Hjálmarr's fist shot out, striking Alexander square on the face. Alexander crashed back down into the ground.

'Dammit.'

Alexander winced, his eyes watering and his head throbbing. "Didn't know you were this strong, dude," he muttered as he shakily stood up. "Shouldn't have you been able to put up a fight against those Golden Dawn attackers?"

"Golden Dawn?" Hjálmarr asked.

"Yeah, that's what those attackers are called," Alexander said, patting off the slight dirt on his clothes. "They're basically a terrorist group."

"Ah. Well, either way, I wasn't expecting such a quick counterattack. All it took was for that man to slam my head into the ground, I suppose," he said, rubbing his chin. "Strange event, overall."

Alexander shot his fist out at Hjálmarr. He was using that split second of a distraction.

But Hjálmarr simply tilted his head to the side. "I told you I wouldn't attack you until you hit me. Until then, the training's practically pointless," he reminded him.

"Okay, but you just hit me."

"You're still holding back, my liege," Hjálmarr said.

Alexander didn't respond to that. He simply grit his teeth and continued jabbing his fists at the elf. Well... at the air surrounding him.

With each of his movements, Alexander continued drenching himself in magic energy. Even as Hjálmarr continued, bobbing his head to the side, stepping back and forth to evade the attacks, Alexander was still getting faster, his strikes more precise and filled with force.

And with that, Alexander drove his fist into the elf's gut. A second impact burst, digging even deeper into his chest. That was Alexander's trademark magic attack.

Hjálmarr was quick to counter. He drew his fist back and readied himself.

'Again!' Alexander urged himself.

Alexander slammed his energy-dense fist into Hjálmarr's jaw, just as Hjálmarr's hand crashed onto the side of Alexander's head.

'He's different now!' Hjálmarr thought with glee. 'He's using a left jab immediately after the right! Even after reacting to my own attack! He's growing!'

Again, Alexander punched. And now...

Hjálmarr caught Alexander's fist.

Hjálmarr cleared his throat. "That was brilliant," he said. "But..."

That single word made Alexander let out a sigh. They had been "training" for nearly the past half hour. And even then, it was just Alexander trying to hit Hjálmarr.

That was the first step, apparently.

"A double impact," Hjálmarr noted. "That move stems from the flow of magic energy inside your already superhuman body. That's quite a move. An average magician wouldn't understand it as it hit him. And its power... The force behind this attack is magnificent. Or it would be. To an average magician."

Alexander paused, retracting his fist. "Wait, but weren't you just saying I have to increase the speed of the flow?"

"Yes. After all, most magicians have to consciously flow magic energy through their bodies. But!"

Hjálmarr continued with passion. "Thinking of your body as separate parts is what delays your energy. You're not wrong with your flow. But you're stuck there." He traced his hand across his chest. "The usual process is bringing magic energy from your core and spreading it through your limbs. That's what average magicians have to do. Are you fine with being just that? An average magician?"

"No."

"No!" Hjalmarr echoed. "And that's precisely it! Do you think with your intestines? Do you feel emotions with your brain? Listen. As a living being, you exist in your own entirety. With your mind, your body, and your soul. It's so obvious that everyone takes that concept for granted."

Alexander's eyes widened as Hjálmarr spoke. "Hjálmarr... Thank you... I think I understand now."

"Looks like we're done talking. I won't go easy on you, my liege."

"Good," Alexander responded as he grinned.

Hjalmarr smiled in return. 'Go all out, my liege. Get stronger! And head to new heights!'

It is impossible for the "hand" to advance faster than the "eye".

The eye judges and discerns quality, while the hand creates and sculpts. If you don't have an eye to understand quality, you cannot create quality with your own hand. This is the truth for all skills, talents, and abilities.

The rate of growth for those who possess the "eye" eclipses those who don't.

That's what Alexander understood, just as he once again coated his clenched fists with energy.

As he swallowed his saliva, he prepared himself. And with that, Alexander drove his fist back into Hjálmarr's jaw.

Hjálmarr was about a head taller than Alexander. Sure, Alexander was somewhat muscular, but he was feeble in a contest of physical power compared to Hjálmarr, an older, taller, and stronger Elven warrior.

