Sword Brother

Gaël walked in the wake of the crowd, following the silent flow of survivors gathering in Kernéval's central square.

Usualy, this place buzzed with life, filled with the shouts of merchants, the laughter of children playing around the fountain, and the lively chatter of citizens.

But today… Only sobs and murmurs of anger reigned.

The fountain, carved from pink granite, still flowed, its pure, blessed water whispering as if nothing had changed. And yet, Gaël knew that everything had irreversibly shifted.

Behind the hollow-eyed survivors, ashes continued to drift down upon the city, thin, gray, covering the cobblestones like a funeral shroud.

At the city's highest point, towering over the remnants of Kernéval, stood the blessed stone circle. Ancient and sacred, it was the source of all Lumen blessings, a place normally forbidden to the public.

Today, however, the entire city gazed upon it, as if its unchanging presence was the only thing keeping them from falling into despair.

Across the square, the town hall still stood, imposing and majestic, despite the cracks and scars marring its walls. Spanning hundreds of meters, it had once symbolized stability and order, a barrier against external chaos.

Nearby, surrounded by high wrought-iron fences and an increased guard presence, the grand luminic lighthouse stretched skyward, piercing the ashen clouds. A symbol of the unwavering power of the Luminic Order, its immaculate glow once dominated the city's skyline.

And yet, behind that purity lay a bitter truth. Despite its long-standing defiance against lutech weaponry, the Order had been forced to bend, accepting the installation of a lutech cannon within its walls.

An armament that, only hours ago, had attempted to annihilate the abyssal monarch… And failed.

Gaël lifted his gaze toward the towering spire.

The traces of battle were still visible.

'Its height feels insignificant to me now,' Gaël thought.

Its upper section was blackened with the lingering energy of the fallen monster, and several stained-glass windows, once radiant, were shattered, revealing a broken, devastated interior.

Deep within the lighthouse, the lutech gate pulsed with golden light, an impassive vortex linking the city-states together, the only tangible link to the rest of the world.

Its existence embodied the fragile balance between faith and progress, between the zealotry of the Lumen faithful and the relentless ambition of industry.

At the gate's perimeter, radiance keepers clad in exalted armor stood watch, swords of pure Lumen in hand, their stern faces betraying no emotion, as if the danger had not yet passed.

Their pristine linen cloaks fluttered gently, carried by the cold morning breeze.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for an official announcement from one of the city's two ruling powers.

'Would the sovereign council finally break its silence? Or would the Luminic Order seize control of the narrative?' Gaël thought.

Only the Order's radiance keepers were present.

Where were the council's soldiers? Were they all dead? Unlikely.

The triumvirate, composed of the lutech archon, the master of the watchmen, and the representative of the merchant guilds, were likely deliberating inside the town hall.

And reverend Anatole, an ardent of the shining light of the Luminic Order, was surely among them.

Gaël leaned against the fountain, his body numb with exhaustion and tension. He listened, but barely registered the weeping and cries of the grieving crowd.

'So much noise… and yet, it all feels so distant.'

It was as if the world around him had been muffled, like he was standing behind an invisible wall, separated from the suffering and chaos. The voices reached his ears, but they lacked weight, lacking the ability to stir anything within him.

'Is this what survival feels like? Just… numbness?'

He had always imagined that surviving a catastrophe would bring relief, that the simple act of breathing after such devastation would make him feel grateful. But now, standing amidst the wreckage of a city reduced to dust, there was no relief, no victory, only emptiness.

His mind drifted back to those who hadn't made it. The ones buried beneath the rubble. The ones consumed by the abyss. Did they feel this same emptiness in their final moments? Or had they been spared this hollow existence by the mercy of oblivion?

His gaze fell on the survivors huddled together, faces streaked with dirt and sorrow, clinging to what little remained of their lives.

The grief. The fear. The hope.

Hopefully, here, in the first ring, they were safe, for now.

But they all knew that the corpse of the monarch would soon attract horrors from the sea. Creatures drawn to the Umbra still leaking from its remains.

Infested? Most likely. Altered ? A near certainty.

But if something more powerful emerged… They were all doomed.

A shiver ran down Gaël's spine. His gaze dropped to his younger brother, curled in their mother's trembling embrace. His hands tightened into a silent prayer.

'They need to open the Lutech gate before nightfall… or else…'

Time was against them. The sun still hung high, but how many hours remained before the darkness swallowed them whole?

'Would they even have enough time to calibrate the passage before nightfall?'

Then, a strange sensation crept into him. He lowered his gaze and saw his glove, torn along its entire length with his exposed ring finger gleamed immaculately in the daylight.

The stain… It was gone.

A wave of vertigo overtook him.

His mind flashed back, the SwordBrother's abandoned blade, its cold bite. His corruption… severed?

He searched his body, his soul, for any lingering trace of darkness. But there was nothing. Not a single whisper of the shadowed energy that had once coursed through him.

Gone… for good?

And yet, something else stirred.

A presence.

A vestige of energy, nestled deep within him, where they said only the chosen of the Lumen could perceive sacred light, and where the Umbra had once dwelt for his greatest despair. There, in that ethereal space, floated a wooden sword. Small. Simple.

Identical to the one he had touched.

His breath caught.

'Was this a sign? A second chance?'

The feeling was nothing like the Severance of Excalibur.

'It felt…'

Like an embryo of a weapon. A stain, not of Umbra, ot of Lumen, but something else, something that could grow, develop.

'The SwordBrother's legacy? Had he… planted a seed in my mind through his blade?'

Then...A message came.

Not spoken.

Not written.

But etched into his being in unshakable letters. Letters that cut through his essence, branding him like searing iron :

_ _ _

[The Path of the Severance]

Nascent Blade : (Apprentice) – "The One Who Touches the Blade"

"Steel is heavy. Intention is unclear. The blade refuses to cut."

Meditation on Deep Intent : "Close your eyes. Let go of the steel. Cut with your mind."

[Legacy of Irel the Unstable]

"His hand trembled, but he refused to let go of the blade."

The First Steps of the Severance :"Irel was the first to wield a training sword and to understand that the weight of the blade was not that of metal, but of intention."

"His legend teaches apprentices that doubt is the first barrier to be broken."

_ _ _

The words repeated themselves, over and over. They were engraved within him now, he could not escape them. To silence them, he had to accept them. To accept them, he had to become them.

And so, he did, slowly, painfully. It felt as if a knife was carving through his thoughts until he fully embraced the lesson.

Then... peace.

He opened his eyes again. His reality remained unchanged, but he felt different, sharpened.

And just as he thought to stand, to search for Kaëlan, the doors of the town hall swung open.