Chapter 3: I Accept (1)

Ryker sat up from his bed. It was a dingy, wood and straw construction that had a solid and trustworthy quality to it that one wouldn't expect. Any Crafter with a keen eye could tell you just how meticulous the care that went into constructing it was, not that many were worthy of such a title to begin with.

"Come here, little guy."

Ryker hid his wince with a smile, beckoning a small floating mirror over to him. Despite the pain he was in, the smile itself was quite genuine. It held every bit the charm and charisma it had in the past, not marred by the baggy and torn cheap linen clothing he wore at all.

As charming as Ryker appeared, though, the small mirror before him now definitely felt out of place. It wasn't that it was low class, in fact it was quite high class. The main issue was that it was overly feminine.

The small mirror didn't have a handle and was about the size of two palms. Shaped like a circle, it had a polished, silver exterior that curled into flowery designs. Even now, it had not a speck of dust on it, having received a diligent polish from Ryker everyday it had been in his life.

No matter how one looked at it, this was the mirror of a noble lady. It had no business being in possession of a young man like Ryker, and it most definitely shouldn't have been floating about as though it had a mind of its own.

Ryker continued with his daily routine, bringing out a silk cloth that had dried through the night to wipe the small mirror down. His actions were delicate and gentle, as though he was caressing a lover rather than a mere object.

The small mirror released a subtle vibration. It was weak, but Ryker caught it with the sensitivity of the tips of his fingers.

Ryker's smile widened, 'Soon. Very soon.'

Once Ryker completed his small mirror's daily cleanse, he crossed his legs, closed his eyes and settled his breathing.

A light glow began to form at the center of his brows, spreading out at a slow but steady pace. The light started to pulse, drawing out a light from Ryker's forehead to the small mirror floating before. As time passed, the line became thicker, and the light began to spread over the small mirror's body as it had done to Ryker.

Whenever Ryker entered this state of mediation, he couldn't help but remember past events. These ones were even more vivid than his dreams, but that was what he got for having such talent.

From his birth, Ryker had always had a very pure soul. With this pure soul came talent the likes of which was rarely seen. If not for a mistake he had made as a child, his current situation wouldn't be so bad. Even that might be an understatement. The life he was living now versus the one he could have been living was like comparing a muddy swamp to the bright sun.

Ryker had no one to blame but himself. It was his own childishness that led to the mistake in the first place and his own stubbornness that still had him dealing with it.

That was what Ryker loved the most, though. Living life by his own terms, his own rules. The only shackles he would allow to bind him were ones of his own choosing. And this small little mirror… was definitely a shackle.

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Memories of himself as a three-year-old child playing with his mother's mirror replayed in his mind.

"Don't…!"

Ryker's eyes snapped open once again, the connection between himself and the small mirror snapping.

A cold sweat covered Ryker's forehead, his heartbeat following an erratic rhythm.

Ryker shook his head. It was just too real. He could replay his memories in such vivid detail that it was almost as though he was reliving that moment. They say that that was a talent of those with pure souls, but why did it feel so much like a curse instead?

Ryker chuckled to himself. It was quite funny, he got so much anxiety from watching himself do something stupid. He still called out like a fool every time despite how many years had passed since then.

His 21st birthday was already approaching. He had had 18 long years to learn to accept this. And, he believed he had. It was just that whenever he remembered these memories, all the emotions attached to every moment since he could comprehend he had made a mistake was attached to it as well.

You could say that Ryker's perfect memory was the bane of his existence.

Ryker stood from his small bed, beginning another routine that ensured his body's flexibility. He carefully stretched out all of his limbs, completing stunts that would make even a contortionist proud, before he began with his more physically demanding exercising.

The sky was still dark by the time Ryker returned to his small shack. However, what had changed were the beads of sweat falling down his body.

Just because he was still at the first level of the Enlightenment Realm, didn't mean that he used it as an excuse to neglect his training in other aspects. The contours of Ryker's body could have been carved out into a golden ratio, everything from his broad shoulders, sculpted torso and powerful limbs was worth a look of appreciation. It was just unfortunate that despite looking the part, he didn't have much strength to show for it, thus the bruises that covered his ribcage with grotesque green, brown and mustard yellow splotches.

Ryker never trained in clothing since he only had a single set, so he simply bypassed his small cabin, stepped through a clearing of woods, and strode into a small lake to clean himself up.

Ryker slid a hand through his long black hair. The small mirror bobbed above the waters, following along with him as usual.

With a sudden movement, Ryker sent out a straight punch through the water. A small wave rose, surging toward the small mirror and threatening to swallow it whole.

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