The training field was quiet, save for the steady clack of wooden swords and the distant wind rustling the treetops. Mitsu, shirt soaked with sweat, staggered back from the last strike. Sergeant Tasch, ever watchful, called a break with a grunt.

  "You've got decent instincts," Tasch said, tossing a water flask to him. "But instincts without understanding? Useless in a real war."

  Mitsu caught the flask and slumped to the ground, gulping down the water before peering up. "Understanding what? Just how to fight better?"

  Tasch snorted. "You're a Race Hero, kid. Your training doesn't stop with muscle and reflex. You need to understand the world you've been thrown into. Sit up."

  Mitsu obeyed, still catching his breath.

  Tasch knelt beside him, drawing a line in the dirt with a stick. "Let me tell you something. Long before either of us existed, this world was shaped by forces far older than any kingdom—raw energies that chose a handful to carry their legacy. Five races. Five heroes. Each generation, one from each race emerges, tied to ancient powers."

  He drew five symbols in the dirt—each distinct: a swirling wave, a fang, a winged cross, a jagged mark like a tear, and a broken sun.

  "These are the Race Heroes," Tasch said. "Mink. Aqua. Blessed. Impoid. Cursed. Each one a balance to the others. In theory."

  "In theory?" Mitsu asked.

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  Tasch gave a grim chuckle. "Yeah. Balance doesn't mean peace. These powers... they come with weight. With politics. And war. The heroes of old were dragged into conflicts they didn't start—but they sure as hell finished them."

  He pointed to the broken sun. "This one... that's the Cursed Hero. Nobody talks about them, not much. Too dangerous. Most pray never to meet them." Then his finger moved to the winged cross. "And this? The Blessed. You've heard the name Kyro Celeste, I bet."

  Mitsu stiffened. "He's... real?"

  "Oh, he's real," Tasch said, face hardening. "Leads Seraphene like a god in a soldier's skin. Divine powers, they say. Charismatic. Unbeatable. He's got half the world convinced that control is the same thing as peace."

  "And the rest?" Mitsu asked.

  "The Aqua Hero lives below the waves, watching, waiting. Doesn't get involved much. The Impoid Hero is a ghost—just a symbol, really. No one even knows what they look like. And the Mink?" Tasch met Mitsu's gaze. "Well, that one's still figuring himself out."

  Mitsu swallowed hard.

  "You've been thrown into a centuries-old story, kid. And right now, the world's split down the middle." Tasch used the stick to divide the dirt symbols. "Eldara and Seraphene. One fights for freedom, the other for control. And every hero—every single one—ends up choosing a side."

  Mitsu watched the dirt crumble around the marks. "And if they don't?"

  Tasch looked at him for a long moment. "Then the world chooses for them."

  The wind picked up, tugging at the edge of the training tarp. In the silence that followed, the weight of history pressed down like armor too heavy for Mitsu's shoulders.

  "So..." he murmured, "if this is all a cycle, then what makes me any different?"

  "You," Tasch said, standing, "get to decide how your story ends. That's the only difference that ever matters."

  He walked off, leaving Mitsu staring at the dirt, the symbols slowly fading into the earth.

  But the imprint remained.