Rowan felt for the hilt laying in his hand, its rough edges a sharp dagger against his skin.
There was a long, protruding ring of black matter that encased the hilt, providing with it more stable grip that fit almost perfectly into his hand.
Its aura was, by all means, otherworldly, the surrounding aether getting drawn in and blipping out of existence as it touched upon its blade.
The constitution of the blade was enough to make Rowan want to try it out immediately, jagged like forged obsidian and bringing with it a sense of warmth.
'Right blade, wrong time,' Rowan heard, the voice coming just a few inches above him.
He looked up, only averting his gaze from the sudden jolt from his hand.
Purple sparks flew, singing his skin and burning him immensely. He felt as if someone were to place a fire just a few inches too close to his skin, smoke coming from his hand.
"Grahhh!"
He yelled, snapping his arm back as the sword flew from him, landing cleaning into the floor below.
The surrounding concrete also began to suck into its sharp, the vibrant hue from the aether lacing it slowly ridding the material of its color.
"What was that," Alfred asked, walking up to touch upon the writbane's hilt.
Raising the blade, he ran his finger along the blade, twisting his head once more down where Rowan's grimoire was to get a feel for the resonating aura.
The two were equal in their void, almost beckoning with their violent rattling to make contact.
Alfred couldn't refuse them, letting go to allow them to assimilate.
With a 'whrrrp,' the blade sucked into the grimoire, blaring tendrils of purple shooting out from the portal generated.
"What's going on," Rowan asked, almost sticking his hand forward to retrieve the grimoire but stalling once he'd almost been impacted by one of the stray streaks of aether.
Nonetheless, he was befuddled, the link between himself and the grimoire even more invisible than ever before. He couldn't get even a single inkling for the grimoire's desires or will, its actions growing more and more spontaneous.
Finally, the sound settled, the air in the room a mix of fear and confusion.
"Well, son," Alfred said, walking up to Rowan with his grimoire, "it seems that whatever the blade was, it's made for you. This is the first I've seen of a grimoire learning arcana specifically for a blade--or anything physical, for that matter, but I can tell that it will be of great use to you someday."
Handing Rowan back his book, he turned, almost solemnly stilling his limbs as if there were more for him to say, but he stopped, looking back up to the heroes.
"An interesting lot, that's for sure. I can tell that you will provide great feats worthy of your acclaim. This certainly won't be the last time we meet, so I'll end things off on a high note."
He reached for his pocket, revealing a large paper with detailing of names for an event.
"This contains all the entry slots for the colosseum. Go visit it sometime--participate even, but get a knack for the combat of this world with those weapons of yours."
Handing it to the king, he turned again, placing one hand on his desk.
"Now, beat it, I don't appreciate the presence of humans other than the king."
"Thank you," Viral said, tipping his head down, "and may the gods bless you for your days to come."
The other heroes silently entered a full bow, gripping their new weapons even tighter with a repressed exhilaration.
"Well, then, go on."
Getting shooed from his premises, the group made their exit, shutting the door behind them.
"I was already planning on taking you heroes to the colosseum, but it seems we'll be provided free entry thanks to Alfred. It's weird, since he's always such a grumpy old man," Viral mentioned, turning away once he noticed the questioning gazes of the heroes and even a couple of the guards, "ah, too much? No matter, lets continue on our way."
"What do we have after this," Lucien asked, looking between what laid ahead of them and the large castle towering in the middle of the town square.
"Don't worry, Sir Lucien, I've ensured that you will enjoy your time touring the royal capital. There will be a number of arrangements, personally suited to your needs and desires."
Without any words to follow up with, the heroes trudged behind the king, following his path as he twisted and churned through the many harrowing alleyways that connected each part of the city.
As such, time elapsed through hours of senseless exploration, a myriad of explorations through gardens, stores, and grounds for training marking the beginning of the heroes' new life in the world.
Truthfully, Rowan was zoned out for the bulk of it, only tuning in every now and then to hear mention of a specifically useful store for magical runes, another for potions, and so on.
It wasn't anything worth pointing out, the people nice but their ubiquity somewhat jarring.
"Hm," Viral hummed, turning away from the brilliant deep orange separating the old bright yellow that distinguished daybreak from nightfall, "it looks as if we've reached the end of our tour. What say we return to the royal grounds?"
The heroes nodded in response, some of them breathing quieted yes' or concealingly pumping their fist.
"So, this is where master got hung up with at the beginning of his new life here."
A voice rung across the streets, concentrating the attentions of everybody in the group to the top of a house just in front of them.
Her figure was a nice contrast to the midday breeze running through Rowan's face, her hair silvery and her figure curvaceous through both her petiteness and bends in all the right places.
Her hair, specifically, waved through the air, its length falling down just past her shoulders.
"Who are you," the king asked, grabbing hold of the sword he'd always held on his back.
"That is not a question I can yet answer, although you will know in due time."
"Hey, you're not here to start a fight, are you," Kaia yelled, pointing her hand forward in the lady's direction.
"No, as long as I can have private audience with the hero there."
She was pointing at Rowan, peculiarly smiling down at him.