Chapter 651 When the Sword Remembers

Excalibur shone silently in Fitran's hands.

Magic flames and light clashed, yet the sword… remained still. Fitran felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on his chest, as if time had stopped in those crucial moments.

In front of him, Althur stood tall, six spiral crowns floating above him, the voices of the souls of kings harmonizing together. Althur, with his sharp and determined gaze, reminded Fitran of the high stakes at play; he knew that failure would mean emptiness for all his loved ones.

But before Fitran could speak, the sky ignited. Lightning split the heavens, reflecting the horror in Fitran's eyes, mirroring the turmoil building within him.

Behind Althur, 17 wizards, necromancers, and arcanists from the Spiral Null group raised their staffs, opened spellbooks, and formed a ritual circle together. A rumbling sound gathered, like waves about to crash on the shore, adding to the tension that already hung heavily in the air.

From their hands, brutal magic was born:

Tenebrum Spinae – shadow spears that tore through space. A painful memory flashed in Fitran's mind, reminding him of his siblings who had been destroyed by the same evil.

Vitracalda Ignis – a rain of glass-like fire falling from the sky like poisonous needles. Witnessing this phenomenon, Sheena bit her lip, her palms damp with cold sweat, her spirit ignited to protect Fitran with all her soul.

Chrono Grave – a curse of time that accelerated the aging of souls. In his despair, Fitran felt every heartbeat as if it were being pulled back by the dark force present before him.

The attacks were aimed directly at Fitran, who was still transfixed by the silent Excalibur. Fear enveloped his heart, as if each assault was tearing apart the remaining hope he had.

Sheena tried to pull roots to block the attacks, but the spells were too swift. She felt her blood racing, struggling to muster courage in those final moments while praying that her strength would be enough to protect the one she cherished most.

Just before the magic reached Fitran, a single note exploded from the center of the arena. It was a note of harmony—but not a gentle one. This was the harmony of conflict, cries, and acknowledgment.

Rinoa stood, her body glowing with a purple-gold light.

Behind her, a spiral harmony magic circle opened like a large flower, slowly spinning. As the light spread across the arena, the audience fell silent, captivated and anxious, caught between extraordinary power and uncertainty about what would happen next.

Her eyes were no longer ordinary—they shone like two-dimensional echoes. In the depths of her gaze, all the battles she had faced reflected back, clearly showing her resilience and the hope that lay within. She was not just a fighter; she was a symbol of hope surging through the darkness.

"You will not touch him," she declared, her voice firm and confident.

"Because I… have embraced the entire world."

Every word Rinoa spoke seemed to resonate, creating waves of energy that intimidated the opponents around her, as if it were a map showing the way to victory. The power flowed through her veins, giving her a renewed sense of hope to protect those she loved.

And from her body, an ancient voice echoed back:

"Welcome, Avatar of Harmony."

Rinoa transformed. As she felt the change, excitement and fear collided within her, creating a wave of energy that surged through her body.

Her hair lengthened, shimmering like flowing crystal roots. Each strand seemed alive, vibrating as if connected to the elements around her, making her feel like the center of the universe.

Her back formed a double spiral pattern—representing duality: suffering and love. She felt a weight in her chest, recalling the painful memories that had brought her to this point, yet the power of genuine love strengthened her steps.

On her chest, the Proto-Speech symbol shone: Arshael, the oldest word of harmony that had been lost. The voice from the symbol whispered in her mind, affirming her purpose in life and the reason for this transformation.

The magic circle behind her created a call—three spirits answered. All three appeared with a strong aura, as if shaking the ground beneath Rinoa's feet, and she felt the depth of their commitment to accompany her on this journey.

Three Spirit Avatars of Harmony

Luvenia, the Bound Sea

The spirit of water from the world representing loyalty to change.

She appeared in the form of a water dragon enveloping the air. As Luvenia flowed, Rinoa felt tranquility, as if all the burdens on her shoulders were lifted by the gentle current of the spirit.

Solareth, the Forgotten Ember

The spirit of fire that had once been purified by the will of the people.

His body was formed from the shards of historical wounds. His intense gaze reminded Rinoa of the struggles that had to be faced to regain the lost warmth.

Eiren, the Rootless Wind

The spirit of wind that had once been cast away from all altars.

Now it blew only for those brave enough to walk without direction. Rinoa felt the breeze invigorating her spirit, reminding her that even though she might feel isolated, there was freedom in this journey.

Rinoa raised her hands.

The three spirits spread out. The wind swirled around her, forming a burst of light that enveloped everyone present, signaling the power of harmony she was about to unleash. In that moment, she felt every heartbeat, resonating with the song of magic flowing from her fingertips.

Luvenia shattered Tenebrum Spinae with a spiral wave of water. With every ripple she created, her anger and urgency were palpable, as if the water was an extension of her emotions. It was clear from her gaze that nothing could stop her.

Solareth burned through all the glass fire bullets from Vitracalda Ignis. The flames that danced made him feel alive, a confident smile appearing on his face even though no one could see it in the darkness. Each explosion of fire felt like a victory song, strengthening his resolve to move forward.

Eiren danced in the air, breaking the structure of Chrono Grave and swallowing its magical time. Her movements were free, resembling a beautiful dance that captivated all who watched, yet behind her smile lay an unroofed burden—the struggle within to let go of the past. Each step echoed, signaling that she was fighting to find her place in this world.

Seven of the seventeen wizards were immediately thrown back, two burned.

The rest began to chant defensive spells, but Rinoa's harmony circle slowly erased their magical structures. In that emptiness, Rinoa felt a weight in her chest, sensing the deep uncertainty among them. Yet, the conviction that she was protecting those she loved most gave her the spirit to keep acting.

She gazed at them—her eyes calm, yet unyielding. Tension hung in the air, reflected in every pounding heartbeat. Rinoa felt the flow of energy around her, as if the world was waiting for an answer to the challenge she faced.

"Harmony is not compromise. Harmony is the space for all feelings to stand together… including pain."

One of the wizards shouted:

"Do you think you can challenge the will of the kings with 'emotion' and 'song'!?"

Rinoa replied, her voice full of conviction even though her heart raced faster than usual:

"No.

I challenge them with the world."

With every word she spoke, she felt the vibrations calling to the forgotten souls, reigniting the long-lost hope.

On the other side of the arena, Fitran gripped Excalibur once more.

He stared at it. In his grasp, the ancient weapon trembled, as if responding to the presence of its owner.

"So… you come from Althur?"

"If so… do not choose me out of vengeance. Choose me only if you wish to become a new light."

The sword began to shine, glowing with the promise of resurrection and strength. And in that light, a single voice emerged—the voice from within Excalibur:

"I… will not return to the hands of the throne. I will stand in the hands that once cried."

Those words shook Fitran, reminding him of a past filled with wounds, but also of hope for change. He felt that the path he had to take was not just for him, but for all who had fought tirelessly.

In the sky, Proto-Speech began to write:

ꦲꦶꦤ꧀ꦢꦺꦏꦼꦩ꧀ꦧꦸꦱꦶꦭ꧀ꦏꦸꦭꦺꦴꦩ꧀ꦧꦺꦭ꧀ —

Inde Kembusil Kulembel

(The world will not be rewritten by the victors…

but by those who choose not to erase the defeated.)

With the presence of those words, the air seemed to vibrate, and the blazing dusk appeared to defend the message that was about to be conveyed. The wide-eyed spectators beneath the mysterious sky focused on the symbols etched in the heavens, as if waiting for an explanation of the meaning behind that phrase. A deep longing arose in the hearts of every listener, stirring curiosity about the story that had yet to be fully revealed.