The Truth of His Power

Kurt left the training center, his outward composure masking the turmoil within. He walked as if nothing had happened, his steps measured and calm, but his heart pounded like a war drum against his ribs.

What… what did I just do? he thought, the memory of the disintegrated rapier replaying in his mind. He had not summoned a weapon to defend himself. He hadn't even consciously tried to use his power. It had simply… reacted. As if the Astra within him had a will of its own.

"Mysteries upon mysteries," he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper. "My origins, my power, these weapons… I can't take it anymore. I need to understand."

He found an open field outside the city, a place where he could experiment without fear of causing further destruction or attracting unwanted attention. He stood in the center of the field, the wind whipping around him, and closed his eyes.

He remembered the training center, the flash of silver as a noble summoned the Claws of Luna, the goddess of the moon. He tried to recall the enchantment, the precise words the noble had spoken, the intricate gestures they had made. He strained his memory, focusing with all his might.

But the memory was fleeting, fragmented. The words slipped away like sand through his fingers, the gestures blurred and indistinct. He could barely grasp at the image of the weapon itself: sleek, silver claws, crackling with lunar energy.

He sighed in frustration, his shoulders slumping. "It's no use," he muttered. "I can't remember it."

And then, without conscious effort, without any spoken word, without any remembered gesture... the Claws of Luna materialized in his hands.

They shimmered into existence, sleek and silver, crackling with a cold, ethereal light. They felt… natural. As if they had always been a part of him.

Kurt stared at them, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and awe. He flexed his fingers, the claws extending and retracting with a silent, deadly grace.

"What…?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't even… I didn't even need the enchantment."

He remembered Terra's words, her descriptions of mortals as conduits for a fraction of divine power. He thought of the nobles, their years of training, their reliance on complex rituals and incantations.

A sudden, chilling realization washed over him. He wasn't like them. He wasn't channeling divine power. He was… something else. Something more.

"I tried so hard," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "All that effort, trying to memorize those enchantments… and I don't even need them."