After eating with Camellya, Verchiel decided to go to Lake Nivarra near the academy, where the First Fragment of Weapon Signature was located.
A cold wind swept across the surface of Nivarra's Mirror Lake, a secluded lake whose waters perfectly reflected the sky, as if another world lay beneath. A thin mist hung over it, and the lake was renowned for its legend: anyone who gazed into its waters for too long would see their true selves—or something they had cast away.
Verchiel stood on the shore, his robes billowing gently. A soft blue light flickered from the magic-detecting pendant he had created himself.
"Luminara... you're here," he whispered.
He stepped onto the lake's surface. But the water didn't ripple—it was as if he were walking on an otherworldly mirror.
Suddenly, the sky darkened. The atmosphere froze. And from beneath the surface, a shadow emerged. Slowly... the figure rose to the surface and stood before Verchiel.
It was him.
But not the current Verchiel.
It was Verchiel, the God of Light—golden battle robes, long braided hair, and eyes as bright as the sun.
"You... are not me," the shadow said flatly, yet thunderously.
Verchiel looked at him calmly. "I am what's left of me."
"Weak. Letting the world forget who you are. Giving up your weapon. Hiding among the children. You insult the Light itself."
Verchiel lifted his chin. "I'm relearning... from scratch. Not because I'm weak. But because I want to understand power. Not just possess it."
The shadow moved swiftly—slicing through the air, swinging a giant sword of light at Verchiel. But Verchiel simply raised his hand, forming a purely defensive seal, no incantation, no shout.
BOOM!
The lake shook. Light exploded in all directions. But Verchiel stood still.
"I don't need my past self to teach me how to win. What I need... is a piece of my weapon."
Verchiel's shadow paused. His eyes slowly softened. "Then show me... that you deserve to have it back."
The light from the lake swirled, gathering into the first shard of Luminara—a small, long, dagger-like crystal, pulsing with a holy aura. Verchiel lowered his head and grasped it.
And when he touched it—
Old memories exploded inside his head.
Fragments of a endless War. Fallen gods. The cries of mortals calling out her name. And... the surviving Dark Monarchs, hiding.
Verchiel gasped. His hands trembled. "They... still exist... and they know I've returned."
The image slowly faded, but his voice lingered.
"Hurry... for time waits for you. Luminara will not be complete... if you are not ready to face the final darkness."
Verchiel stood. He tucked the fragment into his personal magical dimensional space.
His steps left the lake's surface.
And behind him, his own reflection did not reflect