The sky over the Tyrant Spirit Fortress had shifted. The sun, barely risen, filtered pale gold across the spiked parapets and black banners, but even daylight couldn't touch the weight that now hung in the air. Word was already spreading three had emerged. One of them had passed.
Inside the Hall of Echoes, Thalen stood before a council of shadows.
Nine figures, seated behind a barrier of red light, observed him from above. The SSS Heroes. The only living bearers of the Tyrant Spirit. Each of them possessed a second aura that had twisted their strength into legend. Their silhouettes loomed vast, barely human beneath the weight of power.
He could barely look at them.
But one of them the cloaked man who had awaited him outside the chamber stood nearby. Unlike the rest, he had revealed himself. Long silver hair fell past his shoulders, a crimson scar crossing his face from brow to jaw. His left eye glowed faintly with aura residue, the kind only those who had survived impossible trials bore.
"I am Varos. Tyrant Spirit wielder. SSS Rank. Blade Sovereign."
Thalen blinked. Blade Sovereign?
He barely had time to process before the others began to speak.
A woman with an aura like frost: "You claim he passed. And yet he wields Blade Aura?"
A guttural voice from the far left: "In twenty years, none passed. Why now?"
Varos didn't flinch. "Because he fought without hesitation. Because he faced the Spirit of Judgment and did not yield. The boy doesn't understand what he carries yet, but he passed."
"Blade Aura," the frost woman said again, as if tasting something sour. "The weakest of the six base types."
Thalen stepped forward, throat dry. "It might be the weakest. But I've trained with it every day since I could stand. I didn't pass because of talent. I passed because I didn't stop."
Silence. Then laughter.
Not mocking laughter, but deep and slow, from the figure in the center.
"You have fire," the center speaker said. "Good. Let him be trained. If he fails, he dies."
Just like that, the red light vanished. The council dispersed.
Varos turned to him.
"You'll begin your training at first light tomorrow. Until then, you eat, sleep, and rest. Forget your pride. Forget your limits. From now on, you're being shaped into a weapon."
Thalen followed him wordlessly, legs still trembling from the confrontation. His new room was bare: stone walls, a wooden bed, a single window overlooking the barracks far below. But the silence it was heavy. Not oppressive. Just…watchful.
He sat by the window.
Had it really been only hours ago that he'd emerged from the exam chamber, covered in sweat and blood?
He reached inward, the way he'd been taught, and felt the second core stir.
It was still there. The Tyrant Spirit. Dormant, silent but undeniably real. It pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath his ribs.
A knock at the door broke the quiet.
Thalen opened it to find Iselle. She looked worn, her long black hair tied back hastily, her uniform still stained with dust from the exam.
"You made it too," he said.
She nodded. "Third one out. Varek didn't pass. He was close. You were… different."
He frowned. "Different how?"
Iselle studied him for a moment before replying. "The aura in that place I felt like it hated me. Like it wanted to erase me. But when I looked at you… it bowed its head."
She left without another word.
Thalen sat on the bed, trying to breathe. He didn't understand this new power inside him. He didn't know why it had chosen him. But he knew one thing:
He had been given something ancient. Something terrible.
And now, someone was watching.
That night, in the lowest chamber of the fortress, a sealed door opened. A single figure walked down spiral stairs made of obsidian and flame.
Varos stood before a vault older than the fortress itself. Runes glowed across the door.
Inside, chained in a crystal prison, was a weapon. Or rather what remained of one.
A voice hissed from within.
"So the First Flame stirs again. You found a vessel."
Varos did not answer. He placed a hand on the crystal and closed his eyes.
"We have less time than we thought. If the boy is the one… the First Tyrant's shadow will awaken."
From within the crystal, the entity laughed.
"Then let the world burn again."
Back in his quarters, Thalen dreamt of swords falling from the sky. Thousands. Millions. A storm of blades striking down mountains and cities alike.
He stood at the eye of the storm, not drowning but commanding it.
And behind him stood a silhouette he could not name.
Not yet.
But soon.