The Whispering Vault wasn't just a tomb — it was a crucible.
As Umbra gripped the black glass blade, the shadows inside him roared to life. His body tingled, and the air thickened with power, oppressive yet exhilarating. Sunny watched silently, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and caution.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Umbra asked, voice low and steady.
Sunny nodded. "Like the darkness itself is alive. But… it's not just power. There's something else. A warning."
Umbra's gaze drifted to the murals etched deep into the vault's walls. Scenes of ancient warriors battling colossal beasts, gods wielding magic that twisted reality, and shadows swallowing entire armies. One image stood out — a figure cloaked in darkness, wielding a sword that seemed to consume light itself.
That's me, Umbra thought.
"We're not alone," Sunny whispered, breaking the silence. "The vault hums with more than history. It's alive. Watching."
Umbra tightened his grip on the blade. "Then we'll make sure it knows who's in control."
A sudden rumble shook the vault, dust falling from the ceiling. Shadows coalesced, forming shapes — ancient guardians, forged from pure darkness, eyes glowing like embers.
"Prove your worth," a voice echoed, ancient and cold.
Umbra didn't hesitate. Shadows poured from his veins, merging with the blade. The duel began.