate their mind. People have enough existential crises worrying about fate and the gods without worrying about others altering, changing, or even just reading their innermost secrets.”

  “Huh,” Cyrus muttered noncommittally.

  “But hey, that’s why you’ve got us, right? We won’t judge—at least not unfairly,” Matti promised.

  “Every one of us here at Wayfinder Expeditions is an outsider. You’ll fit right in,” Cassandra agreed.