Sword Brother

The echo of the creature's cry stretched through the air, reverberating against the cliffs of the port city. And then… an oppressive silence. As if the world itself held its breath.

Then, the punishment fell.

A dozen colossal tentacles erupted from the shadowed depths of the sea, raising a curtain of mist and wind. Their massive, writhing surfaces oozed with an unfathomable darkness, and as they rose toward the heavens, they eclipsed the Luminic lighthouse, casting a doom-laden shadow over Kernéval.

A fraction of a second later, they descended with cataclysmic force upon the city.

The cobblestones shattered under the impact. Nearby buildings collapsed like wooden toys. A hurricane of dust and screams swept through the streets.

Gaël was thrown to the ground by the shockwave. His ears rang. His body trembled. Around him, survivors staggered to their feet, dazed, covered in ash and debris.

And then... he saw him.

Amidst the absolute chaos, a black silhouette wove through the stunned crowd, untouched, moving with an unnatural fluidity. He was neither running nor stumbling, his steps were measured, calculated, precise.

Gaël's eyes widened.

The SwordBrother.

The man for whom he had spent the entire night searching for an offering, the one who intrigued him so much that he was willing to abandon his home and family just for a chance to learn from him.

Could he do something? Was he powerful enough?

The warrior was dressed entirely in black, his long coat billowing with the sea wind stirred by the creature's presence. A tricorne hat was pulled low over his head, partially obscuring his features. He wore aged leather gloves and martial boots, worn by countless marches.

But what struck Gaël the most, then and now, was not his attire.

It was the weapon he carried.

Not a gleaming blade. Not a Lutech relic. But a simple wooden sword strapped to his hip.

Gaël held his breath.

A tentacle came crashing down, right toward him.

And yet, the man did not move.

'Would he be crushed? Was he unaware of the danger?' Or… was he capable of something no one else could comprehend?

Gaël, frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away, felt his breath catch in his throat.

The man in black remained still. He waited.

Then…

He drew his sword.

The motion was so fast that Gaël didn't even see it. In an instant, the blade was already back in its sheath. No sound, no flash of light, not even a ripple in the air, and yet, the tentacle was severed.

Time seemed to freeze.

The monstrous appendage, detached from the rest of the creature, hung suspended mid-air, as if refusing to acknowledge its own mutilation.

Then, it fell.

A deafening crash erupted as the massive, grotesque limb smashed into the ground, sending a shockwave that scattered shards of stone and a dark mist into the air. The remaining portion of the tentacle recoiled in a frenzied spasm, leaving behind a trail of shadowy essence that slowly dissipated.

The huge Monarch howled, a sound that defied reality, a roar so deep it made bones vibrate, a voice drenched in indignation and ancient fury.

In the distance, valiant radiance keepers armed with luminic weapons desperately tried to hold back the remaining tentacles, but with far less success. Every strike of their sacred blades seemed ineffectual, every purification spell snuffed out like a fragile flame before a hurricane.

Gaël saw the man in black turn his head slightly, observing the uneven battle with an indecipherable expression.

Then, without the slightest hesitation, he ran toward the cliffside.

"No… what is he doing?!" Gaël whispered, his throat tight.

With a single fluid motion, the warrior leapt and threw himself into the void.

The monarch's tentacles recoiled violently, as if reacting to an imminent danger. For a moment, even the darkness itself retreated, pulling back on itself, swallowing the silhouettes that strayed too close to the heart of the battle. Something was happening below.

Waves of shadow erupted sporadically, like invisible blades cutting through the daylight itself. With each pulse, a tremor rippled through the city, making walls tremble and roofs crack. Shadows stretched and twisted, as a titanic battle raged at the foot of the cliff.

A new apocalypse.

The entire city seemed to hold its breath, like a condemned prisoner awaiting judgment.

Those who had strayed too close to the abyss stood paralyzed, their minds shackled by the Monarch's presence.

Gaël, too, could not move, overwhelmed by the magnitude of a battle he could not even comprehend.

Then…

Something fell nearby. A dull flash, a lightless comet, burst through the dark mist and slammed into Gaël's house. The facade split in two. The structure shuddered.

And yet… Not a single sound escaped as the object crashed onto the cobblestone floor.

One final tremor.

Then silence.

Beyond the cliffside, the monarch's howls ceased. The waves of shadow stopped. The chaos ended… as suddenly as it had begun.

'Is it over?'

Gaël, his legs trembling, slowly stood up, his eyes desperately searching for a sign of victory… or defeat. His gaze fell on the object that had fallen from the sky. Heart pounding, he stepped forward, weaving through the rubble of what had once been his home. Then he froze.

The sword.

That wooden sword.

It lay there, inexplicably untouched amidst the smoldering ruins. Its hilt was barely scratched, its blade pristine, as if it had never been touched by the fury of battle.

And yet… it should not be here.

Gaël took a step back, his throat tightening with an unfathomable dread.

'Why is this sword, the SwordBrother's blade, here?' Gaël thought.

And, more terrifyingly… What had become of its owner?

Gaël approached slowly, his breath shallow, his legs still trembling under the weight of shock. The wooden sword lay there, amidst the rubble, intact, while everything around it was in ruins. The blade seemed insignificant, even absurd after such a battle.

And yet, something about it felt… unreal.

His fingers reached out.

And the moment his skin brushed the hilt... The world shattered.

A blinding pain tore through him, as if an invisible blade had split his being in two, severing not just his body but his very soul. His scream died in his throat before it could escape.

His vision blurred.

His mind unraveled.

And then, he fell.

Into endless void. A chasm of cutting light.

Into an abyss of severing light.

Everything he was, everything he had ever been, was reduced to shreds, sliced into fragments as sharp and precise as shattered crystal. He saw his stain, the corruption that marked his existence, being unraveled into thin filaments, dissected with merciless precision. Every shadowed particle within him recoiled, writhed… then vanished.

A will surged through him, foreign yet overwhelming, unyielding and absolute. It was not a voice, not a whisper. It was a command of steel, an impalpable yet inexorable decree.

A blade… even beyond death.

It was the legacy of someone long gone, yet whose resolve still endured, embedded within the wood of this abandoned sword. A relentless presence, demanding that all impurity be erased.

Gaël felt his mind crack beneath the weight of this unyielding force. He tried to resist, but he was nothing more than a speck of dust before the immensity of Excalibur's judgment.

Then, he saw.

'What's the f...'

Not light, not the Lumen, but an imperial edge, the Severance, absolute and inescapable.

He witnessed the legendary blade, not as a mere shard of the Lumen, but as the weapon that had shaped the world's fate. The blade that had cut through the inconceivable, that had impaled that thing upon the moon, that had cleaved the darkness apart, bringing forth Lumen as the only possible answer.

The last fragment of his consciousness dissolved into the cutting radiance

And Gaël collapsed, his body lifeless, his fingers still clenched around the sword.