In the heart of Larethian's royal compound lay an ancient site few mortals had ever seen — the Arkhivyr Nexus, a massive circular chamber of white moonstone, carved with glyphs so old they predated Elven scripture.
It was here that royal soul-gears were awakened.
Every royal-born heir, upon reaching the age of five, underwent the Bladebirth Trial — a sacred rite to summon their destined weapon or artifact, drawn from the depths of their soul.
Failure meant eternal disgrace.
Or worse—banishment from the royal lineage.
For most, the Trial awakened a magical bow, a staff, a crown of thoughtsteel, or even a bonded familiar. But not a blade.
Never a blade.
Not in two thousand years.
But for Aelric?
He knelt in the Nexus, alone, surrounded by glowing sigils and ancient watchers cloaked in ceremonial aether-armor. His mother and father sat atop twin thrones carved of starwood, observing in solemn silence.
The arch-ritualist raised his staff.
> "Second Prince of Larethian, bearer of the Sunblood Line, do you call forth the weapon buried within your soul?"
Aelric stood tall—small in size, but impossibly composed.
He didn't flinch.
> "I do."
The ritualist began to chant in the Old Tongue, awakening the Soul Conduction Flame, a white fire that consumed nothing but memory and fate.
Aelric stepped into the flames.
The heat tore at his flesh. Visions surged. A thousand lives, a thousand deaths.
He remembered bleeding out beside a shattered blade.
He remembered laughing in the rain after killing a False King.
He remembered… falling… rising… falling again.
The fire turned crimson.
The sigils shattered.
Gasps rang out from the observers.
From the center of the inferno, a shape emerged.
A sleek, obsidian shortsword hovered before him — glowing with time-runes, vibrating through timelines.
> A whisper echoed in the chamber:
"The Blade That Cuts Through Time, Fate, and Flesh…"
Chrono Severance: Fang of the Shattered Flow.
Aelric stepped forward and grasped the hilt.
Reality shuddered.
A rift cracked open in the air behind him, and every clock and time-sigil in the palace skipped one second forward.
One of the archmages fainted.
Aelric turned toward his family. His crimson eyes glowed, the cracked gear tattoo blazing on his forearm.
> "I have returned," he whispered.
The King's eyes widened. The Queen smiled with knowing grief.
And so, the boy who was once a broken Sword Saint…
…was now a soul-bound Elven Prince with a Longinus-class weapon.
The blade had chosen its wielder.
And the world would never tick the same again.