Wood clashed in a crack of force, echoing through the crisp morning air.
Helion ducked low, swept his leg, and rolled to the side as Zeyr's blade came down with sharp precision. Dust kicked up as both reset their stances—neither winded, but both blazing with intensity.
Zeyr stepped in again, meeting Helion's next strike head-on. The wooden blades collided with a thunderous snap.
Helion grinned. "You're not holding back anymore, huh?"
Zeyr smirked faintly, twisting mid-swing and forcing Helion to parry with his full weight.
Another blow. Another pivot. Faster. Sharper.
Then—Zeyr raised a hand, halting the match.
They froze. Sweat rolled down Helion's face.
Zeyr's expression shifted—less playful now. More proud. "You've improved. Greatly. In just eight days."
He said it plainly, like a fact—not praise.
In his mind, Zeyr mused:
I see it clearly now, Loken. That boy… the mana in him isn't just dense—it flows with intent. His core's already stronger than most trained soldiers twice his age. With the right push, he might even rival—
"Master Zeyr!"
Helion's voice broke the thought.
Zeyr blinked. "What is it?"
"I think—I've got the hang of my first Form!"
Zeyr chuckled, relaxing. "So that spirit training actually paid off, huh? You and Luminox finally stopped glaring at each other?"
Helion smiled sheepishly, lowering his sword. "I can feel it now. The power—it's not just mine anymore. It's ours."
Zeyr nodded. "Then the bond's taken root. The first soul gate's open."
Helion looked at his hands, a slow breath escaping. "I don't understand all of it yet… but this feeling… it's something else."
And just like that, the warmth in his chest reignited—a steady reminder of what had happened.
Flashback: 8 Days Earlier
It happened during one of Zeyr's more brutal sessions.
Helion was exhausted—palms raw, legs shaking. He'd been blindfolded and left alone in a mana-soaked forest basin with just one instruction: "Listen for the spirit."
No guidance. No tricks. Just silence.
For hours—nothing.
Until something shifted.
Not the air. Not the ground.
Inside him.
A whisper. Not words—presence.
Warmth bloomed in his chest, slow and steady. A flicker… then a flame.
It felt like… coming home.
Later, Zeyr explained it.
"There are two real ways to bond with a spirit," he'd said, arms crossed.
"First—the common one. Mutual Connection. Mutua Vinculum. It happens when spirit and soul align. Respect. Trust. Over time, that bond grows—until the spirit lends you its power."
"It's usually channeled through a sword. Why? Because a sword balances will, instinct, and form. But the weapon's just a vessel. It's the bond that matters."
Helion nodded.
Then Zeyr's voice turned quiet.
"The second way?" He looked Helion dead in the eyes. "It's rare. Sacrum Votum. The Heavenly Vow."
"That one… chooses you."
"You don't earn it. You don't call for it. You're born carrying its echo. When that spirit finds you, there's no negotiation. No pact. No 'training.' You just… remember each other."
"A bond beyond time."
Helion didn't fully grasp it then.
But that moment in the basin?
Luminox didn't just awaken.
He returned.
No contract. No ceremony.
Just recognition.
Back to present
Wood clacked gently as the training blades were placed against the old shed. Loken padded behind them, silver fur gleaming in the morning light.
Inside, Zeyr rummaged through an old chest by the hearth. He pulled out a finely-woven satchel, lined with faint runes.
"Alright," Zeyr said, stuffing cloths inside. "You've passed the basics of the Royal Blade. You've made it through Sacrum Votum. And you've half-mastered Form One."
He turned.
"It's time to forge a real sword. One worthy of your bond with Luminox."
Helion lit up. "Wait—seriously? Where do we go?"
Zeyr raised a hand. "Easy. We still need to gather materials—rare metals, stabilizers. Something that can handle your wild mana."
He unfurled a map across the table. Symbols and lines etched over the southern peaks.
"I know a guy," he said, tapping a mark. "Mage-smith. Old friend. If anyone can forge a Soulbond blade—it's him."
Helion nodded eagerly.
Zeyr narrowed his eyes. "You got any money?"
Helion blinked.
Loken tilted his head.
"Uh… no. Not a coin."
Zeyr sighed. "Of course."
He leaned on the table. "Good thing I've got a war pension that just piles up."
Helion beamed. "Seriously?! That's awesome! Thank you, Master Zeyr!"
"No wonder you live like this. I thought heroes retired broke!"
Zeyr grunted. "I did. Then I got smarter."
He grabbed his coat.
"Alright, flame-kid. Pack light. We leave at noon."
He glanced toward the cracked window. Golden morning light spilled in.
"Eight days down. That gives us six. Just enough time to craft your blade and prep for the Royal Draft."
He faced Helion. "This is your best shot, kid. Might be the only one."
