The room lit up from the bright red light shining from the brazen gauntlets, flagging in the air from their soft material.
Light gloves, Kaia fitted them, allowing herself a moment to assimilate their aether and feel for its power.
"Amazing..." she murmured, opening and closing her fist repeatedly.
With a single swipe at the air, Rowan felt his hair wave behind him, almost being flung back from the sheer pressure.
It was a huge disparity--the difference between the power she now adorned with the gloves and the power she had just moments ago shining like the bright sun.
Alfred smiled, tapping her shoulder while stepping forward to search for his next victim.
"Then, if it's to your tastes, I'll continue with my cataloguing of weapons."
His hand trailing Lucien's grimoire, his eyes were closed, humming the same tune. This continued as he felt for the others' as well, only stopping once he'd reached Rowan's.
He hovered over it for just a moment, his expression far more dense with a serious undertone filling the air.
He swerved his shoulders around the opposite direction, ignoring it to motion Oren the proper components needed for their weapons.
Like a game's animation playing back to the player, Oren jumped up and repeated the same steps, reaching for the necessary materials.
After a couple minutes, he fell back down, the boxes dropping right back into his arms one-by-one from their severed inertia.
Alfred fwipped through his booklet once more, getting a grip on whatever was held in its contents.
"Okay, I'll start with you, Sir Lucien. A blade forged from the darkest and most impenetrable ore in this side of the world, a dragon's core."
Quickly, Alfred unlatched several boxes and combined their components, the void releasing from the hilt of the newly crafted blade.
It was intriguing, the way it flickered in the face of light, slowly drawing in both the air and the aether.
A black hole--that was the only description fitting of its appearance and functionality.
Lucien grabbed onto the blade, closing his eyes just like Kaia had while getting a grapple on his new weapon.
Zwoom!
He swung its blade, the resultant sound too unconventional to describe.
However, the trail it left behind was like that of space folding, the background behind it combining to skip the area in-between.
It was like if one were to get a sheet of paper and fold it into fourths, connecting the outmost ends to form a new, smaller paper--disregarding the middle two parts.
"Looks like that one's a success," Alfred said, turning to retrieve his other two boxes.
He combined them the same way, Elias obtaining a bow and Liora a cape.
Their effects seemed to triple, perhaps even quadruple the normal effects of their arcana, and that wasn't even to mention the deepening of insight made prevalent through their eyes.
Perhaps with this, I might be able to fight without my grimoire, Rowan thought, attempting best to forget his marking as an unblessed.
"You, there," Alfred pointed, his finger gunning in Rowan's direction, "may you open your grimoire for me?"
"Why?"
"So that I may understand its nature a little better."
"Sure, but you'll quickly find that there's nothing for you to observe. It doesn't respond to me, so it certainly won't respond to you."
Rowan's words were sincere, his Adam's apple reeling just a couple inches up his throat.
The gulp he'd felt wasn't out of being nervous--no, he was far from it. What he felt was frustration, not only with himself, but with his grimoire.
Even now, it didn't bother to listen and answer his provocations, only etching into his spirit the same eerie void that stared back into him.
Rowan opened the grimoire, stepping back to look on at Alfred turn its pages.
"It's as they say... you lack any form of arcana, even outside of the Way."
"You can possess arcana without the Way?"
Rowan twisted his shoulders, his arms hankering to express themselves with this new revelation. Instead, he just held gripped his fists, allowing them to burn through whatever hope he'd felt.
"Yes, although they have to be provided to the user by the grimoire, not the other way around. Did the king not inform you of this?"
Viral looked to the side, Alfred's words completely missing him.
As soon as Alfred spoke, the faint sparks igniting in Rowan's soul vanished, both hands falling to his sides, inexpressive and uncaring.
His face also fell, turning into the same blank slate that had stolen him of his vitality once he left the town square.
"Okay, I don't mean to lecture, but the Way is just the universal force linking all souls to the arcana. There are ways to wield the arcana in its rawest form, free of technique and conduits, although it's far more difficult. The dragons wield it this way, and it is where they have earned their acclaim." Alfred turned, grabbing Rowan's grimoire along with him. "Anyway, we must continue, and I believe I must search for the components myself while holding onto your grimoire. Trust me, even though its wordless, I can still feel for its intent."
Pushing Oren aside, he jumped up--almost floated--onto the ladders, running his hands through each shelf individually.
His eyes would turn to the boxes, then to Rowan's grimoire, then back up to a different shelf. It was never-ending, the speed at which he moved dozens of times slower than Oren.
Although, this didn't last for long.
Alfred closed his eyes for a moment, almost resting his face in the grimoire as purple began to glow between the two of them.
The aether thrummed with more and more violent, eventually vibrating once his face shone with understanding.
His neck snapped to face directly above him, his feet taking action right along with it.
Spinning in the air, he leaped hundreds of feet above from where he stood, almost shattering the ladder below and blazing off past where his features were visible.
He hovered for only a moment at the very peak of the building, his head reaching for a single shelf topping the others.
Thwam!
His body slammed into the ground, his clothes red from the velocity.
He remained largely unharmed though, unleashing a long box that held with it nothing--no aura or presence--suggesting there were anything magical trapped inside.
"For you, a completely unorthodox blade that even I remain uncertain on its functionalities. The Writbane."