The day of the ceremony had finally arrived. The air buzzed with excitement, thick with anticipation. Students were ushered toward the grand auditorium, their hushed whispers blending into a nervous hum. Arthur walked in step with Felix, the two of them exchanging glances. Their hands twitched at their sides, fingers curling and uncurling as their nerves played tricks on them.
As they reached the entrance, a presence loomed above them. An old man, wild gray hair spilling over his shoulders, floated lazily on a battered mat, his fingers drumming against a gnarled staff. His black eyes gleamed with mischief. With a slow smirk, he tapped his staff against the floor.
Cracks spiderwebbed beneath their feet. The walls of the auditorium melted away, replaced by endless golden dunes beneath a cloudless sky. A ripple of gasps spread through the crowd. Some students stumbled back, their eyes darting in confusion. The old man chuckled, scratching his beard, clearly enjoying the panic.
"Relax, kids," he drawled, his voice smooth but firm. "This is just an illusion. Today, you take your first step toward becoming sword mages."
A beam of radiant light shot into the sky, washing over them like a warm wave. As their eyes adjusted, the students lifted their heads in awe. Hundreds—no, thousands—of swords floated high above, each one glowing with a unique energy. Some crackled with lightning, others pulsed like beating hearts, and a few radiated an eerie stillness that sent shivers down their spines.
Murmurs filled the air. Some students pointed, whispering about the blades they hoped would be theirs. The old man snorted. "You don't choose the blade," he said. "The blade chooses you."
A few groans of disappointment followed, but before anyone could protest, the swords stirred. They twirled and dipped, moving like living beings, their movements slow and deliberate. Then, one by one, they shot downward.
A sudden, blistering heat swallowed the space. Students flinched as the air thickened, pressing down on them. Arthur turned instinctively—and there, standing like an unmoving pillar, was a boy with wild red hair and cold black eyes. A massive sword wreathed in flames hovered before him, its heat distorting the air around it.
Whispers erupted.
"That's Leon Ironheart… the son of Magnus Ironheart."
Arthur stiffened. The name sent a jolt through his memory—Leon, the boy who had ignored him at the gate. Leon's expression didn't change as he reached out, fingers wrapping around the hilt. Flames erupted outward, licking at his crimson hair, casting a flickering glow across his sharp features. The old man's eyes gleamed with approval. "A noble's power, as expected."
More blades found their partners. A gentle breeze curled through the air as a silver sword floated toward Felix. The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, a gust of wind spiraled around him, tousling his golden hair. His eyes widened. "I have wind magic?!" he gasped, his voice bright with excitement. Arthur forced a smile. "That's amazing, Felix."
The swords continued to vanish, one by one. Arthur's pulse quickened as he looked up, waiting—expecting.
Nothing.
His throat tightened. He scanned the sky, searching desperately. Maybe his sword was just… late?
The old man sighed, shaking his head. "It seems you weren't chosen."
Silence. Then, the first snicker. Whispers turned to mocking laughter, sneers curling on smug faces.
"A noble without a blade?"
"What a disgrace."
Arthur clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. His shoulders stiffened, but he kept his face blank, willing himself not to react. The old man rapped his staff against the ground, cutting through the noise. "Those who received blades, listen up! Your weapons will vanish until you can summon them at will. Say 'stats' to see your abilities."
Felix was the first to speak. "Stats!"
A glowing screen materialized in front of him:
BLADE: KAZEKEN (Wind Blade)
MAGICAL ATTRIBUTE: WIND
LEVEL: BEGINNER
ABILITIES: 0
STRENGTH: 5
He turned to Arthur, practically bouncing. "Look at this!"
Arthur hesitated. His hands felt clammy. Swallowing hard, he whispered, "Stats."
A blank screen greeted him:
BLADE: -----
MAGICAL ATTRIBUTE: -----
LEVEL: -----
ABILITIES: -----
STRENGTH: -----
His stomach churned. Felix's hand landed on his shoulder, warm and reassuring, but it didn't help. Arthur couldn't meet his friend's gaze.
As they walked out, a voice cut through the air, sharp and amused. "Pathetic."
Leon stood in their path, arms crossed, his flame sword no longer visible. His black eyes gleamed with amusement. "You call yourself a noble? The Valtoria family is finished."
Arthur said nothing. Felix took a step forward, but Arthur placed a hand on his arm. They walked past Leon, not giving him the satisfaction of a response.
That night, Arthur lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His father's disappointment weighed on his chest like a stone. Felix, restless, nudged him. "Let's take a walk."
Arthur hesitated, then nodded. The cool night air did little to ease his mind as they wandered farther than intended. Suddenly, masked figures melted out of the darkness, blocking their path. The leader, a tall man with cruel eyes, summoned a sword wreathed in fire.
"Well, well… look what we have here."
Arthur's heart pounded. "Sword mages?! Why are they attacking us?"
Felix's voice was grim. "They're from the Forsaken Realm."
The leader lunged. Arthur braced himself—
Felix moved first. His wind blade met the attack, sparks flying. "Run, Arthur! They're after me!"
Arthur didn't run. Another enemy slammed a blade into the ground, trapping Felix in a cage of earth. Arthur grabbed the nearest thing—a stick. His grip was sweaty, unsteady.
The leader laughed. "A stick? That's your weapon?"
The group erupted into cruel laughter. Arthur swung wildly, only for flames to engulf him. He hit the ground hard, pain scorching through him.
The leader stepped closer, boot pressing down on Arthur's chest. "Fight back, noble boy! Oh… you can't, can you? What a joke."
Arthur coughed, blood speckling his lips. The leader raised a fist—
Arthur caught it.
Ice spread from his palm, crawling up the man's arm. The leader's eyes widened in horror. "What the—?!"
Arthur's voice was low, ice-cold. "You talk too much."
With a whisper, frost erupted, encasing the man in solid ice. A heartbeat passed. Then—
"Shatter."
The frozen body exploded into shards.
The remaining enemies hesitated. Arthur exhaled, and frost billowed from his lips. Behind him, a colossal ice dragon formed, shimmering under the moonlight before morphing into a magnificent blade.
Felix, still trapped, could only stare. "That's… a sword?"
Arthur's vision swam. The power vanished as quickly as it had come. His body slumped forward.
Felix broke free, catching him just in time. "Arthur?!"
Arthur didn't answer. Felix adjusted his grip, hoisting him up as they disappeared into the night.