Gray’s arm still ached under the linen wrap.
Six months.
That was how long the healer in Camp Tile had said it would take for the break to mend properly.
Six months of no scavenging runs, no real training, and no leaving the riverbank huts without someone watching him.
Six months of sitting on the porch while the world moved on without him.
He sat against the weathered wood of their small hut, legs stretched toward the Tile River. T
he cast was gone, but the bones still protested every time he tried to grip anything too tightly.
Rebecca changed the wrappings every morning and made him drink the bitter herbal tea that tasted like wet earth and patience.
He hated every single day of it.
The camp had changed in small ways around him. More caravans rolled through the river road now — bigger ones from Ryūmon loaded with spices and goods,
smaller ones from the west carrying tools and travelers. The market square was busier. Food prices had climbed.
Auntie Lira told them every time they went that more people were passing through lately, looking for safe routes or work.
Some spoke of distant troubles — fights on the roads, monster sightings near the badlands, caravans that never arrived.
The stories were fleeting, carried on the wind and gone by the next caravan.
Gray listened to every rumor. He stored them away like the scraps he used to collect. But they felt far away. Like echoes from another life.
Because right now, his world was small. It was the porch. The river. The training clearing where he still tried — every single day — to push his aura.
And it never worked.
He closed his eyes and reached inward like Gauis had taught him. The familiar spark flickered in his chest.
Warm. Unstable. Painful. He tried to coat his good arm with it, the way he had done before the break.
The burn came instantly — hot wires twisting under his skin. His channels screamed.
The faint aura coating appeared for three heartbeats… then guttered out like a candle in wind.
“Agh—!” Gray gasped, the sound tearing out before he could stop it. His arm throbbed, sharp and vicious, like broken glass grinding inside his veins.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. His breath came in ragged bursts.
Same as yesterday.
Same as the day before.
Same as the day he broke his arm.
Gray opened his eyes and exhaled through his teeth. The frustration sat heavy in his chest, cold and sharp.
From the riverbank, he could hear Tamemoto laughing — a rare, bright sound.
His step-brother was with Rebecca, helping her check the fishing traps. Tamemoto had grown a little taller in the last six months.
His movements were surer now. He still carried the stick from training, but he used it with more confidence.
Gauis had taken over most of the resource runs. Every few days he and Tamemoto would head out — sometimes toward the Ashfall outskirts,
sometimes along the river toward Rift Haven — bringing back dried meat, herbs, small shards, and whatever scraps they could trade at the market.
Gray hated that too.
He should have been out there with them.
Instead, he was here. Grounded. Useless. The sound of footsteps on the dirt path made him look up.
Gauis was returning early today, a small sack over his shoulder. His face was lined with exhaustion, but his good eye softened when he saw Gray.
“Still trying?” he asked, voice rough but kind.
Gray nodded once.
Gauis sat down heavily on the porch step beside him. He pulled a small waterskin from his belt and took a long drink before offering it.
“Some things take time, kid. Your channels were damaged long before we found you. That fight three years ago…
the one where we pulled Tamemoto out… it made it worse. But you’re still here. Still fighting. That counts for something.”
Gray took the waterskin but didn’t drink. He stared at the river.
“Does it?” he asked quietly. “I still can’t hold it. Not even for a few seconds without pain.”
“Ngh…” Gray grunted softly, flexing his fingers as the lingering burn flared again.
Gauis was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, lower.
“The first realm is Awakening. Most people never get past the flicker. They feel the spark, but they can’t hold it. Some burn out. Some give up. You’re going to learn to hold it. To make it part of you. You’re not there yet. But you will be.”
Gray looked at him. “How long did it take you?”
Gauis smiled — small, tired, a little sad.
“Longer than I like to admit. And I had teachers. You have me and Rebecca. That’s not nothing.”
From the river, Tamemoto’s voice carried over — excited, telling Rebecca about a big fish he’d almost caught. Rebecca laughed softly, the sound warm despite the cough that followed it.
“Cough… cough…” Rebecca’s cough was wet and ragged, her hand pressing to her chest as she tried to steady herself.
Gauis glanced toward them, then back at Gray.
“The world doesn’t wait for us to be ready,”
he said. “Caravans are moving faster lately. More people on the roads. More stories from the east and west. Some say fights are breaking out on the trade routes. Others talk about relics being found in old ruins. People are scared. Hungry. Desperate.”
Gray’s fingers tightened on the waterskin.
Gauis continued. “But you and Tamemoto… you’re learning. Slowly. That’s how you survive when the world gets bigger than this river.”
Gray looked down at his injured arm. The ache was still there — a constant reminder.
He didn’t answer.
But inside his head, the thoughts turned slowly.
The world is moving. Caravans coming and going. Fights on the roads. Relics being found. Monsters stirring in the badlands.
And I’m still here. Stuck. Flickering.
But I won’t stay this way.
He flexed his fingers again.
The spark in his chest answered — faint, painful, but still there.
“Hngh…” Gray grunted softly as the burn flared again.
One day at a time.
One breath at a time.
The Tile River kept flowing.
And somewhere beyond the badlands, the world kept turning.