That's what Hjálmarr thought, at least. Until Alexander's fist struck back towards the bottom of his jaw.

Every nerve in Hjálmarr's head shivered. His brain wobbled just like his vision as he took a staggered step backward.

'His raw power is... exquiste!'

He smiled even as his jaw throbbed and ached in pain. 'Despite his size, he's already stronger than me. And even without magic energy, his attacks are effective.'

And from there, Alexander struck again into Hjálmarr's chest. First, his fist. And secondly, pure energy.

The delayed hit burst into Hjálmarr's chest, knocking the air from his lungs as it pushed him back and dragged his feet against the ground.

Still... This wasn't what Hjálmarr was looking for. This wasn't what Alexander was supposed to do.

'But this... This delayed impact... It's... It's...'

"All wrong!" he shouted into the forest.

Despite the immense pain from Alexander's hits, Hjálmarr wasn't fazed. All he was focused on was the problems in Alexander's combat abilities.

"No, no, no!" he cried in frustration. "You're doing it wrong!"

Alexander slowly lowered his fists. "...What?"

"When you use magic energy to surround your fist... You use it for a double impact. So it's your strength, followed immediately by magic energy."

"Well, yeah. I do that on purpose."

"But consider this," he said with a smile. "Both impacts at the same time."

Hjálmarr continued, wiping the slight blood at the side of his lip. "I saw it earlier. When you saved my life. Your strike against that attacker glowed with blue light. That light was pure magic energy. But it didn't last long. It was simple cause and effect. Magic energy bursting on impact. It's an imperfect attack. Even so... It just proves what you're capable of, my liege. You... can bring forth the White Light."

Alexander stared at the palm of his right hand. As he thought to himself, he clenched his fist one finger at the time. White Light was nothing short of an impossible technique. It required willpower, patience, perception, and above all, precision.

Even so...

"You're a smart, creative person, Alexander. I can tell. But you could do much more. Don't settle for the power you already have. Understand?"

Hjálmarr's words cleared the mist of doubt in Alexander's mind. Hjálmarr had chosen his words carefully. He didn't refer to Alexander as his liege, but rather by name. And that was what he needed to hear.

Alexander swallowed his saliva and look up at him. "...Yeah. Yeah," Alexander said, a thin smile spreading across his lips. "I get it now. Thanks. That's-"

Hjálmarr's fist shot out at Alexander. And they continued.

Anastasia was sitting on a dull stone, watching them from just a few meters away.

It wasn't long before Alexander was once again kncoked back down by Hjálmarr. This time, he landed just a few feet from Anastasia. He looked up at Anastasia staring at him, still seated on the rock.

She simply smiled as their eyes met.

"What?" Alexander asked. "We're training."

"It's just hilarious how your definition of training is getting beat up."

"Well... It's accurate."

"It really isn't."

Alexander smiled back. "If it isn't, then why do I feel so great right now?"

"You're just a masochist."

"...What's a masochist?"

Hjálmarr cleared his throat and interrupted. "Alexander, my liege," as he approached them.

Alexander shot up from the ground and turned to Hjálmarr. As if he wasn't weird for having a conversation on the ground. "Yeah?" he said.

Hjálmarr's hand smacked Alexander's face.

"Emotions are valuable for magicians," he said, as Alexander rubbed the side of his face in slight pain.

He continued. "Especially negative ones. Anger, fear, so on and so forth. I'm sure you already know that. It's magic 101, after all. But the same is in reverse. Mishandling energy when angered, or fearful, or desperate... It wastes your skills, wastes your magic, and will only end in defeat."

Hjálmarr turned and looked up at the sky. "You see... A common myth in the world of magic is... You cannot grow beyond the amount of magic energy you are born with. Just a myth."

Upon hearing those words, Anastasia swallowed her saliva.

"It... Increasing your magic, molding your very own energy... It's possible through the White Light."

"What'd you say?" she asked, hopping off from the stone.

"Through the White Light, a magician can change their very core of magic energy," he said, looking down and facing Anastasia. "And through that, they can grow. And of course, with more energy, one can enact stronger attacks, swifter strikes, et cetera."

