The Iron Blade training arena hummed with a different kind of energy than the Ash Blade pit. Here, the air vibrated with honed power, the movements precise and lethal. As Captain Arden, the Iron Blade trainer, surveyed his new recruits, Naithan felt a strange sense of pride. There was something in Arden's intense, predatory gaze—like a roaring cheetah—that promised he would push Naithan, forge him into something stronger, deadlier. Naithan knew he was going to become truly formidable under this man.
Suddenly, a cold dread snaked through Naithan, a chilling premonition he couldn't explain. Then, Arden's voice cut through the arena's low hum. "Attention, everyone! This is Naithan, our new Ash Blade baby newbie! Show him the welcome training!"
And then, hell began anew. The Iron Blade training wasn't just brutal; it was a relentless, soul-crushing assault designed to break the unbreakable. It was about stamina, endurance, and raw strength, and Naithan, for all his battlefield ferocity, was utterly, agonizingly terrible at stamina. He was knocked out, brought to his knees, and beaten down countless times. The world spun, blurred into a sickening kaleidoscope of pain.
Between bouts of consciousness, a small, gentle presence hovered over him. When he could focus, a girl was kneeling beside him. She was beautiful, tiny and delicate compared to the hulking figures of the Iron Blades, with a disarming cuteness that seemed utterly out of place in this crucible. She looked exactly like a bunny, with soft, twitching features and large, innocent eyes. Those eyes, however, held a startling, ethereal quality: one was a brilliant white, the other a stark, piercing red. The red, Naithan realized with a jolt, was the exact shade of blood, and it starkly reminded him of Elyra, his lost girlfriend from a lifetime ago.
"My name is W-Willow," she murmured, her voice soft as a breeze. "Willow Cottar. Nice to meet you."
"Same here," Naithan managed, his voice raspy from exhaustion.
"Are you sad?" Willow Cottar asked, her bunny eyes wide with earnestness.
Naithan hesitated. "Kind of."
"Are you sad because you are getting beaten up?" she pressed, tilting her head.
"...No," Naithan lied, the word a raw whisper of pride.
Willow's face contorted into the most comically mournful, almost comically greedy expression Naithan had ever seen. "If you're sad because of getting beaten up, I can't heal you. B-because I will heal anyone till death!" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, almost desperate whisper. "Please get beaten more, cause I need to heal you to death!"
Naithan woke up properly then, jolted by her sheer, unsettling sincerity. He stared at Willow Cottar. She looked so innocent, so undeniably cute. But beneath that exterior, Naithan realized, she was a lunatic. A terrifyingly cheerful lunatic.
That night, the dorms were silent, the men too exhausted for even curses. Naithan, restless, his body aching but his mind even more so, found himself walking the shadowed corridors. He passed the Ember Blade Knight hall, a rare glimpse into the domain of the Penal Blade elite. Hushed voices drifted out. He paused, drawn by the sound.
Seraphina Stonehide was there, her red fur a stark splash against the dim stone, surrounded by a few other Ember Knights.
"So why don't you give it to him?" one Knight murmured, his voice low.
Seraphina's voice was a low purr. "Not yet. He isn't my thing yet."
My thing? Naithan's mind screamed, a cold wave washing over him.
"You promised him to take him out," another Knight pressed. "Is he going to be your thing?"
Seraphina let out a short, guttural laugh. "No way I am going to send him out. That's why I have been stopping letters from his family. He is going to be my husband."
Huh? The world exploded into a muffled, distorted nightmare. His brain couldn't process. Everything blurred. He couldn't hear a single shit. The words echoed, then fragmented, dissolving into static. Stopping letters... his husband... He was broken, utterly, completely, to the last fragment of his being. He stumbled away from the hall, blindly walking towards his dorm. He heard the Three Stars calling his name, their voices muffled, distant, meaningless. He heard nothing.
Then, the piercing wail of the siren started. The only thing he could rely on to forget everything.
The war.
This time, Naithan didn't even feel the usual grim anticipation. He was a blank. Seraphina found him amidst the preparing Ash Blades. She asked him to stay with her. The blank Naithan merely nodded. They went.
The battlefield was a swirling vortex of blood and chaos. The knight of the Empire read the typical roll call, the war declaration, how this conflict would remove a rebellious faction from their alliance with the Empire. But Naithan only heard one thing, echoing in the depths of his fractured mind: "KNIGHTS CHARGE!!!!!"
Naithan rushed forward, a pure, unthinking weapon. He didn't even know what he was killing, just that things needed to die. His sword became an extension of the void within him, piercing into meat, tendons tearing and splitting with sickening wet sounds. Blood sprayed across his face, warm and sticky, but he felt nothing. He was going berserk, a controlled, terrifying rage. His gold hair seemed to shine even more fiercely amidst the carnage, like he was being awakened to a darker truth. His eyes shone with an unnatural, cold light.
And then, blank.
He opened his eyes. He was standing in front of Seraphina. Her cat-like eyes were wide with horror, her face a mask of shock. She pointed her blade towards him, not in aggression, but in a desperate, trembling gesture.
"Why... WHYYYY DID YOUUU DOOO THISSS!???"
Naithan took a slow, agonizing look around. The battlefield was silent. No enemy. No ally. All dead. Scattered, dismembered bodies as far as the eye could see. The truth, chilling and absolute, seeped into his bones.
"I killed them," he whispered, then a low chuckle began, growing, spiraling into a horrifying, unhinged cackle. "He... hehehehahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHBABABABABABABAAAAAAAaaaaaaa.....Bitch..."
Seraphina recoiled, scrambling into a defensive stance. Her powerful body tensed, her eyes reflecting pure, stark fear. She knew. She knew she couldn't handle him, not like this.
"You bitch," Naithan snarled, his voice guttural, alien, "won't let me go home, huh? I am sending you to your home too. Goodddd!!"
"Naith-" Seraphina started, her voice laced with desperate urgency.
"Not a single fucking word!" Naithan roared, his hand a blur. He lashed out, his raw power uncontrolled. He didn't just injure her; he slit her left ear in half, the fresh wound bleeding profusely into her vibrant red hair, a stark mirror to the old scar he knew.
Seraphina gasped, clutching her ear, but her gaze remained locked on his. "I will give you the letter..." she gasped, pain twisting her features, "but just tell me that you are not going to break..."
Naithan's horrifying laughter died, replaced by a chilling calm. His eyes, still burning with that unnatural light, stared through her. "I am already broken."
He found himself back at the Penal Blade. The vast encampment was eerily quiet, desolate. No one was to be seen. No cheering, no murmurs. Just silence. Seraphina, her face pale, her ear bandaged, appeared beside him. She held a stack of parchment. She took the letters and gave them to him. Naithan's hands trembled as he looked into each of them, reading the scrawled, forgotten words. And with each line, he was shocked by the brutal truth.