It started with a low hum in my chest.
Faint, like a whisper.
The training field was quiet, save for the wind rustling through the grass. Lucian stood next to me, arms crossed. His eyes never left me, and I could see the tension in his stance, despite the calm he tried to project. He didn't speak. But I could feel his concern.
The pressure inside me was growing by the second.
I sank to my knees, fingers digging into the dirt. My body was trembling from the pain that burned in my chest. It felt like something was trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Lucian took a step forward, but I held up a hand. "I've got it," I said, breathless.
He didn't move again. Just watched.
Inside my body, the mana that had once flowed unhurriedly now flooded through me like a dam breaking. It flooded everything, like a storm. My vision blurred. The world tilted. I felt my feet leave the ground as if reality couldn't decide where I belonged.
Then came the mist.
Everything around me was covered in a gray mist. Inside the mist, a stream of light twisted and shimmered. The light within the mist shifted constantly, from crimson to white, as if reacting to something inside me.
And then,
I vanished.
Just for a second.
In one heartbeat, I was there. The next—I wasn't.
I felt myself shift through the world, slipping through something thin and unsteady, as though I had blinked into another space altogether. And when I came back, Lucian was staring with wide eyes.
"You phased," he whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.
I tried to answer, but another wave hit me.
This time, I saw echoes, echoes of warriors, visions of unknown lands, and a rift tearing space — all flashed before my eyes. It wasn't a memory. It wasn't a vision. It was something else entirely.
Something shifted. But I couldn't tell what.
And then the pain hit.
It was like being torn in half. My soul felt like it was trying to burn its way out of my body. I screamed, dropping to the ground, the mist around me lashing out in every direction.
Lucian moved to steady me but stopped when the air around me flickered.
The mist thickened. It was no longer passive, it began to take on a shape of its own. Curling up my spine, sinking into my skin. It responded to me. Like it was mine.
And from the center of that chaos, I felt it—a thread of something familiar.
Cold. Sharp. Waiting.
My core pulsed.
The mist burst out in every direction, then slowly gathered before me. Glowing with blinding light. Its hues shifted—just like before. From within the mist, something began to solidify, slowly taking shape.
Gradually, the pain started to lessen, its intensity fading. Pushing through the pain, I managed to rise to my knees.
At first, my eyes were unfocused, but slowly they sharpened. The air around me seemed to shift as if the world itself had paused. I turned my gaze toward the glowing mist. No longer chaotic, it now moved with a sense of purpose. As I watched, a strange feeling crept over me, as though something deep within me was connected to the mist—something it wanted to bring forth.
There was a pause, and then slowly the mist began to condense, drawing itself together. At first, it was a shapeless mass, moving in chaotic spirals but then it started forming.
The first shape it took was indistinct, like a swirling mass, twisting and folding in on itself. As time passed the edges became sharper, more defined.
Gradually, the form solidified. The first recognizable shape was a hilt, solid and firm. Then came the blade, stretching out from it, the edges becoming smoother, sharper.
Slowly, every detail began to take shape.
A sword
The air around the sword grew heavy, and thick with an almost tangible force. Every part of the blade seemed to hum with power.
The hilt was crafted with intricate patterns, engraved with symbols that shimmered faintly. The grip was wrapped in a dark cloth, smooth and without a single imperfection.
The blade, dark and ethereal, was unlike anything I had ever seen. The base of the blade was jet black, absorbing the light around it. The edges of the blade shimmered with a grayish hue.
The base of the blade seemed alive, as though the mist that had condensed into its form lingered within the dark center, swirling in quiet motion. The mist inside the blade had a deep crimson color.
Each flicker of light that passed through it felt as if the sword itself was reacting to the tension within me.
I couldn't help but feel a knot tighten in my chest as I stared at the sword. It wasn't just power. It was my power.
Kael's hand trembled slightly as it reached for the hilt, drawn to the sword as if it were an extension of his very being. His fingers brushed the dark cloth, smooth beneath his touch.
As his hand closed around the hilt, a pulse of energy surged through him, vibrating from the sword into his very soul. The mist inside the blade seemed to respond, as if the blade recognized him, and acknowledged his claim.
For a moment, he hesitated. The sword felt… heavy. Not in the physical sense, but in the way its power seemed to sink deep into his bones, filling him with an overwhelming sense of potential. The feeling of the blade in his hand was both terrifying and exhilarating, like holding a storm that could either destroy or protect.
His chest tightened, the knot of uncertainty now replaced with something else—something darker, stronger. It was as if the sword itself was whispering to him, urging him to accept its power, to unleash it.
Lucian's voice barely reached me, his words stagnant with disbelief. "Kael… is that—"
But I couldn't hear him. I couldn't think of anything except the blade in my hands, the power surging through me. The sword had awakened something deep inside me, something that I didn't recognize.
As I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm the storm of emotions within. The mist in the blade slowly shifted to a white hue. The change was subtle at first, but unmistakable. The violent pulsing of power began to soften, and with it, my mind cleared, just enough to focus.
Looking down at the sword in my hands, I saw a faint word etched along the blade, just before it connected to the hilt. The letters shimmered like smoke, twisting and blurring at the edges, but it was unmistakable. It was a word—clear, yet distorted, as though it existed in a language I couldn't quite grasp. The characters seemed to pulse, shifting slightly, as if they were on the verge of revealing their true meaning, but still veiled in a mist of uncertainty.
I couldn't make sense of it. But one thing was undeniable—the word felt important like it was tied to the sword, to me, in ways I couldn't yet understand.
The blade was long, with two sharp edges, symmetrical and perfectly balanced. It was made to be wielded with two hands, and though it looked unwieldy for someone my size, it felt right. The weight of the blade felt perfectly balanced. It was as if the sword had been made specifically for me, waiting for this very moment.
Looking at the sword in my hand, my mind spinning with the overwhelming power it held, there was only one thing I knew for certain. It wasn't a thought I had formed, nor a revelation that had come to me through logic. It was simply a truth that settled within me.
The blade had a name.
Spectral Tempest.