So... White Light is the fastest, surest way to get stronger. Only problem is the near impossible odds necessary to achieve it.

Hjálmarr clapped his hands. "Which is exactly why I'm teaching it to you. I haven't been able to pull it off, myself, but that doesn't matter. I know exactly what to teach you, my liege. Come," he said, patting Alexander on the back.

"We have work to do."

Hours quickly passed by and it was already night on Vanaheim.

Alexander was sitting on the ground, staring up at the starry night sky and the dual moons that adorned the Vanaheim sky.

"You know..." Grisha began to say as he approached Alexander. "Vanaheim has three moons. But there's this biannual phenomenon that-"

"Yeah, I know," Alexander said, still fixated on the sky. "I've researched things like this about the other realms. It's fun to learn about these kinds of things."

Grisha didn't respond. He simply sat down on the stone behind Alexander, the same one Anastasia sat on a few hours prior.

And so, they sat in silence, staring up at the sky.

It wasn't long for Grisha to initiate another conversation. "Demon-Born... Why do you train so hard?"

"'Cause I'm weak," Alexander immediately responded, without regard for being called that.

"I don't have any magic affinities," Alexander continued. "So it's not like I can get stronger the same way as everyone else. My options are more limited. So... All I have to do is keep going. Keep trying. And keep improving. That's all I can afford."

Grisha chuckled at that. "But what do you mean 'no affinity'?"

Alexander turned to him, confused. "It means what it is. I don't have an affinity."

Grisha jumped off of the rock. "Wrong."

Still confused, Alexander swallowed his saliva. "People- Well, humans develop affinities at certain ages. We don't develop anything past the age of twelve or thirteen. I'm fifteen. Still no affinity. So... No affinity."

"You had a seal on your magic energy, correct?" Grisha asked, looking back up at the sky.

"Y-yeah, but..."

"You didn't develop an affinity because of that."

"How'd you know about that?" Alexander said.

Grisha chuckled in response. "How did I know you were a Demon-Born? How did I know you were after the God Crystal? There are things that are impossible to know. And yet, I know them."

He finally turned and faced Alexander. "I see more than I'm supposed to," he muttered. "Stand up," Grisha commanded.

"Why?" Alexander asked as he stood up.

"Well, now I'm not gonna tell you; you already stood up and everything."

Alexander spat out a sigh. 'Yeah, that's fair.'

But those thoughts were interrupted as Grisha pressed his hand against Alexander's chest. "Darkness."

"...Huh?"

"That's your affinity. Darkness," he said, retracting his hand.

"Wait, really?" Alexander asked, staring at his hands.

Again, Grisha thrust out his hand. But this time, it wasn't a slight press. Rather, Grisha slammed his palm into Alexander's chest.

Alexander's eyes widened. He coughed, spit and saliva bursting from his mouth as he feel to his knees. His throat constricted.

He quickly wrapped his hands around his throat, struggling for breath.

"Calm down, Demon-Born. You're okay."

Alexander was not okay. His very heart was burning in his chest, singeing pain coursing through his veins with each breath and each heartbeat.

"Up," Grisha ordered, grabbing Alexander by his shoulders and shaking him.

Alexander's eyes were stained with tears as they began to glow with pale light. And with that pale light, Alexander began to breathe. Slow and labored, he took in air and swallowed his saliva.

And as Grisha let go... Alexander's hands turned pitch-black. His arms were wrapped in darkness. Only for a second.

With a single blink and a breath, the darkness disappeared.

"Oh, God. What the hell was that?" he asked, his eyes still wide as he looked up at Grisha.

Grisha simply smiled and let him go, laughing as he turned away. "That's who you really are," he said, walking back into the cabin.

Alexander stood in silence and belief, staring at his hands as he breathed in shaky breaths. "Fuck," he mumbled to himself.

"What does 'fuck' mean?" Morgana asked.

A slight gasp left his lips. "Oh. Don't, uh... Don't use that word, Morgana," he said to her, looking down at his side where she stood. How long had she even been there?

"Why not?"

"It's a... just a bad word." That was all he said, before giving her a thumbs-up as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Morgana stared at him with the same dark, clouded eyes as usual. "So are you really going to take me to Midgard?" she asked.

