Veil of Aether

The desert winds lashed at them, coarse and biting. Their clothing—light, loose, and dust-stained—fluttered with each gust, fitting the era of this sun-scorched land. But neither Kei nor Silvie paid it much mind.

Kei didn’t care about the new outfit. It made him look like some peasant scraping by in a back-alley corner of this forgotten age. Silvie didn’t fare much better—wrapped in the female equivalent, sand-worn robes, and scarf barely clinging to her windswept hair.

What they did share—aside from the attire—was the dead look in their eyes. The complete, almost comedic lack of hope.

Because in front of them…

A blade.

Or something that vaguely resembled one, if you could call a curved mass of destruction the size of a mountain a ‘blade.’ It descended with glacial certainty from the sky, angled perfectly toward the horizon.

Kei didn’t even look up. He didn’t need to.

The damn thing was so big you could just look straight ahead and still see it blotting out half the sky. The earth beneath their feet trembled just from its approach.

Silvie let out a long, empty sigh.

“At this point, having a second life feels pointless. Even if we get resurrected after dying, what’s even left to come back to?”

Kei gave a dry chuckle.

“Works out for me. I already used mine.”

“…You what?” She turned, blinking at him, baffled. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yep.”

Silvie stared at him in disbelief, then just slowly shook her head.

“Never mind. I don’t even want to know. I really thought we were supposed to be unmatched potential or something.”

She chuckled bitterly, more tired than anything.

Kei just crossed his arms, still watching that absurd sky blade crawl toward them like fate itself had decided to show off.

The earth shook as the blade descended—closer, heavier, almost serene in its approach. Kei just stared up at it, feeling absolutely nothing. Silvie, by contrast, knelt quietly and clutched her scarf in both hands, eyes closed. But if one looked closely, faint streaks of green shimmered beneath her lids—Nature Force beginning to gather instinctively around her like it didn’t want her to die alone.

Kei glanced her way, expression unreadable. He didn’t ask. After all, what did it matter? A corpse didn’t need to understand what was happening.

Just as the Nature Force reached toward her, the tip of the absurdly massive blade touched down above them—and the world... paused.

Everything froze.

As if reality itself were just a movie, and someone hit the pause button.

They blinked—and suddenly found themselves somewhere else.

A decrepit room, lit dimly, walls crumbling and coated in age. The two of them still wore the same old, worn-out clothes they’d entered this world with—ragged, dusty, belonging more to beggars than adventurers.

Silvie still held her scarf in her hands, fingers clenched tight around it.

Kei turned his head toward her.

She slowly opened her eyes—still glowing faintly green with residual force—and looked around with furrowed brows. “Huh? What happened? Where are we?”

“Don’t ask me,” Kei replied flatly. “You know more about this stuff than I do.” He motioned to the scarf. “Also, what’s with that thing anyway?”

Silvie exhaled. “Temporal zones are usually like snapshots. Frozen points in history, meant to show us some major event—or secret—worth knowing. But knowing the actual history of the time period doesn’t help much, by the way.” She sighed and glanced around. “History gets distorted over time. The stuff we’re taught? It’s basically a paraphrased summary, if you want to be polite about it.”

“So we can’t just cheat our way through by quoting history books? Got it.” Kei gave a dry chuckle. “Not that it matters—I wouldn’t have known anything useful anyway.”

Silvie glanced down at the scarf in her hands. “And this?” she said softly. “This is my Spark. Sort of a symbol of who we are, and an equipment piece that grows with us. I figured... since I was going to die, I might as well send it off and hope it survived.”

Kei blinked, then looked at her and raised a brow. “Kind of dramatic, don’t you think?”

She deadpanned, “You’re the one who just stood there accepting death like a bored philosopher.”

“Touché.”

They both glanced around again as the room creaked under some unknown pressure, time itself beginning to stir again.

Suddenly, the door slammed open.

A large man in moderate robes burst into the room, his voice booming like thunder. “Khemu! Sanu! Hurry up and get ready—you’ve got work to do! Get up!”

