Nobles including captains and head captains together with commoners alike, clad in garb both regal and humble, stood in a long, anxious line at the edge of the Aetherial Sanctum. The air was thick with anticipation. Before them stretched a vast sacred field, glowing faintly under the silver light of twin moons.
Planted firmly into the ground across the land were countless swords—each unique in design, size, and aura signature. Some shimmered with ethereal fire, others pulsed with a rhythmic heartbeat, and a few were so still they seemed to breathe silence itself.
From the marble steps of the Sanctum emerged a tall man with coiled, ink-black hair and a posture as straight as a sword itself. He wore a long dark coat with the crest of Gallus stitched in gold across the chest—a serpent devouring its tail encircling an open eye.
With steady steps, the man made his way to the front and turned to face the gathered crowd.
"I am Mr. Andrew, Gallus instructor and director of this year's tryouts," he began, his voice cutting through the wind like steel.
"We all know why we're here, so spare me the cheers and dramatics. I won't give you a speech to stir your hearts."
He let his words hang in the air a moment, surveying the faces before him—young, eager, nervous, defiant.
"All who wish to participate in the Gallus tryouts—step forward!"
There was a pause, and then the group surged forward, forming lines with varying degrees of discipline. Mr. Andrew nodded slightly, then spoke again.
"Each of these swords has a spirit—some ancient, some newborn. One of them may choose you. If you are able to draw it, it is yours. If not, move on to the next. Sometimes the spirit refuses your essence, other times your aura simply isn't strong enough to contain their will."
He folded his arms behind his back and raised his chin slightly.
"Now... Step forward and make destiny!" he roared, his voice echoing across the sanctified grounds like a battle cry.
The field erupted with motion. Students ran across the landscape like eager warriors storming a battlefield. Some hesitated, others fell to their knees before swords they could not lift. A few managed to draw blades that hummed with newfound loyalty.
Kiato, however, did not rush. He stood tall, eyes fixed on the horizon as if searching for something deeper than mere metal. His dark gray cloak fluttered behind him as he scanned the field. Then—he saw it.
Kakuriyukimaru.
The blade shimmered faintly in the distance, buried in the heart of the field, isolated as though its spirit demanded solitude. Unlike the others, it had no glow, no hum, no pull on it simply was. As though its presence had existed long before the Sanctum itself.
Kiato's steps quickened, then turned into a sprint. He reached the sword and stood before it, heart pounding. It was a long blade, midnight black along the edges with a silvery gleam that seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it. Runes ran along the hilt like veins pulsing with ancient memory.
Unlike the others who pulled by the hilt, Kiato pressed his palm against the blade's edge—no hesitation, no fear. The world around him faded, colors and sound melting into white.
He entered the Domain of Kakuriyukimaru.
A vast cosmos unfolded around him. Stars blinked in slow rhythm. Suspended in the heavens sat a gargantuan dragon—scaled in obsidian, its eyes twin infernos of the sun and moon. It lounged atop the sun, with the moon resting beneath its claws like a discarded toy.
"So… you are Kiato," the dragon said, voice booming through galaxies, yet calm as wind over water.
"Yes," Kiato replied, standing upright beneath the infinite presence with the intentionsof showingno weakness.
The dragon peered down at him, unblinking. "I will not pair with you through mere lineage or desperation. You must gather enough aura to summon me—to draw me into your world."
It raised a single claw, and a wind stronger than storms erupted, casting Kiato out of the realm like a leaf in a gale.
He fell backwards into reality, panting, gripping the sword's hilt. It did not budge.
He tried again. And again. Aura sparked from his veins, lighting up the ground beneath him, but the sword stood unmoved, as if mocking his attempts.
From behind, Mr. Andrew approached slowly, his boots crunching softly on the soil. "Don't waste yourself, boy," he said, voice heavy with memory. "Even I—during my time couldn't move that sword. It's not just heavy. It chooses with a cruelty few can endure."
But Kiato's eyes did not leave the sword.
"Then it will know cruelty back."
He closed his eyes, gathering every flicker of aura he could muster. Pain surged through him, veins glowing faintly blue beneath his skin. Still, the sword remained rooted.
From behind, a soft voice whispered, "What connection does he have with that sword...?"
Merlin.
She hovered beside him, her feet barely grazing the earth. Her gaze was filled with wonder, then realization.
"Kakuriyukimaru," she whispered, lips curling into a sad smile.
Then, without a word, she floated toward him. Gently, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
Startled but focused, Kiato muttered, "Merlin, this isn't the time."
But her actions were not without purpose, with a smipe that could express goodbye on the lips of the beholder, she pressed her hand to his shoulder, and a warm flood of energy coursed into him. Not aura—life. Her life.
Kiato's eyes widened. "Why would you—"
"Make Vera proud," she whispered.
And then… she vanished. Gone. Like morning mist at sunrise.
Kiato fell to his knees, fists trembling. "Why… why does everyone I love keep sacrificing for me?"
He wanted to scream, to break, to quit.
But he didn't.
He rose.
And with fire in his veins and grief in his soul, he gripped the sword one final time. All his aura, all Merlin's gift, all his pain, his love, his fury—he poured it into the blade.
"Unleash the dragon fury… Kakuriyukimaru!"
The sword exploded in light. Twin beams shot into the sky—one gold, one silver. The ground trembled. Time seemed to halt.
From the sky, the dragon descended—Kakuriyukimaru in his full glory. His wings eclipsed the moonlight. His eyes burned, one with the sun, the other the moon.
He circled the field once, then landed before Kiato.
"You have pulled the string," the dragon said, gaze intense. "No mere contract will do. How about… rather than pairing—we merge?"
Kiato nodded, eyes locked on the dragon.
Kakuriyukimaru roared, then flew straight into him, merging with his body. A torrent of energy surged through Kiato's frame. His eyes ignited—one golden, one silver.
He staggered, nearly collapsing.
Then—strong arms caught him.
His father.
"You did well, son," he said quietly, a rare softness in his voice.
As the light dimmed and silence returned to the field, every head turned toward Kiato—not with scorn or envy, but awe.
For in that moment, Kiato was no longer just a candidate. No longer just a boy chasing legacy.
He was the dragon-bearer.
The processor of the blade of day and night.
And destiny… had only just begun.