[Floor Twelve]

  Flaring: The basic act of engulfing one's body in Anima, used for empowering and replenishing.

  Coating: Derived by Flaring, it precisely applies Anima to one’s body part or object.

  ***

  Under the beating sun, Lodio’s eyes were closed, his shaggy hair blowing over his eyes.

  “Focus on that fire-ya… extinguish it…”

  In that fiery soul, it dimmed and grew smaller and smaller till it billowed out.

  “Good! But now, you can’t use your Anima until you flare it again. Like a trade-off,” Poppy explained. “You may be wondering on now to mask your Anima and use it, right?” A smirk.

  “Advanced technique?”

  “Yes! It’s an advanced technique where you let your Anima leak into the air. We call it Concealing!” Demonstrating, Poppy’s inner Anima fizzled out. “Life breaths around-ya, so when using it, it coats or imbues into the air particles…” They paused. “As for Masking, it only hides Anima from an untrained user who can’t coat or imbue their eyes.”

  “That’s why I can’t see it,” Lodio said.

  “Now! Close your eyes and let your muscles relax.”

  Following her orders, he focused on that flame. Again. It swirled upward and crackled. Then, he continued, the flame beaconed upward—lighting up the darkness—and billowed out. Let it consume, let it fill in the particles, let it manifest.

  The air swayed his long hair, and he swore that he felt the thick, thin strands in his mouth. And god… How long hasn’t he properly washed it? That is a question that he did not want to answer.

  But, despite taking hours to learn Flaring and its advanced technique, Concealing was easier than pie. Around him, the Anima coated the air particles—visible to him but invisible to others, he assumed.

  “Good!” They chirped. “And now! It’s time to talk about your abilities.”

  Abilities?

  The vines, the golden thread, and the petals filled his mind.

  Poppy, now hovering in front of him, clasped their hands. With a head tilt, their lips parted: “Your petals and vines need a name! That’s how they become stronger! And your sword too.”

  Name?

  He had never named them before. In truth, he named them as he saw: a golden thread is a golden thread, petals are petals, and vines are vines, of course. But now? His mind lingered on the list of names.

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  Unsheathing his sword, he stared at the glinting blade. It reflected back his scuffed cheeks, his now-realized big eyes, and oil-black hair. On the blade, his name was engraved: Lodio Azhario.

  “,” he said, demonstrating the curling vines wrapped around his hand.

  And now for his golden thread?

  …Thread of Dawn.

  The vines withered and dissolved into dust. And now what was left was his sword and petals. Petals, petals, petals, repeating like a mantra.

  Death… blood turns into petals…

  A pause.

  He looked up. “.” It rolled off his tongue.

  “Okay! I can’t help-ya further… it’s in your hands to make it stronger.”

  “When I use my powers while using Concealing, can they see my Dogwood Requiem?”

  “They can’t see it… only if they’re highly advanced in seeing your Anima,” Poppy answered, holding a finger up.

  “Then, what can I do as a Shaper?”

  Smirking, Poppy answered, “You can move-ya Anima anywhere, as long as you use your ability.”

  Coating his blade with the Anima-infused petals, he sliced the air. With a sharp eye glint, the petals shot toward the concrete wall.

  One by one, they flopped and slumped against the wall.

  “Huh.” That word escaped his lips, barely audible over the wind.

  Giggling, Poppy shook their head. “I forgot to say that you have to announce what it do!”

  What should it do?

  Lowering his wielding hand, he pondered, his eyebrows furrowed. After a few seconds, he coated his blade again.

  “I intend it to be blade-sharped and linear,” Lodio declared.

  Trying it again, the petals lodged themselves into the wall.

  “I intend my Healing Vines to be unbreakable when stitched to a wound.”

  I intend my Thread of Dawn to guide my sword or fist toward my opponent’s weak points when the moment is presented.

  His mind flashed back to a forest with his father: “I intend to see.” Something so vague—was that the rule? Lodio pondered. But that pondering snapped like a twig; a burning feeling bubbled, threatening to escape.

  Now, looking at the hanging sun, his lips curled into a smirk. But, even when smirking, the faint cry echoed in the back of his mind. He ignored it.

  The hours blurred by. For most of it, Lodio trained, slept, trained, and slept again. Under Poppy’s guidance, he felt chains breaking. But judging by the book’s thickness, perhaps there were more than they let on.

  Now, outside of the book and in the library, he stared at the countdown. His heart thumped like a rabbit. And his lips? His lips were in that signature smirk. As the final ding echoed, his body started to dissolve into that familiar blue mist.

  Thanks, Poppy.

  ***

  Ding!

  [Welcome to the thirteenth floor!]

  “Ladies and gentlemen!”

  That voice again and again.

  “As you can see! This is the thirteenth floor! Seven more to go to become a Vagabonder. Now, you might be wondering why you’re in a dark manor. Well, let me explain! First: you will be playing hide and seek—and no! This is not another death fight. Second: you will be seeking the moving corndollies. Third: you need to find the correct one to proceed to the second floor. Beware! There are ten of you in this manor—thirty corndollies—and only five of them are valid. A six-hour timer. Good luck!”

  Ding!

  [Goal: find the correct corndolly (0/5) under six hours (0/6)]

  The only source of light was the translucent screen.

  A man next to him stepped forward and flashed a gummy grin. “That’s easy! All I need to do is to pick the right one!” With that, he surged forward, throwing himself on the floor.

  His arm swooped up a moving dolly. “Found ya!”

  “It’s not me! It’s not me!” The dolly said, waving its knotted arms. “I-i-I-it’s nottt….” It melted in the man’s arms.

  In the eerie silence, the man held that position, their eyes wider than the move. Then, a blood-curdling scream: his skin started to sizzle and melt; one eye drooped while the other popped out, his tongue elongated out of his mouth, and his hair thinned out. What was left was a puddle of flesh.

  “Whoops! I forgot to mention! Choose the wrong one… you die. Good luck!”

  Lodio stood there. All wide-eyed, mouth slightly open. The only thing he stared at was the—what was a man—flesh puddle and the rolling eye that stopped in front of his feet.

  The other climbers did the same.