He was only met with two blank stares. Kei and Silvie didn’t move. They just looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

The man’s brow twitched. His face turned red.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO STARING AT?! GET READY TO WORK AND LET’S GO!”

Silvie turned to Kei. “Is his head okay?”

Kei gave a thoughtful nod. “I don’t think so. Probably some kind of mental disorder. Shame, really. Not to stereotype or anything, but he does kind of look like someone who’d have one.”

Before he could say another word, the man grabbed him by the front of his clothes and slammed him into the floor, headfirst.

The impact shook the room.

Kei groaned, blinking dazedly as he staggered back up to his feet. His head throbbed, a warm trickle running down his forehead.

And then confusion kicked in.

He instinctively tried to open his status screen—and sure enough, it appeared… but not how he expected.

[Name]: Khemu

[HP]: 8/10

“…What?” he muttered.

Silvie, still seated and watching with a half-concerned, half-bewildered expression, opened hers as well.

[Name]: Sanu

[HP]: 10/10

The two of them exchanged a glance.

“…We’ve been renamed?” Silvie asked.

“Either that,” Kei said, rubbing the bump on his head, “or we’ve been isekai’d.”

The man stormed back in, still fuming. “You’ve got ten seconds to move or I’m dragging you both by the ears!”

Kei and Silvie didn’t move.

They were too busy trying to figure out whether this was still part of the dungeon… or if they’d just become the unfortunate stars of someone’s ancient fever dream.

Walking shakily, legs wobbling and barely keeping him upright, Kei made his way out of the room. Each step felt uneven, like his balance was still being calibrated to this strange new world—or maybe just to this underfed body.

Silvie watched him for a moment before sighing and following. “Whatever this situation is,” she muttered under her breath, “sitting around isn’t gonna solve the dungeon.”

The hallway led them into a broad, sun-beaten courtyard. The heat hit instantly—dry, heavy, and unforgiving.

And then they saw it.

Dozens of people, dressed just like them. Worn linen wraps, simple cloth sandals—thin bodies, calloused hands, hollow eyes. They moved like clockwork, rhythm broken only by exhaustion. Each of them hauled massive blocks of stone, some pushing carts, others stacking with worn ropes and sticks as levers. None were resting.

None dared to.

“Hurry up and get to work!” the man barked behind them.

The sharpness in his voice cut through the heat like a whip.

Kei and Silvie stood still for a beat longer, taking it all in—the sweat, the grunts, the sun cracking overhead.

“This… looks like forced labor,” Silvie said quietly.

Kei didn’t respond. He just stepped forward with a grim expression, cracking his neck once, then heading toward the nearest stack of stone.

Whatever this place was—whatever point in time they were stuck in—it was clear:

They weren’t guests.

They were workers.

And time was already running.

Kei quickly got to work.

At a glance, his scrawny frame matched the others in the yard—skin clinging to bone, ribs slightly visible, limbs wiry and malnourished. The visual reflection of his downgraded stats in this form.

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He pressed up against the massive stone block before him and pushed with all the strength he could muster.

It didn’t move.

Not even a tremble.

Not even a scrape.

The stone might as well have been a mountain.

Watching his pathetic start, the large man barked over his shoulder, “Sanu, come with me. I’ll take you to where you’re working.”

Silvie—still adjusting to her temporary identity—cast Kei a final look. No words. Just a small, tight nod before following the man deeper into the compound.

Kei, now alone, squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Then another. And again, he pushed.

The stone didn’t roll. But this time, it kicked up a puff of dust. Barely noticeable, but it was something.

He heaved. Muscles trembling. Every fiber of his frame screaming. His breath turned ragged, but he kept going.

This wasn’t just about moving the block anymore.

This was about recalibrating. Learning the limits of this borrowed body. Re-mapping every motion, muscle group, and mechanical response from the ground up.

He fell into rhythm—slow, clunky, but deliberate. In that sun-bleached courtyard, surrounded by other silent laborers, he began crafting a routine in his mind.

