Isolation Chamber II

As I stirred awake, it felt as though I'd emerged from a deep, dreamless slumber. But my surroundings were strange, unfamiliar. Gone was the open sky, replaced by an immense, dimly lit chamber. Its walls, floor, and ceiling shimmered with etched runes that pulsed softly, an ancient language woven into every surface, casting faint light in spirals across the stone.

"A cave?" I wondered aloud, only for Luna's voice to fill my thoughts, steady and reassuring.

"You're in the Ashbluffs' isolation chamber," she confirmed, though even she sounded puzzled. "I… couldn't reach you before. Something blocked me out."

My gaze swept the chamber, seeking any hint of what had brought me here. As I scanned the runes, a familiar presence approached, brushing against my senses like a forgotten memory brought to life. And then I saw him.

It was me. No—more than that. It was Arthur.

"What is this?" I asked, a chill creeping down my spine as I faced him.

His gaze was calm, assessing. "This isolation chamber allows a rare phenomenon," he explained. "You can manifest here, fully, with all your powers intact. And I," he added with a faint smile, "am here to test you."

His words sank in, and with them came the dawning realization: he wanted me to surpass him, to prove my strength. But this Arthur moved differently, held his blade with a mastery that felt just out of reach. His casual stance masked an expertise that I knew was leagues beyond my own.

My brow furrowed as I tried to make sense of it all. "If I'm going to take back my body, I need to achieve Resonance, is that it?" I questioned, thoughts racing. Had I triggered some spell array in Vryndall without realizing it? Or was there something else binding me here?

Arthur didn't answer directly. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, lifting his sword in a gesture as fluid as a breath, every movement deliberate. "Let's see what you're made of," he said, voice smooth but edged with challenge. "No artifacts—just you and me. If you're ever going to master Resonance, you'll need to surpass me first."

"And… call me Art," he finished, a sly grin lighting his face, as if enjoying a private joke. I steeled myself, summoning my power, and readied my stance.

"Whenever you're ready," Art called, stepping into the ring of light that bathed the chamber floor. "Show me what Arthur Nightingale is capable of."

What followed was nothing short of an utter and merciless beatdown.

In this isolated chamber, where death was impossible and only our souls bore the weight of injury, Art held nothing back. Despite every ounce of strength I poured into each strike, he met my efforts with a casual brutality, cutting me down time and again. And each time, I returned, determined, only to face yet another crushing defeat.

It wasn't just Resonance that set us apart, though that alone was a formidable gap. He wielded my powers with an expertise that felt foreign, as if I were watching a master sculptor carve out his art from raw stone while I fumbled with a hammer. The mana that flowed through us both was the same, yet in his hands, it was sharper, more refined. Every movement was precise; every flick of his blade served a purpose. In his grasp, even the simplest of spells took on an edge I'd never managed to achieve.

He didn't just outmatch me—he dismantled me. Swordsmanship, mana control, tactical instinct—all elements of my skill set were magnified in his hands. His understanding of my abilities eclipsed my own, and it became painfully clear just how far behind I truly was.

After what felt like the hundredth defeat, I staggered to my feet once more, muscles aching from strain my soul shouldn't even feel. Art observed me coolly, a faint smirk touching his lips, tinged with a mix of amusement and disappointment.

"You've got a long way to go," he said, clicking his tongue as he examined me with a tilt of his head. "Using power isn't about wielding it like a blunt instrument. Learn finesse, learn control—or you'll never touch Resonance, let alone surpass me."

He sheathed his blade, the finality of the gesture cutting deeper than any strike. His words weighed heavy, yet within that edge of criticism, I could sense something else—expectation.

"Again," I said, breathing hard. Art raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening.

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that."

And with that, he readied his sword once more, the relentless training only just beginning.

__________________________________________________________________________________

"Another failure," Jack muttered, his voice laced with irritation as he absorbed the news of the Vryndall mission. An Ascendant-ranker, one of the Order of the Fallen Flame's prized assets, had been dispatched to crush a group of academy students—and had died. Not just failed, but died. All thanks to Arthur Nightingale.

Arthur was proving to be a far larger thorn than Jack had anticipated. Jack had thought him a potential nuisance, a minor obstacle that could be swatted away in due time. But no—Arthur had eliminated an Ascendant-ranker almost single-handedly while only at Integration-rank. And, worse still, he'd achieved Sword Resonance a mere month after reaching that rank.

Jack's mind churned with the implications, a grudging realization settling in. Arthur Nightingale was no ordinary dark horse; he was an outright threat to Jack's designs. But then came another piece of news, equally intriguing: Arthur had disappeared from Mythos Academy. There had been no official announcement, but one of Jack's spies embedded within the academy had relayed the information, confirming Arthur had been granted an extended leave under mysterious circumstances.

Jack was torn between relief and unease. Was Arthur retreating to some hidden place, perhaps the Chamber of Shadows, to cultivate his Sword Heart and leap to Ascendant-rank? The mere thought sent a shiver down Jack's spine. If Arthur were advancing at such a pace, he'd have crossed from Integration to Ascendant in an unprecedented span.

For even the most prodigious geniuses, it took years to climb from Integration to Ascendant-rank. And achieving Resonance alone should have taken Arthur closer to a year. Yet here he was, wielding it against Jack during the Festival and again in Vryndall, continuously and with such potency that he'd killed an Ascendant-ranker outright.

It was the stuff of legends—and an alarming omen. If Arthur continued at this rate, he'd likely reach Immortal-rank before Jack himself reached Ascendant. His pace was monstrous, far beyond the realm of "natural talent." It was inevitable that Arthur's rise would threaten the Order itself, perhaps swallowing it whole in time, like a devouring flame.

Jack clenched his fists, frustration tightening his grip as his mind spun with contingency upon contingency, a web of plans layered within plans. Yet, for all his calculations, he came to the same maddening conclusion: it was impossible. No mortal should rise at such an impossible pace. Surely, such a being couldn't exist. Not in this world.

Taking a sharp breath, he forced himself to calm. Panic would serve no purpose here.

"Fine," he resolved, his fingers uncurling as he breathed out slowly. "If I can't cut him down now, I'll rise to match him."

A clash now would be suicide; Arthur was untouchable, at least in the short term. But that didn't mean he couldn't close the gap. As long as he trained and honed his own power, there would come a day when they would meet again. And when that day came, Jack would be ready—stronger, sharper, and determined to ensure the outcome was anything but a repeat of Vryndall.

For now, he would keep to the shadows, sharpening his skills and feeding the flame of his own ambition. The next time they crossed paths, it wouldn't end with a begrudging retreat.