Helion swallowed, excitement flickering with nerves.
"…Could you tell me more about the Royal Guard? I know the basics, but—"
Zeyr chuckled. "Now you're asking the right questions."
He folded his arms. "The Guard stands above even the military. Only beneath the Arch Captains."
"They aren't soldiers. They're walking legends. Soulforms mastered. Ascendant Formwork unlocked. Strategy, spirit, sword—all one."
He pointed at the map.
"The Draft's every five years. Nobles, elites, academy stars—they get the invites."
"But you? You're a wild card. An unknown. You'll have to do more than keep up. You'll have to dominate."
He locked eyes with him.
"This sword we forge—won't just be your weapon. It'll be proof. That Luminox chose you. That your Soulform has awakened."
He tapped the map's edge. "Normally, you need a sponsor—a noble house, a royal line, or an Arch Captain."
Helion's chest deflated. "So… I never really had a chance?"
His thoughts jumped—back to Syrus telling him to go to the capital. Wait… how would I even—
Zeyr cut in. "Luckily for you… I was one of those Arch Captains."
Helion stared. Wide-eyed.
Zeyr smirked. "And my name still opens doors."
"Thank you, Zeyr. Seriously—I don't even know how to repay—"
Zeyr raised a hand. "The sword's my gift."
"But your place in the Draft? That's thanks to Loken."
His voice softened. "I owed him that much."
The silence that followed was thick—gratitude, weight, memory.
Then Zeyr clapped his hands. "Come on. We've got work to do."
As they stepped out, the sun now high, Loken padded close behind.
Zeyr turned. "Alright, bud. I know you want to come. But this trip's long—and dangerous."
Loken growled low, head tilting.
Zeyr narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me that look. You're staying. Someone's gotta keep the house standing."
With a reluctant huff, Loken circled twice and plopped down in the dirt.
Helion laughed. "It's true. You'll be safer here."
Zeyr grinned. "Drama king."
Helion turned. "So… where are we going?"
Zeyr adjusted his satchel, pointing east. "Deep mountain range. Far edge of the Arch Kingdom. Borderlands."
Helion's eyes drifted to Zeyr's sword. "That blade's insane… Looks like you're prepping for war."
Zeyr rolled his eyes. "Settle down, fanboy."
Helion laughed, then asked the question.
"You've never said… what's your elemental spirit?"
Zeyr didn't respond right away.
"Your technique's so refined, most people probably forget you have one."
Zeyr smirked. "I'd hope so. Hard to be the first Royal Blade Master without one."
"You trained the captains, right? Even Syrus?"
Zeyr nodded. "That kid had talent. Too laid back—but talented."
Helion leaned forward. "So… your element?"
Zeyr's smile faded just a little. "That," he said, turning toward the trail, "is a story for another time."
He glanced back.
"First, let's see if you can even handle getting there."
As Zeyr and Helion continued walking through the cobbled streets of the village, quiet murmurs followed in their wake.
"That's him… the former Arch Captain."
"Is that really Chrono?"
A young boy tugged at his mother's blouse, wide-eyed. "Look, Mommy! It's Chrono the Hero!"
Helion glanced sideways, eyebrows raised. "Still kind of a big deal, huh?" He elbowed Zeyr playfully. "Didn't think I was walking next to royalty."
Zeyr sighed, brushing off the attention. "Stop that."
But Helion wasn't done. "No, really. You're in a ton of the kingdom's records—military history, battle accounts… even some old academy texts. Guess it makes sense people still recognize you."
Zeyr gave a reluctant grunt, eyes forward. "History's just stories told loud enough to stick."
Helion smirked. "Yeah… but your story stuck harder than most."
Zeyr didn't answer, but the faintest trace of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as they walked on
They approached a tall, weathered stone arch at the edge of the village—half-covered in moss, yet still standing proud like a forgotten monument. It marked the start of the old eastern trail.
Zeyr slowed his steps, his gaze lingering on the arch.
"This," he said quietly, "is the oath we take."
Helion glanced up at the ancient stonework, then over at Zeyr. "Oath?"
Zeyr nodded. "Once we pass through, there's no turning back. We're officially on the path to forge your Soulbound blade."
Helion felt it then—a shift in the air. A weight to the moment. He nodded silently.
Zeyr continued walking beneath the arch, boots crunching softly along the old stone path.
"Our first stop is deep in the mountain range," he said. "There's a cave near the southern cliffs—an old place, half-swallowed by time."
Helion caught up beside him. "And what's there?"
Zeyr glanced sideways. "A stone. Lumiare."
Helion frowned. "Never heard of it."
"Most haven't," Zeyr replied. "It only forms in places touched by ancient dragonfire. The legends say that the cave was once a dragon's nesting ground."
Helion blinked. "A dragon's nest? Seriously?"
