In the chamber of industry, a young soul diligently danced upon the keys of a contraption, stealing fleeting glances at the timepiece before returning to the luminescent screen, steadfastly immersed in his tasks.
For an enduring stretch, he had inhabited this realm. As the cloak of night descended upon the ninth hour, the young man retraced his path homeward to a humble abode, contemplating it solemnly, murmuring softly to himself, "At long last, a reprieve from toil. Tempus has traversed notably—nearly nine lunar cycles, should my reckoning hold true."
Surveying the surroundings, he discerned it as a domain but remained oblivious to its precise identity.
Nine lunar cycles had he journeyed here, yet the welfare of his kin—parents and a younger sibling—remained veiled beyond the distant horizon. Mio lamented, "Ah, might a return lie within my grasp?"
During these nine cycles, sporadic were his ventures into the revered confines of the system's training ground, seeking augmentation for his corporeal form.
Despite the trials endured, Mio did not spurn these physical tribulations.
Casting a glance at the calendar, he pondered, "On the morrow, the seventh day arrives, extending respite. A fitting moment to revisit the training grounds anon. Therein lies the quest to unravel the realm of this Kamen Rider."
With weariness descending upon him, he succumbed to slumber upon the bedstead. At the break of dawn, Mio awoke with vigor, hastening through preparations, nourishing himself, and venturing towards the training ground.
After sixty intervals, he emerged, his physical vessel adorned with bruises, his gait faltering.
Providentially, the system's curative spell swiftly restored him. The remnants of injuries dissipated, and Mio embarked upon the thoroughfare.
Surveying the expanse, contemplating deeply, "Which dominion does this realm encapsulate? Shall revelation unfold with the unraveling of this quest?"
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