A training regimen.

If the system refused to give him his stats here, then he’d grind the old way.

By the hour, he pushed. Pulled. Repositioned his stance. Leveraged his weight. Calculated the best muscle groups to stress and isolate. He didn't just work—he trained with every miserable, inch-earned shove.

By the time the sun had arched and dipped past its peak, he’d moved the stone. All the way to its intended spot.

He collapsed next to it, body spent.

His clothes were drenched—every drop of moisture in him forced out and swallowed by the unrelenting heat. His hands refused to close, cramping and twitching from overuse. The sweat pooling at his feet had long since evaporated, leaving only grit-caked dirt beneath him and a crust of salt clinging to his skin.

But he smiled faintly.

Because it moved.

And that was enough.

He dragged his aching body into the dining area with the rest of the workforce, stumbling with each step. His legs felt like dead weight, knees locking and unlocking at odd angles. He walked into walls. Into people. No one even bothered to scold him. Everyone was too exhausted to care.

Sweat had soaked through his entire body, turning the rough linen of his clothes into gritty sandpaper. His hair, caked with dust and grime, hung in heavy clumps over his eyes, blinding him almost completely. He couldn’t see where he was going—only that he had to keep going.

Since the moment he'd been slammed on the head that morning, he’d been trying—straining—to feel out for the wind. To reach Breeze Force again. But it was like grabbing at smoke with numb fingers. The connection was faint. Barely there. As if he’d never bonded with it at all.

And yet…

The system was still with him.

That thread—no matter how weak—remained.

It gave him hope. Not of escape. Not of cheating the system. But of progress. Of rebuilding. Of crawling his way back to the strength he'd once had and carving it anew with this body—this world.

Somehow, he found himself in the food line. He couldn’t remember getting there, only that someone shoved a bowl into his hands and barked at him to move along. Inside was a scoop of thick barley mash, barely warm, spotted with a few wilted herbs. A slice of flatbread sat on the side, rough-edged and uneven, along with two shriveled figs that looked more like bruises than fruit.

He took his tray and slumped into a corner of the room, away from the larger clusters of workers. Most were too tired to talk. The only sounds were chewing, coughing, and the occasional groan of a back realigning itself as someone stretched too far.

Kei sat in silence.

Gingerly, he broke the bread and scooped up some of the mash. Each movement was slow, almost reverent. His arms screamed with strain. His fingers refused to close properly. He forced them to obey anyway.

As he ate, he closed his eyes—not to rest, but to feel.

A faint breeze touched his skin. It wasn’t strong. It wasn’t powerful. But it was there. Whispering over the grime and sweat, curling gently against his neck. The sensation reminded him of who he was. Of what he’d once controlled.

His control over the wind hadn’t abandoned him.

It had simply… started over.

And that, strangely enough, made the gruel taste a little less bitter.

A faint laugh drifted through the air, carried on the same breeze Kei had been focused on. It wasn’t joyful—it was dry and brittle, like cracked wood. The kind of laugh born from hunger, hopelessness, and the need to make even misery feel like a joke.

“Only if I was stronger,” a boy murmured nearby, his voice weak but clear. “I’d be able to go out hunting. Actually get some meat.”

The others around him—older, just as gaunt—let out strained chuckles. Their laughter didn’t carry any real humor, only a tired camaraderie built from shared despair.

“That’s a faint dream, kid,” someone rasped. “You look like the wind could push you over.”

More laughter followed, desperate and dry, laced with resignation. It wasn’t mocking. It was just… truth. They’d all thought the same thing once. Back when they were younger. Hopeful. Dreaming that they might rise above menial labor and earn something better. A hunt. A kill. A chance.

But those dreams had withered under the weight of time, heat, and hunger. Now they were just stories to tell during meals. Faded memories used to season barley mash.

Kei turned toward the voice, curiosity piqued. “We can go hunting?” he asked.

The boy—barely older than ten—let out a breathy laugh that made his shoulders shake.

