Re:Sword

He was late, of course. Velthra always arrived in whispers and sidelong stares.

Earth Chamber.

The class he never attended.

When he pushed open the doors, every head turned. Ancient stone walls pressed in, runes flickering, a low, electric tension clinging to the air.

This is different.

Leviathan remarked.

Yeah. I can see that.

At the front Master Garran sat, old as iron, scars visible beneath his cloak. He looked Katsu over and snorted.

"Nice of you to join us, prodigy. Here, metal doesn't care about your reputation. Stone doesn't care about your pain. Only the worthy get remembered."

At the front, Master Garran lounged in a battered chair, scars carved into his skin and cloak alike. His eyes swept Katsu, unimpressed.

"Nice of you to join us, prodigy. Metal doesn't care about your reputation. Stone doesn't care about your pain. Only the worthy get remembered."

Katsu scanned the room—no desks, just three stones set near the center, spaced for discomfort.

Sydney sat on one, back arrow-straight, jaw locked. Rei brooded on another, cold as the rock beneath him.

Between them waited a third stone, the gap just wide enough to invite trouble.

Rivals clustered around the edges, some barely concealing their interest, others wearing disdain like a badge.

Katsu strode through them, took the empty stone between Sydney and Rei, and dropped himself into the middle.

Sydney shot him a look—half annoyance, half warning. Rei's eyes flickered, measuring.

Katsu lounged, too relaxed.

Rei muttered, just for their trio.

"What made you choose today to finally show up?"

Katsu didn't look over.

"…I was in the mood—"

"He's an idiot."

Sydney said, cutting him off, voice like a knife. No one else spoke.

The hush gathered, thickening around their awkward wedge. At the front, the artifacts gleamed: swords humming, spears twitching, staves wrapped in veined light.

Each weapon seemed to pulse with hunger.

A silent dare.

Master Garran raised his voice.

"No lesson today. Today, you earn your armament. Fail, and you leave shamed. Succeed, and the earth might remember you."

He swept a hand, filling every corner of the vault. "Begin. Let the stone judge who's worthy."

One by one, students stepped forward.

A girl from House Soryuun reached for a silver-edged dagger. It leapt into her grip with a hum—sigils flaring, a halo of gold circling her wrist. Triumph.

Another boy swaggered toward a black glaive. The moment his hand touched the haft, the weapon shrieked—ice-blue sparks flying. His arm went numb; he staggered back, clutching useless fingers as laughter rippled through the chamber.

A Dravantiir rival tried for a broadsword crusted with agate. The blade's runes crawled, then spat out a bolt of lightning, tossing him to the floor.

A sour smell of burnt hair lingered.

No failures went unpunished, and every victory was just a beginning.

Sydney's name was called.

She hesitated, gaze flicking at Katsu. Masked in bravado, but her grip flexed.

She chose a curved short sword, flame licking up the blade as her hand closed around the hilt.

The weapon shivered—warmth blooming up her arm, but then guttered to embers.

A half-truce. She held the blade, jaw clenched, not letting anyone see the doubt.

She returned to her stone in silence.

Rei moved next. He barely paused, picking a staff threaded with silver veins.

Lightning crawled along his knuckles, the artifact buzzing as if testing him.

For a moment, the air was wet with the scent of rain. The staff pulsed, grudging, then dimmed in acceptance.

A rival from Kavaleth stalked forward—aimed for an axe with deep iron runes.

The axe yawned, then spat a shower of gravel at his feet, refusing him so rudely even Garran smirked. The room snickered.

"The earth chooses, not you," Garran intoned, voice as heavy as the walls.

Katsu's turn.

"Try not to hurt yourself, Katsu."

Sydney muttered, too low for anyone else.

He stood. She didn't reach out, but her shoulders twitched—he caught the worry.

Rei's eyes tracked him, silent.

Katsu walked the line.

Weapons hummed or ignored him, lights flickering out as he passed. None called to him, none leapt up; the rejection felt personal, the silence thickening.

At the very end lay a battered sword, dull steel, grip polished smooth by ghosts.

Dust veiled it. Whispers buzzed.

"That relic again? Why's it still here?" "Supposed to be dead weight."

Leviathan's voice, cool and taut in his mind.

The oldest blades wait for a king, not a favorite.

Don't flinch now, Katsu.

Prove them all wrong.

He reached out, letting the world hold its breath. His hand hovered over the sword, every rival's eyes boring into his back.

He gripped the hilt.

The effect was instant.

A jolt of magic cracked up his arm.

A taste like iron and stormwater.

The world dropped away.

He saw, not memory but raw feeling: weight on his shoulders, training scars across his palms, every expectation that ever tried to shape him. The sword pressed him down, grinding him to his knees. Pain bit deep; blood welled from his hand.

He almost let go.

Leviathan's presence pressed at the edges.

Envious, watchful, unable to help.

The trial's not for demons, the magic snarled. Only the living. Only the broken.

He hung on by pride and pure refusal.

He muttered, voice barely there,

"I won't break for them. Not today."

The sword seared a sigil into his palm.

Old Velthra, jagged and hungry. Power thrummed up his arm, rattling his teeth.

Suddenly—release.

He gasped, the world snapping back. He was on his knees, sword blazing in his fist, blood running down to the stone.

Silence crashed over the chamber.

Sydney stood—face pale, mask cracked, ready to run to him but frozen in place.

Rei's jaw was clenched, fingers white on his own staff. Master Garran stepped down from his chair, boots echoing.

For once, a grin split the scars across his face. "Welcome to the real war, Nori."

A rival spat at the floor, envy sharp enough to taste. Another made a warding sign.

At the wall, a teacher's quill scratched frantic notes.

Someone whispered, "That blade was supposed to be dead."

Katsu stared at the sword, bloodied, breath ragged. The sigil burned on his palm, pulsing with every heartbeat. He didn't feel victorious—just marked, and very, very awake.

Let them fear not only you, but your blade. As it is a reflection of you. Something that should have died a long time ago, but continues to live.

He looked up—met Sydney's gaze, then Rei's. Everything felt new, unfamiliar.

He rose slowly, the sword heavy, the earth humming in approval or warning—he couldn't tell.

The chamber was silent except for his breath and the thud of his pulse.

For once, nobody moved to fill the silence.

Katsu let it linger, just a moment longer, the legend still unformed.

And then, beneath it all, an older voice stirred in the stone:

You have chosen. Now be chosen.

...

Katsu panted walking to class.

The air was torn.

I remembered something back there...

What did you remember, Katsu?

Something with my father, something that I can't remember now...

With your father? What happened?

There was this...woman that he was talking to, pink hair, pink outfit...she had a skirt on?

Hmm?

Leviathan paused.

Strange. We'll look into this more later...