The sun was setting behind the crystalwood trees, casting long rays of violet-orange light through the canopy. In Len'Caria, they called it the Ashlight Hour—when shadows stretched like blades and magic ran closest to the surface of the world.
Kael stepped out of the ruin, Volarus clutched under his arm, and took a long breath.
Everything felt sharper now.
The breeze. The heartbeat of the land. The weapons buried in its soil.
Volarus pulsed softly in his hands.
"You've unlocked the first page of true transmutation. I am... impressed. Also slightly aroused, but that's a secondary protocol."
Kael sighed. "Please stop saying things like that out loud."
Behind him, Iris stretched her arms overhead with a satisfied groan, her body arching slightly. She caught him glancing and smirked.
"Something caught your eye, Master Heirbound?"
"Just checking if you were limber enough to dodge when this place collapses on us."
She mock-pouted. "Aww. You do care."
Before he could respond, the runes on Volarus glowed red.
"Incoming ether surge. Multiple life signatures approaching fast."
Kael spun, unsheathing the sword on his back—Lirea's blade, still cracked but resonant. Iris nocked an arrow, scanning the treeline.
The rustling came from the east path, and with it… polished boots.
Three figures stepped into the clearing, clad in matching silver-stitched coats. Academy combat robes.
At their front stood Varek Daelus, a smug-faced noble Kael had seen once before at the outer wall of Draventa. Tall, tanned, and annoyingly handsome, Varek wore a longblood rapier at his hip and held a crystalline flask of green liquid that bubbled faintly.
"Well, well," Varek said, smiling. "If it isn't the mudwalker and his fan club."
Kael stepped forward. "Looking for a beating?"
"Looking to test a theory," Varek replied. "See, rumor says you've awakened something… ancient. That you tamed one of the Arcalchemy relics."
He pointed to Volarus.
"That book belongs to the Academy. Turn it over. Or be turned into mulch."
Iris muttered, "What is it with nobles and threats that sound like gardening?"
Kael ignored her and kept his gaze on Varek. "You're not taking it."
Varek sighed dramatically. "Then a duel, Echo-Blood. You and me. One on one. No interference. First one to drop—loses."
Iris stepped forward. "He's not fighting you alone, prissy—"
"It's fine," Kael said.
He passed Lirea's sword to her.
"Watch this for me. I'll be using something new."
Volarus vibrated excitedly.
"Ohohoho. Are you going to use Page 12 already? It's barely stable!"
Kael smirked.
"Let's find out."
They stepped into a wide ring of dead grass, illuminated by the last streaks of sunlight—Ashlight, pure and glowing like molten gold.
Kael held Volarus out before him as the grimoire opened on its own. Runes formed midair, spinning.
Varek drew his rapier and uncorked the flask. Green liquid poured over his blade, and it sang, pulsing with bio-alchemic poison.
"This blade was forged in the acid rivers of Mal'Surien," Varek said. "It can melt flesh from bone in seconds."
Kael didn't flinch.
"Cool. Mine can talk."
He slammed his palm on the center page of Volarus. A pulse of blue light surged through the air. In a blink, the grimoire reshaped itself—its pages fusing into metal as glyphs crawled up Kael's arm.
With a hiss and spark, a new weapon was born in his grip.
A twin-ended crescent scythe, gleaming with silver and runic threads of molten bronze. Lighter than steel, but vibrating with elemental charge. The weapon shifted slightly with each movement, like it was alive.
"Let's dance," Kael said.
Varek lunged first—fast, trained, noble-style. His poisoned rapier aimed straight for Kael's heart.
Kael didn't parry.
He spun.
The crescent scythe twirled around him like a whirlwind, deflecting the blade and striking low. Sparks flew. Varek stumbled back, then lunged again, this time slicing horizontally.
Kael leapt, the pole shifting mid-air to adjust balance. His feet touched the blade as he flipped over it and landed behind Varek.
Iris shouted from the sidelines, "Okay that was hot—! I mean—WHAT A DODGE!"
Varek roared and summoned a poison burst from his blade, sending droplets spraying like acid rain.
Kael twirled the scythe, then slammed it into the earth.
A surge of bronze light exploded outward.
The ground fractured in a wave, knocking Varek off his feet.
Kael dashed forward, spun the pole, and brought the back end down on Varek's stomach. The noble gasped and collapsed.
Silence.
The scythe dissolved into light and reformed into Volarus, floating gently back into Kael's hand.
"You lost," Kael said calmly. "And you fight like a leaky hosepipe."
Varek groaned, clutching his ribs. "This... isn't over."
"Oh, I'm counting on it."
That night, beside a campfire on the cliff's edge, Iris leaned back on her elbows, watching Kael tinker with Volarus.
"That scythe thing…" she said. "Kinda sexy."
"Thanks, I—wait, the weapon or me using it?"
"Mmm." She winked. "Why not both?"
Kael blinked. "I—uh."
Volarus helpfully added, "I'm very sexy too, if anyone was wondering."
Iris tossed a rock at it.
Kael grinned.
And far below, in the shadowed valley, something ancient opened a single eye.