Floyd rushed toward the 'staff', circling it like an excited child. The red glow emanating from the orb pulsed violently.
"There's no doubt, this is my sword…" he said with a hint of regret.
Without lingering on Floyd's emotions, Thomas approached the shikomizue.
It looked like a simple matte black combat staff—no ornament, no visible seam for a blade. Thomas wasn't even sure it was actually a sword, nor what material it was made from. How could it be so light and yet seem sturdier than metal?
"...Hmm? A sword, you say?" said Thomas, intrigued.
"…"
Floyd didn't answer... He had said earlier that spirits were purely emotional. Just thoughts shaped into emotion. So managing their feelings must be incredibly unstable. This weapon must have reminded him of a strong, lingering memory. He didn't need to explain it—Thomas had figured it out.
Thomas didn't care about Floyd's emotions—no, rather, he wasn't even capable of focusing on his own, so how could he be expected to care about Floyd's? Come on, that's ridiculous.
He tried to draw the blade, but it remained a simple staff.
Thomas frowned.
'How strange…'
He kept examining the shikomizue for several minutes, trying to find some mechanism that would let it open. But whatever he did, nothing came out. Even 'open sesame' didn't work—just to give an idea. Had Floyd lied to him? Probably not…
Well, even if he couldn't draw it for now, even just as a staff it was more interesting than the other options. Simply because, despite seeming basic, a staff offered great versatility through its simplicity. For example, it could help manage distance, serve as a blunt weapon, a defensive tool, even a pivot for movement.
He was already excited to test the staff in real combat. Why was he suddenly so eager? Thomas wasn't a barbarian, yet here he was, imagining himself fighting off an army with a single staff. The idea itself was pretty absurd.
"Well, whatever. It'll do."
It was the very first time he truly wanted something. A first taste of happiness. A foreign emotion. But not unpleasant.
Thomas got rid of his sword and replaced it with his 'super staff'—which, according to Floyd, was supposedly a 'hidden blade.' From now on, it was his.
"Hey Floyd, wake up!"
"What?"
Floyd answered in an irritated voice.
"I listened to you carefully. Now I have a deal to propose. Take it or leave it."
"A deal?"
"Yes, you help me here, as best you can. In exchange, your goal—the thing that eats at you and keeps you anchored to this rotten world—let me handle it."
"…"
A short silence filled the room.
It was the only hope Thomas had. He had a plan, but without Floyd… everything would collapse for sure. Thomas wasn't stupid, he was just lost in an unfamiliar place with unknown rules and customs. For that, he needed an outside perspective.
"Zelvirah… I appreciate your concern for my story and my pain… But you know, following this path will slowly lead you to your death."
'Concern? Nonsense!'
"Floyd, I'm not doing this just for you. You're my only hope…" said Thomas warmly.
'It's just for my own skin…'
"Let's help each other. You're the knowledge, I'm the blade."
'You're my tool. I'll use you as needed.'
"So help me, and I'll erase all the pain that's eating you."
"…"
Time for the final push. Spirits were purely emotional beings. Thomas had understood that well. It's not that they were naïve, but simply more manipulable than most. And Thomas wasn't going to waste that advantage.
"Let's destroy this place together, Floyd—yes, let's destroy those who disrespected us. Our values matter too!"
"…"
"I may be weak… but with a bit of cleverness and your knowledge, we can take the system down from the inside."
"…"
"Join me, and your dream will come true. Maybe. Who knows? You have everything to gain and nothing to lose."
Before Floyd could even answer, Thomas suddenly felt a pain—a pinch in his chest. His vision doubled. His breathing grew heavy, and almost automatically, he stepped toward Floyd while reciting his final words:
"In my name, Zelvirah, do you accept this contract, you, Floyd, lesser spirit?"
An unbearable pain ran through Thomas's head with each word he spoke, as if the words were forbidden. Banished. False but true all at once. His voice was enchanting, nearly flawless, but if anyone had been watching from outside, they would have sensed a deep unease behind those words. But to Floyd, those words were as sweet and sugary as honey—addictive even.
A soft, fluorescent green mist began to escape Thomas's body without him immediately realizing it. The more the mist poured out, the more pleasant the atmosphere became for Floyd. Yes, he finally had an ally—a trusted ally. Yes, Zelvirah was doing this for him—for him alone.
'W–what, a mist?' Thomas noted, disoriented.
His mind blurred, just like when he had answered that his name was Zelvirah. His thoughts became tangled, his actions mere automatons.
The mystic mist had already coiled around both Floyd and Thomas, waiting for an answer.
'What am I saying? I wasn't supposed to say that!'
His heartbeat quickened.
ba-thum! ba-thum!
'Please, make it stop!'
The longer the silence dragged on, the more unbearable the pain became. He wanted out of his body. His body was a prison—no, a torture all on its own.
"Ahh…"
"…"
'Breathe.'
"A–ahh…"
Suddenly, all the discomfort vanished the moment Floyd spoke.
"Let's team up, Zelvirah. Together, we'll try." he said in a confident, almost cheerful voice.
The strange green mist glowed faintly and then entered both Thomas and Floyd.
Thomas felt a new sensation. A bond—a bond that tied him to a specific task, one he would now have to follow.
'No! No! It wasn't supposed to be like this! Damn it! I was only supposed to use him!'
Without realizing it, Thomas had just created a contract in his own name. He could no longer back out. No matter the time, the energy, the trial and error—he would have to uphold his end of the deal. He would have to bring this place down, even at the cost of his life.
"So, Thomas, what do you need help with?"
Thomas slowly came back to his senses and realized that his situation wasn't that bad. In the end, Floyd was in the same position as he was. He'd have to honor the deal as well. Thomas could now trust Floyd completely—and he felt it.
The fact that the discomfort had vanished all at once still bothered him. But now wasn't the time to worry about such trivial things. He would focus on himself once he got out of this place for good.
"For now, my biggest issue is communication… I can't speak the local language. Help me with that for now."
"You don't even speak Eldrad's standard tongue… I'm not even surprised anymore…"
Ignoring the remark, Thomas went on.
"By the way, you still haven't answered me earlier—about the shikomizue. How am I supposed to draw it?"
"You can't."
"Why?"
"You've never practiced Ætherin."
"How do I use Ætherin, then?"
"It's simple. Sit on the ground. Close your eyes. Once that's done, empty yourself of all emotion. Ætherin doesn't reside in emotion but in pragmatism. Feel that energy pushing you forward. That's Ætherin."
'Sounds simple enough.'
So he sat on the cold floor, in a meditative position. Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his emotions. To purge all impurity.
*
Floyd occasionally glanced at Thomas. Nearly an hour had passed since he had started meditating.
'Why is this taking so long?'
Even someone with the lowest Ætherin aptitude would have made the connection in thirty minutes…
'Almost double that…'
Floyd was growing impatient.
*
Twenty minutes later… still nothing.
'This is too much!'
Floyd carefully approached Thomas, checking his state. Maybe he could offer some advice.
'Something's off.'
Thomas was breathing slowly, in rhythm, his mouth slightly open. A faint string of drool hung from the corner of his lips.
'Damn it, he's asleep!'