“Of course we can,” he replied. “They don’t stop us. Not because they think we’re worth trusting. But because they don’t care. We’re so weak and pathetic, they just assume we’ll die anyway. No reason to crush our hopes when they think we’re already in the grave.”

Kei finally moved his hair aside enough to look at the speaker properly. The boy was small. Frail. Limbs thin as reeds, eyes sunken from exhaustion. He sat hunched in the corner like a shadow, cradling his food the way others cradled warmth.

Kei stared at him for a long moment.

So young, he thought.

Too young to talk like that. Too young to already believe the world had no place for him.

And yet, that look in his eyes…

It was familiar.

Silently, Kei began to steel himself, mind already shifting into planning mode. If there was even a sliver of freedom here—if the idea of hunting wasn’t entirely forbidden—he could use it. Not just to survive, but to retrain. To rebuild.

This time, he reminded himself, I don’t have an extra life to help me train. No resets. No get-out-of-death-free cards. I mess up once, I die for real.

He flexed his fingers slowly, then his wrist. Every movement sent dull pain crawling up his arms, but he kept at it. Bit by bit. His grip was pathetic now, his strength a ghost of what it once was—but he would recover it. Piece by piece. One movement at a time.

Elsewhere, Silvie—Sanu, in this time—had been guided through winding, sun-bleached corridors to a separate building. There, she was unceremoniously shoved through a wooden doorway into a crowded, sweltering room filled with the clatter of clay dishes, buckets of soapy water, and the low hum of weary voices.

The room was packed with girls and women. Some looked her age, most older. All wore the same tired expressions. Many were barefoot. All were busy—scrubbing fabrics, grinding grains, cooking over hot stone pits, hauling baskets of dirty linens.

The moment Silvie stepped in, the air shifted.

Someone shoved a rag into her hands. Another pushed a bowl of peeled roots toward her.

“Get to work,” one woman barked. “New or not, no slackers.”

No names. No questions.

Just commands and expectations.

Silvie stood frozen for a second, still holding her scarf in one hand, the other gripping the cleaning rag.

“…Laundry or cooking?” someone muttered behind her. “You don’t want both. Trust me.”

Silvie blinked, finally lowering her scarf and taking in the full scope of the room. It wasn’t just chores.

It was survival.

It was their whole life. Days that bled into each other. Work that never ended. Dreams that had long since been traded for bowls of gruel and cold water.

And now she was here too.

Wearing someone else’s name. In someone else’s life.

This world’s cruel, she thought.

But the moment her eyes narrowed, something inside her refused to wilt.

Fine, she told herself. Then I’ll grow something from it anyway.

And like Kei, she got to work.

Menial labor was nothing new to her.

As a child, Silvie had undergone training that would’ve broken most grown adults. Her instructors hadn’t pulled punches just because she was young—after all, she wasn’t just some hopeful. She was Earth's future protector. The one human expected to carry a title that could alter the trajectory of their entire world.

It was simple to imagine: if a grown man five times her size came at her, she could take him down. So lifting baskets, scrubbing stone floors, or prepping vegetables? That barely registered as effort.

The day passed in sweat and monotony—scrubbing linens under the sun, hauling water, prepping raw grains and sorting ingredients in the communal kitchen. And when it was finally over, when the bell rang for the end of duties, she queued up with the others to collect her meal.

It was better than what Kei received. A thin vegetable stew, still warm, with actual recognizable greens. Some flatbread that hadn’t gone completely stiff. But even so…

This was where Silvie faced her first real hardship.

Because food—real food—was sacred to her.

All her life, she’d eaten like royalty. Not out of vanity, but necessity. Her meals had been meticulously planned and prepared by elite chefs, nutritionists, and scientists working in tandem to ensure that every bite would support her growth, her force development, her mental clarity. Every micronutrient tracked. Every calorie accounted for.

Even after meeting Kei, her journey through the expanse had been dotted with meals made from rare monsters, exotic herbs, and aether-infused ingredients. Her palate had grown sharp. Her expectations, sharper.

