The sky was still torn open, streaks of golden lightning flickering across the fractured heavens. Sol stood amidst the remnants of his battle, heart pounding and mind racing. The divine sword in his hand radiated a strange, almost alive aura—its surface shimmered with shifting patterns, as if hiding secrets beneath its radiant surface.
He stared at the blade, eyes narrowing. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a mystery. The runes that etched its length seemed to pulse with an unspoken language, and the glow from the dragon's wounds hinted at something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension.
A whisper echoed in his mind—a faint, haunting voice, like the fading echoes of a forgotten dream.
*Who dares wield the Eternal Flame?*
Sol flinched, instinctively gripping the hilt tighter. The voice was not his own, nor was it the divine whisper he'd heard before. It was deep, resonant, filled with centuries of silence and secrets.
"Eternal Flame?" he muttered, voice uncertain. "What are you talking about?"
The sword's glow flickered. For a moment, the patterns on its surface shifted into a swirling pattern that resembled a dragon's silhouette—faint, shadowy, like a memory trying to surface.
And then, there was the beast—the dragon. It was no ordinary creature. Its scales shimmered with an unnatural hue, and its eyes burned with an intelligence that felt almost human. Its wings, vast and shadowy, seemed to ripple with an ancient divine energy.
The dragon's roar echoed in his mind—not a sound from the sky, but an impression, a feeling.
*You have awakened the Eternal Flame, but beware—its power is a curse as much as a blessing.*
Sol staggered, both from the blast of that mysterious presence and from a sudden rush of memories—faint flashes of a life he didn't recognize. Faces, battles, and a name buried deep within his subconscious.
His past.
He remembered fighting, struggling, and a fierce desire to become the greatest swordsman in a world filled with chaos and divine secrets. But those memories flickered away like a dying flame, elusive and incomplete.
He looked down at the sword, which now pulsed softly, as if waiting for him to unlock its true nature.
The divine voice again, more insistent this time, whispered into his mind:
*The sword is more than metal and magic. It is a key—a vessel of the divine, bound to the one who wields it. To unlock its full potential, you must face the truth of your past.*
A sudden gust of wind swept past him, and the sky responded with rolling thunder. Sol's new resolve hardened.
He turned toward the horizon, eyes burning with determination. His goal was clear: to become the best swordsman—no, the Heavenly Swordsman, the one who would carve his name into legend.
But the path was mysterious and fraught with danger. The sword's true power was still hidden, and the dragon's true nature was cloaked in shadows.
He clenched his fist, feeling the weight of the sword in his grasp. The runes glimmered faintly, whispering secrets he could barely comprehend.
"I don't fully understand you yet," he whispered to the blade. "But I'll unlock your secrets. And I'll become the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen."
A faint, almost imperceptible hum emanated from the sword—a sound like whispers from the past, calling him forward.
The divine voice echoed once more, softer but no less powerful:
*The legend of the Heavenly Swordsman is not yet written. Your journey begins now.*
Sol took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains. Somewhere beyond them, new enemies, new mysteries awaited. The divine sword in his hand thrummed with silent promise.
He would forge his path—through blood, through fire, through the shadows of his forgotten past.
And he would become the best.
Because in this world, only the strongest, only the most skilled, could carve their name into eternity.
And Sol Di Ventifuris was determined to be one of them.