The wind howled through the towering spires of the Windspire Citadel, a bone-chilling gust that seemed to slice through the very air itself. I stood at the edge, gazing out over the Drakmoor Plains, the vast land stretching out before me, dotted with rocky outcroppings and scattered wild grass that swayed like the slow breath of some ancient, sleeping beast. My breath formed a visible cloud in the cold air as I gripped the hilt of the sword in my hand.
I had no real reason to be here, standing alone on the highest point of the citadel. The city of Eryndor, nestled in the distance like some twisted jewel, was alive with noise—fires burning in the streets, laughter spilling from the taverns, the rhythmic clang of swords against metal from the training grounds below. I was supposed to be down there, training. I was supposed to be preparing for the next tournament, the one that would define my future.
But I wasn't there.
No, I had come here. To the top of this wind-beaten tower. Alone.
The sword. It called to me.
I hadn't always understood it, this connection between myself and the blade. It was just a thing, a weapon my mother had left behind when she disappeared all those years ago. A gift—or a curse—depending on how you looked at it. No one in the clan could explain it, not even the elders. They'd told me to keep it close, to guard it. They'd told me it was important.
But what was I supposed to do with it?
It had never felt alive in my hands. It was just... a sword. Heavy. Cold. Simple in design. The engraving along the blade was beautiful, I supposed, but it meant nothing to me. I never felt the surge of magic when I held it. No overwhelming power. No divine connection. Just the chill of the metal against my palm and the weight of the past pressing down on me.
Until now.
The storm was coming.
Dark clouds rolled in from the horizon like a blanket smothering the sky, the wind picking up again, stronger now, pulling at the edges of my cloak. My eyes narrowed as I watched the clouds swirl, twisting in unnatural patterns. Something wasn't right. The air had changed, heavy with anticipation, charged with energy.
I felt it in my chest. My heart began to race, thumping against my ribs like it was trying to escape. And for the first time in years, I felt something. Alive. Something waking inside me.
My fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword, and the air around me seemed to grow colder, more oppressive. The ground beneath my boots vibrated slightly, as if the earth itself was trembling. My gaze shifted toward the blade, the strange engraving that had always fascinated me, and for a fleeting moment, I could've sworn the sword glowed faintly, its runes shimmering in the gathering storm.
The voice came.
"Awaken, Kaito. The time has come."
I froze, my heart skipping a beat. My pulse thundered in my ears. I couldn't tell if the voice was in my head, or if I had heard it through the howling wind. It was faint, distant, but clear. And it felt... familiar. It felt like a part of me.
"Who—who's there?" I asked, my voice barely rising above the storm, a chill creeping up my spine. I looked around, but the tower was empty, just me and the sword.
No answer.
Only the voice, louder now, reverberating deep in my chest.
"Kaito..."
My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't real. This had to be a trick of the wind, a figment of my imagination. But there was something more to it, something that gnawed at the back of my mind. This wasn't just a whisper in my head. This was real.
My fingers shook around the hilt of the sword. I knew it. This wasn't just a random occurrence. The sword—this strange, rusted weapon—was the source of this power, this force.
I lifted it before me, the weight of it suddenly heavy in my hands. The storm overhead seemed to crackle with energy, the clouds swirling faster, darker. I could feel the world around me tightening, the very air becoming thick with magic. For the first time, I didn't feel like I was standing alone in the wind. I felt like I was part of something far bigger than myself.
The blade trembled.
And then, the lightning struck.
I didn't see it coming. One moment, the sky was just a gathering mass of dark clouds, and the next... it shattered. A bolt of violet lightning struck the citadel with a deafening roar, the force of it shaking the very stones beneath my feet. I was thrown back, my vision blurring from the impact, my ears ringing from the explosion of sound.
But I didn't feel pain.
I felt... alive.
The sword in my hand pulsed—pulsed with power. The engravings along its length flared to life, glowing with a fierce, violet light. I couldn't look away from the sword. It was as though I were staring at something far beyond my comprehension, something that was connected to me in ways I couldn't even begin to understand.
The voice came again, now a deep, resonating roar that shook my very soul.
"You are the bearer, Kaito. The Echo of Arcanum is yours to wield. Awaken, and claim your destiny."
I staggered back, my hands trembling. My mind raced. Echo of Arcanum? What did that even mean?
I could feel something stirring deep within me, something ancient. The sword wasn't just a weapon. It was a key. A key to unlocking something far greater than I had ever imagined. The air was thick with the pull of it, and I felt a deep, unshakable connection to that power, as if I had always been meant to wield it.
The storm above me intensified. A low, guttural growl rumbled through the clouds, and suddenly, I realized—this wasn't just a storm. It was a manifestation of something older, something primal.
The sword... it was calling me.
The wind lashed at my face, the rain beginning to pour in torrents, but I stood there, frozen in place, unable to tear my eyes away from the sword. My heart thundered in my chest, and for the first time in my life, I knew the truth.
This wasn't just about me.
The sword wasn't a relic of some long-dead family—it was the key to something unknown. The key to my fate.
But it wasn't just that. The sword... it wanted something from me.
The winds howled once more, and the clouds twisted, pulling tight around the citadel. I could feel the power of the storm building, the energy surging through me. The sword was alive. I could feel its pulse in my very bones. It wanted to awaken. And I—
I was the one it had been waiting for.
My fingers tightened around the hilt. I had no choice.
I wasn't just the boy who had been raised by the Drakmoor Clan, a mere orphan without a past, without a purpose. I wasn't just the one who had always struggled to fit in, to find his place. I wasn't just the weak, unremarkable teenager who stood apart from the warriors and sorcerers of my clan.
I was something more.
I was the wielder of the Echo of Arcanum.
And I had been chosen.
The storm above me screamed its fury, but I stood tall, my chest heaving with the weight of the sword. The air was alive with energy, crackling with the magic of ancient forces I barely understood.
And still, I felt it—the pull.
A voice echoed in my mind, its words now clearer than ever:
"The time has come, Kaito."
I raised the sword high. The lightning crackled again, but this time, it wasn't a strike from above. It was from within me, the sword thrumming with energy, its power awakening.
I was ready.
And whatever came next, I would face it.