As Ren looked at the unfamiliar ceiling, he slowly recalled his dream, but the pain in his arms snapped him out of his reverie.
When he saw them, bandaged, and aching, the memories came rushing back.
'That wasn't... just a dream'
Yes — that was the tragedy that had befallen Sierra. The reason Ren's family was dead. The reason he had become an attuned.
Tears welled up in Ren's eyes as he held his arm to his face and quietly wept.
"I'm sorry, mom, dad... I'm sorry, Sarah, all that training, yet when it truly mattered, I couldn't even save myself."
Ren spent what felt like an eternity drowning in self-blame as he replayed the events of that night. As he recalled the spectrum of emotions that had clashed within him, he suddenly felt a faint reaction in his chest.
'Oh... right, I have a core now.'
The subtle sensation of concentrated energy in his chest shifted his attention away from his spiraling thoughts.
Ren sat up and looked around. What met his eyes was a small, dimly lit, alloy-reinforced room. A faint red light blinked from a corner near the ceiling.
'This must be a waiting room.'
He had seen one before during his tour of the striker headquarters, though all he could see was a heavy metal door with a control panel beside it.
He knew from his classes that waiting rooms were made to contain and monitor Newly attuned strikers.
"Heh... Guess I've really become a striker now."
Ren didn't know what to feel, on one hand, he had finally achieved his dream. on the other, he lost what he wanted to protect in the process.
All that remained was a hollow emptiness.
'At least... I don't have to worry about going berserk.'
Strikers were humans whose Ether — the essence of their being — got attuned to a spirit's power. While this granted them supernatural abilities, it also burdened them with the peril of resisting the influence of the spirit's imprint on their being.
That was why all class 1 attuned were required to endure a period of containment in waiting rooms — to stabilize their state before release.
Due to the connection between a human and their inner Ether, changes in a human's mental state cause fluctuations in their Ether. Normally, the only danger stemming from that would be higher exposure to spirit powers, for strikers however, instability in their Ether core could prove fatal in the balance of power between the spirit's mark and the striker.
As Ren pondered his condition, a loud growl interrupted his thoughts.
He looked down.
"...Seriously?"
He glanced at the red light and spoke.
"May I get some food? I'm starving."
A burst of static answered him before a voice replied:
"Your meal is already on the way."
Moments later, he saw the door creak open.
A familiar, green-haired, broad-shouldered man wearing a striker's uniform with three stars on his emblem walked in with a tray piled with food.
"Cain..."
Ren looked at his father's friend, his mentor... and his savior.
"Hey Ren, how are you feeling? You've been out for three days."
"I'm... okay, I guess"
Physically, he felt fine—better than fine, even. His body was brimming with energy, though a bit hungry.
His mind, however... was another story.
"I'm glad to hear that."
Cain handed him tray and sat at the edge of the bed.
"Thanks."
Ren began eating as Cain just sat there in silence for a few minutes.
After finishing, Ren hesitated before speaking.
"I'm sorry... for lashing out at you back there, Cain. That was unfair of me, especially when you had just saved my life"
Cain's expression tightened.
"No, Ren. You were right. I'm the one who should apologize—I couldn't get there in time."
Silence settled between them once more.
After a moment, Cain spoke again.
"You attuned with a mystical spirit, you know."
"What...?!"
Ren suspected as much, but hearing it from confirmed, and from Cain no less, made it sink in.
"A mystical spirit..."
Spirits were typically aligned with primary and sub-elements. Mystical spirits, however, were different—their powers didn't represent natural elements, but abstract concepts.
But that wasn't what mattered right now.
"Was it... that white spirit? The one that landed outside the city?"
"Yes. That's what I think at least, mystical spirit are rare in the first place and there weren't any other white spirits around."
'Just like I thought... I'm attuned to that thing from the dream... No—the nightmare.'
Ren recounted the events of his nightmare to Cain.
Cain pinched his nose bridge and let out a sigh.
"First of all, the reason you saw that dream is because you're marked by that force's power. And a Class 6 mark is far stronger than normal."
He paused.
"To put it into perspective—the number of people who have ever attuned to a Class 6 force can be counted on one hand. And none of them were mystical."
Cain exhaled slowly.
"Which brings me to my second point, from the Captain's report and what you saw in that dream, I think that spirit's concept is tied to its ability to use opposing elements, and why its swarm included so many types."
"I think so too, from what I could tell, the spirit seemed to store more than one element inside its core."
Cain nodded.
"That's the current theory, finding out whether it's true or not will have to wait until you're at least a marked. For now though, focus on stabilizing your core and adjusting to your new state."
"Got it"
Cain gave Ren a few final instructions before collecting the tray and leaving the room.
Returning the room to its former silence.
Ren stood up slowly.
"Time to train... I guess."
Ren got up from the bed, stretched, and walked to the empty half of the room. He moved through his forms, each motion practiced and instinctive—until a sharp sting flared in his arms.
He paused.
For a moment, he said nothing, then began to carefully unwind the bandages.
The skin beneath was warped and uneven, marked by faint reds and pale patches. Healed, in its own way—but not what it used to be.
Still… not as bad as that night.
His fingers stilled, his thoughts dragged back to his first real fight.
To that fire spectre.
To his family's last moments...