Alexander smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

"Is Midgard as great as they say?"

He paused. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. It's actually the best realm out of all the nine. Well, I guess people can be mean sometimes. But it's like that pretty much everywhere. Either way... You're gonna love Midgard."

Morgana stared at the ground. "But they say the passage to the World Tree is dangerous. And now more than ever. Grisha told me about tribulation or something. And... And..."

Alexander crouched down to her height and smiled as his eyes met hers. "Doesn't matter. As long as you're with us, you'll be safe. I'm gonna get you to Midgard."

He extended his pinky finger at her. "It's a promise."

She stared at his finger, confused. "...What?"

"A pinky promise. I'm pretty sure kids still do that. You don't know what it is?"

Morgana shook her head.

"Alright, fair enough." Alexander grabbed her wrist and wrapped her pinky around his.

"So basically," he said. "It's a promise that supersedes all other promises. Like I said, I'm getting you to Midgard. And not just that. The Curse of the Demon-Borns. Your curse. I... I'm going to dispel it. That... That's what I'm promising," Alexander said with a grin.

For the first time throughout the day, Alexander saw Morgana smile. She grinned as she stared at their interlocked fingers and at Alexander's words.

That was all Alexander needed to see.

"It's a promise!" she said between her slight giggling.

And that was all Alexander needed to hear. He took in a deep breath.

"It's a promise," Alexander agreed, still staring at her. He stood back up and gently placed his hand atop her head. And with that, he patted her head and ruffled her hair. Quieter this time, he repeated, "It's a promise."

- - - - -

Archibald was sitting in his office, doing his usual, boring, annoying work. Well, he was in one of his offices. For some reason, each Paladin had more than one office.

And Archibald... For some grand reason... Well, the great Sir Charles Archibald had five offices.

He always hated that concept. And he always hated the title 'sir'.

It was then that a brown-haired woman knocked on his already open door. "Evening, Sir Charles Archibald."

"..."

The woman laughed. Each of the Paladins understood how much he hated the title itself. And so, she spat out a hearty sigh as she sat down.

"...Good evening, Eisenberg," he finally said, his voice still stale.

Again, Eisenberg spat out a sigh. "Come on, dude. We're still on a last name basis?" she asked. "Would've thought we were friends but I guess not. I mean, honestly... I'm a bit hurt, y'know?"

Archibald dropped his head down and quickly raised it back up. "Fine. Fine, then. Good evening, Diane," he said, his voice tinged with frustration.

Eisenberg smiled as Archibald said her name. Now cheerful, she crossed her legs and began to speak. "So... What's up?"

"Vanaheim."

Her smile quickly faded. "I thought you sent those kids over there. I'm not sure I follow."

"You know what Hohenheim's doing with the Golden Dawn, correct?"

Eisenberg nodded. "He's basically a spy."

"Damn, you didn't have to say it out loud," Archibald muttered, letting out a sigh. "But whatever." He raised his head, his blue-green eyes meeting hers. "We now know that the Golden Dawn is on Vanaheim. Roughly 750 soldiers. Plus three or four 'Titans', as they call themselves."

"Shit."

Archibald chuckled. "I know, right?"

"Okay, I know I'm a Paladin and all... But I don't think I can handle three or four people on the same general level as a Paladin. That's what they're supposed to be right? Like just, the counterparts for us?"

He nodded. "Yeah, pretty much," Archibald responded, his eyes scanning over the papers on his desk. "But you don't have to fight."

Archibald looked up. "...Well, you do. Just not all of them. You're supposed to deter them. In any way you can. Blow up one of their boats or something. Something simple and easy. Quick, y'know?"

She nodded in understanding. "What about the God Crystal-"

"Nope." Archibald quickly shook his head. "This is supposed to be quick. The Virtues are after the God Crystal. And you..." He flashed a toothy grin as he handed her one of the papers on his desk.

"You're going after the Golden Dawn. Understand?"

Eisenberg stared at the sheet of paper. A wry smile grew on her lips. "Yeah, I understand," she said. She set down the paper. "I won't let you down."