(Point of View: Lexo)

The pale sand felt strangely cold beneath my hands. I brushed the dust from my blue cloak and the gelatinous mask covering my face, then looked toward where the floating amphitheater had been—now replaced by only the swirling sky of Ethernatus. The Smiling Cat’s bubbling laughter still echoed in my ears, sending chills down my spine.

I tried to maintain my composure, to channel Pietro’s logic and Dad’s stoic calm, but my body refused to cooperate. My legs trembled uncontrollably and my hands sweated inside the makeshift gloves of the cloak. A cold knot formed in my stomach. Vulnerable. That was the word. Without Dad and his fiery sword, without Mom’s protective Light, without Borin’s booming presence, insightful Lyra’s foresight, Kael’s elusive maneuvers, or Urso—simply being Urso with his apron and spatial power—I was utterly alone.

Damn it, I thought, feeling a surge of self-pity that only enraged me further. I was a reincarnated person—supposed to be the adult with perspective—and yet here I was, trembling like jelly in the middle of a magical desert. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt completely useless. The polished prodigy façade I always wore crumbled, revealing the scared six-year-old inside who just wanted to go home—to the safety of his strange but familiar family. I curled up in the sand, hugging my knees in a pathetically childish gesture.

“Giving up already?” came a sarcastic voice beside me. Tick-Tock, the harlequin rabbit, had landed lightly next to me, his pink, mocking eyes fixed on me. “I thought you were the ‘Anomalous Legacy,’ not the ‘Terrified Armadillo.’ Quite the technique, I must admit—confusing the enemy with absolute inaction.”

While the Smiling Cat continued detailing the rules of this sadistic game from somewhere unseen (“Five hundred contestants! Only an undetermined—but significantly smaller—number will remain! The contest ends when I say so! And no whining!”), Tick-Tock leaned close, his breath tinged with carrots and sweet temporal paradoxes. “Listen, kid,” he whispered, his tone softening slightly, “as long as you have that watch,” he said, pointing to the relic in my pocket, “you have a chance. A very small one, but a chance—an anchor, you understand? But if the others ever learn what it really is… or who you truly are—they’ll hunt you down like a mouse. So, keep a low profile.”

Seeing my family again—that was what I craved. Mom, Dad, Lila, Pietro, even the boisterous Borin, insightful Lyra, and elusive Kael… Yes, I wanted to get back to them. And for that, I’d have to survive this insane circus run by that balloon-shaped kitty.

Taking a deep breath, I expelled my fear along with the stale air of Ethernatus. I stood up, shaking off the sand and my self-pity. It was time to put the lessons into practice.

Kael: Eliminate your presence. Become the shadow.

I closed my eyes, slowing my breathing, and focused on blurring my mana aura until it blended with the countless temporal energies in the arena.

Lyra: Observe every detail.

I opened my eyes again, scanning the vast expanse: hundreds of figures in blue cloaks and matching masks—some already moving in temporary alliances, others frozen in evaluation. The terrain was an endless mix of sand and scattered rock formations, while distant walls of the arena disappeared into darkness, punctuated by niches that hinted at hidden weapons. It was as if the Smiling Cat himself had provided us with a grim toolkit.

Borin: Reinforce with the earth. Assume a firm combat stance.

I planted my feet in the sand, feeling its weak but real connection, and slid into a low, balanced position, ready to react.

I needed a weapon. I dashed toward the nearest niche, dodging contestants locked in clumsy brawls. Inside, I found an array of functional swords, axes, and spears. I selected a long sword—light enough for my frame yet balanced. The steel was cold and real in my hand.

Dad: Channel controlled fire—a steady, constant flow.

I focused my mana into the blade, recalling my training in the courtyard. This time, the flame burst forth as an intense, focused sky-blue layer, clinging to the metal without waste. I maintained its constant flow, keenly aware it drained about 1 MP per second. I had minutes, not hours—and that was sufficient.

Uncle Valerius: Focus on fencing. Economy of movement is key.

I assumed a basic fencing guard, the sword poised, ready for any rapid counterattack.

Mom: Release Protective Light.

I exhaled slowly, dispersing a thin, almost invisible film of Light over me. It wasn’t an impenetrable shield, but it would warn me of incoming strikes and might even deflect a minor blow.

Chronos and Spatium—those sweet notes of Time and the bitter aftertaste of Space—bubbled beneath my skin. Tempting, but too risky to tamper with now. I resolved to rely on what I knew and what I’d been taught.