Zeyr smirked. "No dragons now. At least, probably not."
Helion gave him a look. "You're really bad at reassuring people."
Zeyr ignored that and kept walking. "Lumiare is more than rare—it's unique. It's one of the only stones known to resonate with light-elemental magic."
Helion's eyes widened.
"Light spirits are volatile," Zeyr continued. "Unstable. Their mana burns hotter and moves faster than most elements. If we tried channeling Luminox's power through a regular blade, it would fracture the steel before you even swung it."
Helion swallowed, the weight of his spirit's power suddenly hitting him in a new way.
"That's why we need Lumiare," Zeyr said. "It's not just a conduit. It's the only thing strong enough to hold Luminox's light."
Helion let out a breath, jaw tightening with focus.
"If we find it… and if it accepts your bond," Zeyr added, "we'll be one step closer to crafting a weapon worthy of your Soulform. A sword that doesn't just channel Luminox—it reflects him."
Helion stepped beneath the arch at Zeyr's side.
"Alright," he said, voice steady. "Let's go find that stone."
Zeyr gave him a single nod, eyes sharp and steady.
And together, they disappeared down the forgotten path, toward the mountains and the forge fate had already started shaping.
They'd barely passed beneath the moss-covered oath arch when the forest deepened, unnaturally still.
Then—
A scream tore through the air.
"Help! Please—!"
Zeyr and Helion bolted toward the sound. Branches cracked underfoot as they cut through underbrush and broke into a clearing.
A man and a boy were cornered near a toppled cart, cowering behind broken wheels. Just meters away, a hulking, serpent-like creature coiled from the earth—its body a monstrous fusion of stone, bark, and roots. Sickly green mana pulsed beneath cracked armor plates, and its two glowing eyes narrowed with corrupted rage.
Helion instinctively reached for his sword—a temporary steel blade Zeyr had given him for training.
Zeyr's voice came low, almost casual. "Terra Wraith. Corrupted earth spirit. Aggressive. Unstable."
The beast's tail smashed into the dirt, sending tremors through the ground.
Zeyr turned to Helion, calm but firm. "Act like a Royal Guard."
Helion froze, eyes wide. "What?!"
Zeyr didn't look back. "You want to join them? Prove you belong. This is your moment."
Helion's chest tightened. For a second, doubt gnawed at him—but then the boy screamed again.
He stepped forward.
Tightening his grip on the sword, he whispered, "Luminox… don't let me mess this up."
The wraith lunged.
Helion darted forward, mana surging to his legs. Speed. Precision. Strength. The steel sword gleamed dully in the morning light as he intercepted the blow mid-arc.
CLANG!
Steel met stone with a deafening crack. The impact jarred Helion's arm, and a fresh fracture snaked down the sword's edge. The force nearly knocked it from his hands.
"Damn it—this blade can't take much," he muttered, repositioning.
He kicked off a root and circled the beast, mana burning through his limbs to reinforce speed and strength. He dipped under a wild tail swipe, using the momentum to slash toward the beast's exposed flank.
The sword collided again—another spark, another fracture. But this time, Helion shouted, "Luminox!"
A faint white-gold glow surged into the steel, just enough to hold it together.
The blade didn't shatter.
Instead, it cut deep.
The Terra Wraith screeched as its bark-like armor splintered and burning light scorched through corrupted stone.
Helion spun with the motion, driving the blade into the creature's glowing core just behind the neck.
With a final, violent hiss, the beast collapsed into a heap of stone and dust, mana dissipating into the air like smoke.
The clearing went quiet.
Helion panted, staring down at the cracked sword, still faintly glowing in his grip. The cracks pulsed once… then dimmed.
From behind the broken cart, the boy peeked up, wide-eyed.
"You… you're like the knights in the stories."
Helion blinked, heart still thundering. "I—no. Not yet."
The boy didn't care. He looked at Helion like a hero.
Zeyr strolled up, arms crossed. "Well… you didn't die."
Helion gave him a deadpan look.
"You adapted," Zeyr continued. "Even reinforced that cheap sword. Quick thinking."
"You told me to act like a Royal Guard," Helion said, his voice shaking a bit. "That's not exactly something you just throw at someone."
Zeyr raised a brow. "You stepped up."
He gestured toward the man and child.
"They're alive because of you."
Helion looked over. The man gave a silent nod of gratitude, holding his son close.
Zeyr added, quieter now, "That's what the Guard does. Not for glory. Not for medals. For moments like this."
Helion didn't speak—but the look in his eyes said everything. Something had changed.
Not just in how he fought.
In what he was fighting for.
Zeyr turned back to the trail. "Come on. Still a long walk before the forge."
Helion followed. And this time, the cracked blade at his side didn't feel like a training tool.
It felt like a promise.