Nightfell slept uneasily.
The wind had died, but the trees still trembled—quivering as if dreaming of old horrors. Beneath the shrine, torches bled black smoke, and the great gate at the back of the chamber loomed like a sealed wound.
But Kiro's eyes weren't on it.
Not yet.
He sat cross-legged in a circle of scorched ash, arms resting on his knees, blood threading slowly across his skin in long, lazy spirals.
Across from him stood the last Naught—unmoving, his skeletal fingers woven together in front of his chest.
They had been silent for nearly an hour.
Kiro's breathing slowed.
Not because he was calm.
But because something inside him was being unstitched.
"You are not here to learn strength," the Naught finally said, voice quiet, measured. "Strength is the lie they fed you. Viora is not about power."
Kiro didn't respond.
The blood inside him pulsed.
The Naught stepped forward, and the shadows on the walls recoiled.
"Viora... is the art of existence beneath truth. It is the act of folding your soul into a single edge. Every movement, a death. Every breath, a step away from self."
Kiro's eyes opened slightly.
"I don't want philosophy," he muttered.
"I want to survive."
The Naught smiled for the first time.
It was not kind.
"Then listen closely. Because survival is the cruelest art of all."
He knelt beside Kiro and extended one long, black-clawed hand.
A spark ignited.
Not fire.
Not light.
But a memory of pressure—a weight so immense it nearly split Kiro's bones.
[Forbidden Viora Form Detected: "Null-Step – The Reversal of Movement"][Requirement: Stillness Beyond Time / Heartbeat Alignment / Core Stabilization][WARNING: This form predates Viora as recorded by the Kargal Empire.]
"You will not master this in days," the Naught said. "You will not even understand it in weeks. But in the battle that awaits behind that gate... you will die if you cannot at least touch it."
Kiro looked down at his hands.
They were shaking.
Not from fear.
From strain—as if something was already cracking beneath his skin.
"What's behind the gate?" he asked quietly.
The Naught turned his gaze to the black archway, where ancient runes bled a faint red light.
"A dream."
He paused.
"No. Not a dream. A scar. The First Dream of Kuni—the God you wear as armor. You will walk through him. Or be consumed by what's left."