"He's not just a normal blacksmith," the old lady continued.
"He fought beside those heroes. Shoulder to shoulder. Hammer in one hand, blade in the other. People say he was a monster pretending to be a craftsman."
Shun raised a brow. "A blacksmith that fights… wut the helly."
"After the war," she said, "he vanished. And the heroes?… they stepped into a portal."
She pointed vaguely upward.
"They called it Floor 2."
Shun blinked.
"…Floor what?"
"Floor 2," she repeated calmly. "That's what humans called it."
"Humans?" Shun echoed.
The old lady turned and squinted at him.
"Right… you're northern-born."
"…Yeah?"
"Then you haven't seen them," she said.
Shun scratched his cheek. "Seen what exactly?"
"The ones from beyond," she replied. "The outsiders. The ones who climb."
She studied his face.
"But you've heard of them… at least?"
Shun smiled stiffly.
Inside his head:
Fuck. I should've listened in class.
"Humans…" Shun pressed his palm to his forehead.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drag something — anything — useful out of his academy memories.
Lessons. Lectures. Diagrams. Important world knowledge.
Instead—
A crystal clear image of him testing an exploding pen in the middle of class.
The pen detonated.
The desk vanished.
The teacher fainted.
"Noooo…" Shun groaned.
He tried again, harder this time. Come on. Humans... Floors... Portals... Important stuff.
Another memory surfaced.
Him standing on a table.
The headmaster yelling.
A pile of confiscated explosives in a crate.
And Shun, proudly flipping him off.
"FUCK!" Shun hissed, dragging his hands down his face.
Then he forced himself to try again.
This time a classroom showed up in his head.
A rare one where he was actually sitting down and not being chased out.
His professor stood in front of a massive floating map. The thing was huge, glowing lines cutting the land into sections.
"This," the professor said, slapping the pointer against it, "is the continent of Lumenoxis."
Shun squinted in the memory, half listening.
"Our continent is divided into four major regions."
The pointer moved south.
"The South. A land swallowed by forests.
Slide to the east.
"The East. Once the center of ancient civilizations.
West.
"The West. The most advanced civilization we currently have."
Then the pointer tapped north.
"The North… here we are."
The professor tapped the lower edge of the map.
"Our kingdom is here," the professor said, pointing at the bottom edge of the northern landmass.
"The southern border of the North. Right at the edge sits the Dark Sea. That sea connects every continent."
The pointer dragged across the map.
"Each continent developed its own culture, its own ecosystem, its own sets of monsters… You step onto another land without preparation, you die."
Tap.
"And every continent houses a Gate… These Gates connect to other worlds touched by the World Tree. We don't control when they open. We only prepare for when they do."
A few students shifted in their seats.
"Every year or so, a Gate activates. New beings emerge. Some survive. Most don't. The latest arrivals call themselves humans."
A hand went up.
"Professor? What is a human?"
He paused, adjusting his glasses.
"A good question. We're still studying them. For reasons we don't fully understand, humans rarely survive in the North.
He looked over the class.
"But physically… They look exactly like you. If one sat beside you right now, you wouldn't know the difference."
Silence hung for a second before the lecture continued.
"Humans generally don't differ much from us Sylvarians," the professor continued.
"Bone structure, organs, lifespan — close enough that early scholars thought we shared an origin.
He tapped the small crystallized flower growing from his head… It shimmered faintly under the classroom light.
"This."
Murmurs rolled through the room.
Some students leaned forward. Others instinctively touched their own heads.
"When will mine grow?" a girl blurted out, fingers pressed against her hair like she could feel it coming early.
A few laughs followed.
The professor folded his hands behind his back.
"You shouldn't rush it," he said calmly. "Crystallization marks adulthood, your body changes to match your core. Growth varies from person to person."
The girl slowly lowered her hand.
"And before any of you start getting excited," he added, voice flat, professional, "the process is painful, your nerves reorganize, your skull reshapes. You will feel it…"
"Every second of it."
The room went quiet.
Crystallization… the part every young Boreafloria dreads and waits for at the same time.
A messed up little coming-of-age ritual the body forces on you whether you like it or not.
At sixteen, no exceptions.
The bloom starts as pressure.
A headache that doesn't leave. Then the bone shifts. Skin tightens. Something hard pushes from underneath.
Most kids scream through it, some pass out halfway and wake up with dried tears on their face.
And when it's over—
A crystallized flower sits on their head.
Proof you survived.
Proof you're an adult now.