Veil of Sparks

Kael's sword struck the wooden post with a dull, unsatisfying thud.

The splintered wood barely shook under the force of his swing, standing tall and unyielding as if mocking his efforts. Kael let out a frustrated groan and dropped the blade to his side, its chipped edge scraping against the stone floor of the warehouse.

"Three months," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Three months of this, and I'm still hitting like a goddamn feather."

The empty warehouse didn't offer any sympathy. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the crumbling roof, illuminating the scattered debris and casting jagged shadows on the walls. Dust floated lazily in the air, disturbed only by Kael's restless movements.

He glanced down at his sword—a piece of junk he'd scavenged during one of his desperate ventures into the city outskirts. Its surface was pitted with rust, the grip rough and uneven from years of neglect. It wasn't a weapon; it was an insult.

Kael swung it again, the blade connecting with the post. A faint crack echoed through the warehouse, but the impact jarred his arm more than it damaged the wood.

"Yeah, that'll scare the Umbrals," Kael said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll just bore them to death with my terrible form."

Kael wasn't sure how he'd survived the last three months. He still felt like an outsider in this world, a weakling surrounded by warriors and scholars who seemed to walk with purpose.

But desperation had forced him to adapt.

He spent his days scavenging for supplies, avoiding trouble, and pushing his body to its limits. Every night, he collapsed onto the pile of blankets in the corner of the warehouse, his muscles aching and his mind replaying every failure.

The Recruitment Festival was his only shot. He couldn't afford to fail.

Kael adjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly. His grip on the sword tightened, and he inhaled slowly, focusing on the rhythm of his movements.

In the game, this was easy, he thought. Step. Swing. Adjust. Repeat.

He brought the blade down again, imagining an Umbral in front of him—a twisted, shadowy creature with tendrils lashing out. He swung horizontally, then followed with an overhead strike, his movements quicker and more fluid than before.

The post cracked under the force of the final blow, a splintered piece falling to the ground.

Kael let out a breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Finally," he muttered. "Progress."

But the moment was short-lived.

A sharp, tingling sensation spread through his fingers, like static electricity prickling his skin. Kael froze, staring at his hand. Faint arcs of blue light danced along his fingertips, crackling softly before fading into nothingness.

"What the hell?" Kael whispered, his pulse quickening.

He flexed his fingers, but the tingling sensation didn't return. For a moment, he wondered if he'd imagined it—if the months of exhaustion and frustration were finally messing with his head.

Kael couldn't stop thinking about the strange spark.

Later that night, as he sat in the dim light of the warehouse, he stared at his hands. His calloused palms felt no different than usual, but he couldn't shake the memory of the blue arcs dancing along his fingers.

He reached for the blade beside him, running his hand along its dull edge.

"Come on," he muttered, his voice low. "If there's something there, show me."

Nothing happened.

Kael let out a frustrated groan and dropped the blade, slumping back against the wall. "Figures," he muttered. "Of course I don't get powers. Why would this world suddenly decide to cut me a break?"

The next day, Kael ventured to the outskirts of Solvane, where the city's ruins stretched like forgotten scars. These areas were quiet—too quiet. Most people avoided them, afraid of lingering Umbrals or structural collapses.

Kael found a small clearing among the rubble, the ground uneven and littered with broken stone. He unsheathed his blade, adjusting his stance.

The memory of the crackling arcs still lingered in his mind, urging him to try again.

He swung the sword, his movements sharp and deliberate. Each strike stirred the air, but the blade didn't feel any lighter, and his arms ached with every swing.

Frustration bubbled to the surface.

"Damn it!" Kael shouted, slamming the sword into the ground. His voice echoed through the empty ruins. "What am I even doing? This isn't working. I'm not strong enough—I'll never be strong enough!"

The anger surged through him, hot and uncontrollable. He clenched his fists, the blade trembling in his grip.

And then, it happened.

A sharp jolt shot through his arm, and the sword's edge sparked with blue light. The energy crackled down the blade, faint but unmistakable, lighting up the shadows around him.

Kael froze, staring at the weapon as arcs of electricity danced along its surface. The energy fizzled out after a few seconds, leaving him standing in stunned silence.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his mind racing.

"That… that wasn't the sword," Kael whispered. His hands trembled as he lifted them, staring at his fingers. "That was me."

The realization hit him like a thunderclap. He had a Spark—a weak, unstable Spark, but a Spark nonetheless.

Kael felt a strange mix of emotions: disbelief, excitement, and fear. Sparks were the foundation of power in this world, the mark of those who had a chance to stand against the darkness.

For three months, he had convinced himself he didn't have one—that he was just another powerless extra trying to survive.

But now?

Kael looked at the sword in his hand, the memory of the lightning still fresh in his mind.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "All right," he said softly, his voice steady. "Let's see how far this can go."

That night, Kael sat by the faint glow of a conduit near the warehouse, his thoughts racing. He didn't know much about how Sparks worked in practice—he'd only ever seen them used in the game. But if his was tied to lightning, then maybe he could harness it, shape it into something useful.

He glanced down at his hands again, flexing his fingers. "I'm not a hero," he muttered, the words bitter but honest. "But I'm not giving up, either."

For the first time in months, Kael felt something new: hope.

The Recruitment Festival was getting closer, and now, for the first time, he felt like he had a chance.