The knock on the door came just before dawn.
Three soft taps. One pause. Then two more.
A coded signal. One that hadn't been used since the old days. Since before I died and woke up in this world of levels, systems, and illusions wrapped in steel.
Ayla got there first, hand already on her blade, her senses sharp from a night of restless watching. She cracked the door just enough to peer through.
A young courier stood outside. Barely fifteen, soaked with dew, wearing neutral courier gray and the sigil of the Sword Pact over his heart. His eyes didn't meet hers.
"For Elias Black," he said, holding out a sealed scroll wrapped in violet silk. The color of summons.
Ayla took it without a word. The boy bowed and disappeared into the mist, footsteps swallowed by the cobbled street.
Kael leaned over my shoulder as I unrolled the message.
> TO: ELIAS BLACK
FROM: HIGHBLADE COUNCIL
You are summoned to the Bladecall. Refusal is death. Come armed. Come alone. Blood remembers.
I read it twice, then burned the scroll in my palm. The flame glowed violet, matching the silk.
Ayla narrowed her eyes. "You're not actually going."
"I have to."
"It's a trap."
"It's always a trap. But if I ignore it, they bring the Bladecall here. I won't risk your lives."
Kael crossed his arms. "Do you know who summoned it?"
"Only someone of my bloodline could have. That narrows it down."
"You told us your bloodline was gone," Ayla said.
I nodded. "I lied."
---
The Cathedral of Blades sat beneath Arinvale's oldest district. A massive ruin buried under centuries of dirt and denial. The nobles claimed it was sealed, locked behind divine wards after the Blood Wars ended. But like most things in this world, locks were only suggestions.
I walked the old tunnels alone. The air grew colder the deeper I went, thick with the weight of old oaths and older ghosts. I passed murals faded by time—warriors locked in duels, blood pouring like ink, runes etched in the bones of gods.
The cathedral opened like a throat.
An underground dome, silent and immense. Runes flared to life as I stepped into the arena's circle. I felt eyes watching.
The Highblades stood along the perimeter, wrapped in crimson cloaks. Twelve of them. Each a master of legacy steel, each bearing the sigils of their bloodlines. Their faces were hidden, but I recognized some by their stances. The Council of Blood didn't change often. Power clung to its own.
And across from me, in the opposite ring, stood Rheon Black.
My cousin.
Older. Broader. Trained in the First Discipline before I ever held a blade.
His eyes held no malice. Just certainty.
He bowed. "Blood remembers."
I drew my own weapon. A plain blade. Forged here in this world. No legacy, no name.
But the Veil shimmered around me.
> [Voidwalker Trait Activated: Mirror Cut]
"Unwrite the reflection of a strike."
Rheon flourished his sword—a massive obsidian blade with a silver core. Ancestral. It shimmered with lineage echoes, resonating with his blood.
"You should not have returned," he said.
"I didn't. I was sent."
"Same difference."
He attacked.
Faster than I remembered. His blade tore through the air like lightning made steel. The shockwave cracked the tiles. But I had already vanished.
Veilstep, three folds left.
I reappeared behind him, slashing.
He pivoted and deflected—just barely.
"You move like shadow."
"I am the part the system skipped."
The duel continued. Blade against blade, sparks flying. He was raw power and perfect form. I was void and velocity. Each time he landed a strike, I rewrote it with Mirror Cut. His blade passed through an echo. An almost-Elias.
He grew angrier.
"This isn't real fighting! You cheat!"
I smiled. "I exist in a world that cheats first."
Then I struck.
One clean motion. No flourish. No wasted energy.
His blade shattered.
A gasp echoed from the Highblades.
Rheon dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
"What have you become?"
"Something they forgot to program."
He looked up. Not in hatred. In awe.
I turned to the Highblades.
"The bloodline remembers. But so does the system. If you call me again, I won't be so merciful."
One of them stepped forward.
"You broke the Law of Steel."
"No," I said. "I rewrote it."
---
Outside, Ayla waited, hood up, hands in her cloak. She stared at the broken hilt still clutched in my hand.
"You didn't kill him."
"Killing would have ended the old script. I need them to fear the new one."
She walked beside me in silence.
"What now?" she asked.
"Now we gather the threads. The system is unraveling, and blood is only the first layer."
In the sky above, a static shimmer passed across the moon.
Something was watching.
And I was ready to be seen.