And now? Now she stared down at this watery excuse of a stew and her expression blanked.

She sat alone at an empty table, bowl in hand. Her scarf hung loosely on her head, tilting with the weight of silent judgment.

“…This is actually painful,” she muttered.

Then she remembered Kei’s words.

With Nature Force, you could probably grow better vegetables…

Her eyes narrowed. Just a sliver.

With a quiet inhale, she placed her hand over the edge of her bowl and began to channel the little aether she could gather. It wasn’t much. Her body was still weak, this world’s physics weighed differently on her form. But Nature responded, even if faintly.

The vegetables in her stew shimmered for a brief moment. Not visibly to others, but to her? The flavor profile shifted. The nutrients deepened. The taste elevated—not to god-tier levels, but enough to make it not taste like disappointment and chalk.

She took a bite. Her eyes widened slightly. Chewed again.

“…Okay. That’s better.”

Around her, the other girls ate in silence—some glancing her way, wondering why she looked more satisfied than she should be.

But Silvie didn’t boast.

She simply stirred the upgraded stew with her spoon, feeling the hum of life under her fingertips, and thought—

I’m not dying in this time period. I’ll get back.

Soon, a thin, frail girl limped toward the food area—walking meekly, struggling to balance the weight of her tray. Her arms shook. Every step looked like it might be her last.

Seeing her, Silvie immediately stood from her seat and rushed over, her instincts overriding everything else. She gently took the girl’s elbow, guiding her toward the table with careful, steady movements.

“Let’s get you off your feet,” she said softly, helping her sit down without jostling her fragile limbs.

The girl winced slightly as she lowered herself, but managed a whisper: “Thank you.”

Even those two words seemed like they’d drained her strength.

Silvie watched as she shakily picked up her spoon. And honestly, calling it eating was generous. Every movement looked calculated—slow, cautious, like she was bracing for her body to betray her at any moment.

They sat in silence at first, but Silvie couldn’t help but observe her. The girl’s arms trembled constantly. Her ribs were visible through her thin clothes. She flinched at even the slightest movement, like pain was always just one breath away.

Then it happened.

A faint crack.

Silvie froze.

Her head snapped to the side, watching as the girl’s lips tightened, her eyes twitching as she forced herself to stay still.

“Is it me,” Silvie whispered, “or did I just hear her bone crack?”

The girl smiled weakly, stifling a moan of pain. “I’m sorry… I have really frail bones. They break really easily,” she said with a soft, almost apologetic laugh.

Silvie blinked—stunned.

But then quickly recovered, waving a hand gently. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m the one who should apologize. Sorry for staring.”

She laughed lightly to ease the tension, but inside, her thoughts were racing.

Osteogenesis imperfecta, she realized.

She extended a hand, but hesitated halfway, pulling it back. A handshake would probably hurt her.

“I’m Silv—uh, I mean, I’m Sanu,” she said, correcting herself with a small, awkward smile.

The girl looked up shyly. Her gaze flickered between Silvie and her bowl, like she wasn’t used to talking to anyone.

“…Hi,” she finally said. “My name is Mia. Mia Tuvalu.”

Tuvalu? That’s… not from this era, Silvie thought.

Still, she didn’t push it. Instead, she gave Mia a warm smile and focused her force.

With a quiet breath, she let her Nature Force seep into Mia’s food. Just a little. Just enough to elevate the nutritional value. The vegetables shimmered faintly for a second—barely noticeable—before returning to normal.

Mia took a bite.

And stopped.

Her eyes widened. “So good…” she whispered, almost in disbelief. Then smiled for real—for the first time.

“Hehehe… just wait till my friend Kei finds out how good today’s food is,” she added playfully, her voice still weak but filled with a kind of teasing warmth.

Silvie froze.

“…Kei?” she echoed in her thoughts. Her brow twitched.

He sure works quick.

She looked at Mia again—this shy, tiny, breakable girl—and couldn’t help the small grin tugging at her lips.

Of course he befriended her.