Power and Weapon

Shiro woke with a dull ache behind his eyes, as if sleep had been more a curse than comfort. The room around him was quiet. Still. Too still.

To his left, the wall was swallowed by thick, broad leaves clinging to faded stone—like nature trying to reclaim what was long abandoned. To his right, the same. The air carried a faint scent of damp wood and greenery.

Near the far wall sat a small wooden table. An old bucket rested on top, filled with only three bruised apples. Next to the bed: a lonely chair. No windows. No sunlight. Just silence.

What the hell… what am I even doing here? Still trapped in this dream-story. I can't escape. No plot. No goal. No clue what I'm supposed to do.

He pushed off the mattress and swung his legs down, eyes falling to his bare feet pressed against the cold floor. On the other side of the bed sat his boots—simple, worn, reliable. He slipped them on without a word.

He turned to the wooden door, but something caught his eye.

Just to the left of it stood a pot of water. The surface was still, reflecting his face like a mirror warped by memory. He stepped closer, lifted the handle, and brought it to his lips.

The water was cold. Refreshing in a way only thirst could make sacred. Nothing hits like a drink when your throat's bone dry…

He set the pot down gently and stared at the door again.

Wait... hold on. Shiro rubbed the back of his head, eyes narrowing. Where's the light coming from?

He turned slowly, scanning the room top to bottom. No windows. No candles. Not even a crack in the ceiling. Just walls covered in oversized leaves, and shadows that didn't behave like normal ones.

Damn... I didn't even notice all this when I was talking with Erza.

Something about that made him uneasy.

Shiro stepped toward the door and pulled it open.

Sunlight poured in immediately, washing over him in a wave of warmth—soft and golden, but it didn't feel like comfort. It felt... staged. Too perfect.

He stepped outside, his foot sinking slightly into the damp, grassy mud. The ground felt soft, untouched. All around him, the environment held the same eerie stillness and ancient gloom as the Palace of Shadow.

As he moved fully outside, a strange chill crawled up his spine.

Instinctively, he turned around—wanting one last look at the room he'd just stepped out of. But it was gon e. There was no door.No walls.No No room. Just space.As if it had never existed.

Wait… the room vanished?

The place around him now looked exactly like the Palace of Shadow. Shiro blinked up at the sky—clear blue, with the sun blazing overhead. He winced and quickly dropped his gaze, sunlight stabbing into his eyes like tiny pins.

But… didn't the Palace of Shadow have a roof? One made entirely of reflecting water?

Then—

A hand landed gently on his shoulder.

Shiro flinched, twisting around fast. It was Erz a.She smiled calmly, like she'd been standing there all along.

"Confused?" she whispered. "Why there's no roof… or where the room disappeared to?"

Shiro just nodded slowly, his eyes drifting past her as he turned again—trying to make sense of the shifting, surreal world around him.

She giggled, then stepped closer to Shiro, hands clasped behind her back.

"This is the most dangerous part of the Shadow Forest," she said, her voice light. "But I purified the inner area—even in the heart of all that danger. If dragons still existed, not even they would dare to enter this deep."

She spun around, smiling proudly."But I did. So now, I've made it my base. Pretty cool, right?"

Shiro nodded slightly, then turned to her and whispered, "Look, we've got all the time to talk about that stuff later… but can you help me figure out what this world even is? You already seem to know a lot about me, so… maybe you can help clear a few things up."

She glanced back at him with soft eyes, then gave a gentle smile."Of course I will," she said warmly."Ask away."

Shiro stood still, unmoving, his eyes distant. Then, in a low voice, he murmured, "What exactly is my purpose in this world? I'm not from here… I'm a dreamer. A Descender. Part of some prophecy to save this place, right?"

Erza stepped closer, a soft smile on her lips. She leaned in, her voice a whisper that almost melted into the air."Your role," she said gently, "is to end the conflict... and find the girl every kingdom is hunting. Defeat her. Unite the kingdoms under your banner—and turn this fractured land into a symbol of peace once more."

Shiro clutched his head, blinking in disbelief. His voice came out low, almost like a breath."Wait... what the actual hell? Are you for real? I'm that important in this world?"

His words hung in the air, a mix of shock and bitter sarcasm.

Erza gave a slow, steady nod. Her voice dropped to a whisper, carrying a weight of mystery."As for who that girl is... I don't know either. She's unknown. The only thing I've heard—she has black hair. And... she's a samurai."

Shiro's hand slid down his face. A crooked smirk pulled at his lips, but his eyes stayed sharp."A female samurai, huh... That reminds me of a game character I used to fear. In Japanese history, female samurai were rare—crazy rare—but every one of them was a monster on the battlefield. Strong, disciplined, ruthless. I gotta be smart if I'm going up against someone like that."

Erza tilted her head, puzzled. Her voice was quiet."What are you talking about, Shiro? What's... Japanese culture?"

Shiro let out a light laugh, the tension easing for just a moment. A strange nostalgia flickered in his eyes."Ah, right. Japan's my country—the world I come from. The culture there's wild and deep. Samurai, honor, tradition… all that. I'll tell you about it sometime. Maybe even Chinese culture, the Victorian era, and some late French stuff too."

Then he straightened, the moment of warmth fading as quickly as it came."But not now. We've got bigger things to deal with."

Erza nodded, sensing the shift."Alright then... what do you want to know next?"

Shiro scratched his head, eyes narrowing. He looked up like something had just clicked."What are my powers? And where the hell did my sword go? It vanished mid-fight like it didn't even exist."

Erza chuckled lightly, but her tone carried interest—like this part excited her."You've got the power of light, Shiro. It's one of the rarest abilities in this world."

Then her voice dropped again, almost warning."But rarity doesn't make it strong. Power is like a sword—it means nothing if you don't train your hand. Even the weakest magic can be deadly in the right hands. And the strongest can become useless in the wrong ones. It's not about what you have. It's about how well you learn it."

Shiro nodded slowly, but Erza didn't wait for him to speak.

She stepped closer and spoke calmly as if unraveling a puzzle."About your sword… You sent it into your imagination before you even realized you were on the battlefield, right?"

Shiro blinked, confused but listening.

"Then," she continued, "you stood up, saw the battlefield, summoned it back... but right when you were ready to fight—" she paused, raising a brow, "—it vanished."

Shiro nodded again, more cautious this time.

Erza moved behind him, her eyes scanning the forest edge near the waterfall."Then something's off," she muttered. "There's something inside your imagination. Something that takes what you send into it. You gave it your sword once... now it wants to keep it."

That hit like a cold slap.

Shiro's face tensed as he whispered, Wait… What's inside my imaginary world?

Erza slowly turned back, her gaze sharp, intrigued."I don't know yet," she said, stepping in front of him again.

Shiro stared at her, speechless, his brows drawn together in silent dread. What's inside my imaginary world...?

The question echoed louder in his mind than it did in the air.

Erza's expression stayed calm, yet sharp as a blade ready to draw blood."You'll find out soon enough," she said softly. "And you're the only one who can deal with it."

She turned, her cloak swaying with the breeze as she walked toward the waterfall.

Shiro stood there, frozen.

The trees whispered. The wind held its breath. The sky above shimmered with a light that didn't feel quite right.

He clenched his fist, heart thudding in his chest.

If even my imagination is turning against me… then what the hell am I fighting?

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