The crowd stood in silence for a moment.
An uneasy silence swept over Ground One as every student stared at him.
Kael slowly rose to his feet. The aura spilling from the sword curled like smoke around his body, wrapping him in a cloak of shadow.
His hair clung to his sweat-damp face, his lips curved into something between a grimace and a snarl.
Darius's smirk faltered for the first time. He took a step back, his grip tightening on his own sword.
Kael flexed his fingers around the hilt, the dark weapon humming in his hand as though it recognized him—no, as though it claimed him.
(So this is it…)
The realization struck him like lightning.
The weight of the blade no longer burdened him, it flowed with him, responding to his will.
And in his mind, he realized:
(The sword doesn't want strength. It wants blood.)
His gaze dropped briefly to the darkened weapon, its aura licking at his skin like fire that did not burn.
The moment his blood touched it, the sword awakened.