Then, the Smiling Cat laughed—a sound that made the sand tremble.

“Let the spontaneous editing begin! Enjoy it while you can! Let there be light! TICK TOCK!”

CHAOS!

The arena erupted around me into wild, frenzied motion. Screams, spells, and clashing steel reverberated in the unnatural stillness. I stayed focused, scanning for an opponent—or ideally, for an opening that kept me from becoming someone else’s first target.

But it was too late. A tall, lanky humanoid with a blue mask fixed his gaze on me. He raised a hand, and a torrent of pressurized water surged from nowhere—a water jet accelerated by Chronos to impossible speed. I barely had time to register the temporal distortion before the impact struck like a jackhammer, sending me careening several meters backward. I landed with a dry thud, sand sticking to my damp clothes. Though my Light barrier had softened part of the blow, the sting persisted.

“Damn it,” I muttered, coughing out sand. Combined magic—Time and Water. Great, I thought. This would be complex. (Mental note: consult Pietro about compound affinity nomenclature if I ever get out of this mess.)

The coral-colored attacker advanced, preparing yet another accelerated jet. I remembered Urso—his uncanny ability to vanish and reappear, his manipulation of space, the bitter taste of sand still lingering in my mouth. Was that the key—a sensory connection? I closed my eyes for a split second as the time-water jet charged toward me. Ignoring the urge to dodge, I focused on that bitter flavor, on the notion of space, and on invisible threads linking everything—an immediate, tangible echo of the Great Tapestry. I saw my thread, bright and unyielding; I saw the blue-masked guy’s thread; and I glimpsed the strands of my nearby foes.

What if…?

With a surge of will, I honed in on a point in space just behind the coral-colored guy. I extended my awareness and mentally pulled my own thread toward that spot.

A nauseating sense of dislocation washed over me—as if my stomach were trying to escape through my nose—and suddenly, I was there, behind my opponent, who was still firing his accelerated jet where I had just been.

“Surprise, bastard!” I roared, my voice high-pitched with adrenaline. Taking advantage of his confusion, I headbutted him hard in the back (Ouch! That hurt more than I expected) and followed up with a slash from my celestial fire sword. The heat evaporated his weak residual water armor, and my blade cut cleanly; he was sent flying forward, landing in a groaning heap.

I wasn’t aiming to kill—I wasn’t a murderer. Quickly, I channeled my earth affinity, raising a mound of sand and rock around him, trapping him in an impromptu prison.

Then, my Light barrier vibrated sharply at the back of my neck—warning: attack from behind, dirty play!

Instinctively, I screamed in my mind: PAUSE!

I exhaled, and the area around me froze. I saw, in the stasis, a steel-tipped spear hovering inches from my head—as if it sought to reunite with my brain. Behind that spear was a hooded figure with a brown mask.

“Spatium!”

With time stalled, I focused on shifting my thread a few inches to the left. This time, the nauseating sense of dislocation was somewhat subdued.

RESUME, BABY!

I deactivated Chronos. The spear whistled past where my head had been, then—collateral damage—pierced another contestant in an orange mask who had just materialized in its trajectory. Oops, I thought. Collateral damage.

I turned, sword at the ready, and there he was: the other kid—the one who’d warned me this wasn’t a place for children. He leaned casually against an imaginary rock, watching me with an ironic glint in his eyes—the only part of his face visible under his mask.

“Bored of playing with the easy ones already?” I asked, adopting a defensive stance.

He smiled beneath his hood (I sensed it more than saw it). “Just checking out the newbie’s technique. Not bad—the spatial trick was improvised, but effective.” Then I noticed a disturbance beside him: a man with bark-like skin sneaking up. Before I could warn him, the other kid casually shifted his foot, and an unseen root sprang up from the sand, impaling the tree-man’s foot and eliciting a howl of pain.

“It seems,” the other kid remarked as he turned back to me, his tone even yet challenging, “that you should let the grown-ups fight. Perhaps watching from the stands would be safer for you.”

I couldn’t help but grin beneath my mask. “Funny you should say that,” I retorted. “Because it appears the only kid here is you—playing the veteran.”

We locked eyes for a moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between us, and then, almost in unison, we both murmured, “This is just the beginning.”

And with that, we leaped—each in the opposite direction—toward the heart of the chaos. The battle for survival in Ethernatus had only just begun.