The weapon felt heavier than it looked.
Koya's fingers tightened around the haft of Ikua's arm—black iron etched with runes that still pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat slowing after a sprint. The surge from moments ago had faded, leaving only a low hum in her bones, a whisper of drums she couldn't quite place. Her palms were slick with sweat despite the cool air in Chiwura Hall.
The crowd's murmurs had swollen into a roar of overlapping voices.
"—who is she?"
"—Ikua's weapon? Impossible!"
"—what does this mean?…"
The four elders had risen from their seats.
The Iron Elder—broad-shouldered, beard streaked with silver—pointed a trembling finger. "That is impossible. No mortal can create a weapon of the gods, let alone wield one!"
The Soul Elder, veiled in pale mist, spoke next, voice soft but carrying. "The weapon chooses. Not by flow. By something deeper."
The Golden Guardian stepped forward, eyes wide behind her golden mask. Telepathy brushed Koya's mind—not invasive, just a gentle probe. She felt her recoil as if burned.
"Guards," she ordered quietly. "Clear a path. The council will see her. Now."
Koya didn't move. Her gaze stayed locked on the weapon. How is this possible? The question looped in her head, louder than the crowd.
Anna grabbed her arm. "Koya… say something."
Ra'an stood frozen a few paces away, twin blades still in his hands. His smirk was gone; replaced by something darker—envy, maybe fear.
Cal pushed through the candidates, face pale. "Koya?"
Before she could answer, two guards flanked her. Not rough, but firm. They guided her off the platform, through a side door, away from the chaos.
The corridor beyond was quiet, lit by floating orbs of soft light. The guards stopped at a heavy oak door carved with the four elemental sigils. One knocked.
"Enter," came a deep voice from inside.
The council chamber was smaller than she expected—round, domed ceiling painted with stars, a long table of dark wood. The four elders sat waiting. The Golden Guardian stood at the head.
"Sit, child," the Water Elder said, voice like a calm river.
Koya sat. The weapon rested across her lap. It felt wrong to set it down.
The Iron Elder leaned forward. "Explain."
"I… can't." Her voice cracked. "I stepped on the light like everyone else. Closed my eyes. Then this… happened."
The light Elder— white-robed, eyes smoldering—narrowed his gaze. "You have no flow. We tested you twice. Nothing. And yet Ikua's arm chooses you. Why?"
Koya swallowed. "I don't know."
Silence stretched.
The Soul Elder spoke last. "Legends say Koruga forged that weapon with his dying breath and gave it to Ikua so the god of war would never be unarmed. It has never chosen a mortal. Not since the gods walked among us."
Koya's grip tightened. "Then why me?"
No one answered.
The Golden Guardian finally spoke. "We will keep this contained for now. Rumors will spread, but we control the narrative until we understand. You will be confined to the academy grounds. No leaving. No speaking of this outside council-approved channels."
Koya's stomach dropped. "Confined? Like a prisoner?"
"Protected," the Water Elder corrected gently. "There are those who would kill for that weapon. Or for what it might mean."
The Iron Elder stood. "Dismissed. We will summon you again tomorrow after we consult the archives."
Guards escorted her out. She walked in a daze back to the dorms, weapon still in her hands. It no longer hummed, but the weight pressed on her like guilt.
Anna and Cal were waiting in the common hall. Anna rushed forward.
"What happened? They just took you—"
Cal's eyes went to the weapon. "That's really it. Ikua's arm?"
Koya nodded numbly. "They're keeping me here. No one's allowed to talk about it yet."
Anna hugged her tight. "We've got you. Whatever this is."
Cal hesitated, then touched her shoulder. "You okay?"
"No," how can an item of such power choose me?"
She looked down at the weapon.
Five years ago.
Twelve-year-old Koya slipped into the quiet room at the edge of the academy infirmary. Sunlight slanted through the window, catching dust motes above the bed.
Her mother lay still, chest rising and falling in shallow rhythm. Black hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink. Tubes and monitoring crystals glowed softly around her.
Koya climbed onto the stool beside the bed and took her mother's hand.
"Hi, Mom."
No response.
"Today's my twelve birthday." She smiled, though it wobbled. "Which means it's been twelve years of you sleeping."
She squeezed the hand gently.
"It's a happy day, so no sad talks." A small laugh. "Sorry I haven't come in a while. Been really busy. Training. Tests. You know."
She leaned closer.
"I did my flow test for the second time today. Still nothing. No flow found in me." Her voice dropped. "Everyone else has something. Even the low-born kids. But me… nothing."
She traced a faint scar on her own wrist—thin, crescent-shaped. Her mother had the same one, right where their hands met now.
"Immira told me about something cool, though. The First Choice Ceremony. When you turn seventeen, weapons choose you. Blacksmiths make them, the Soul Elder graces them, and they pick the best fit." She tried to smile. "Wonder if one would even choose me."
She rested her forehead on the bed's edge.
"Please wake up, Mom. So we can have a real conversation. I have so many questions."
A soft knock.
"Koya?"
Immira—her carer, soft-spoken, always smelling faintly of herbs—stood in the doorway.
"Time to go, little one. Dinner soon."
Koya kissed her mother's knuckles. "I'll come back soon. Promise."
She left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Present day.
Koya sat on her bed in the dorm, weapon laid carefully across her knees. Anna paced. Cal leaned against the wall.
"They're scared," Anna said. "That's why they locked you down."
Cal nodded. "hope all this has some explanation to it".
Koya stared at the runes. They seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them.
"People all see me as a freak," she said quietly. "with this as my item, I wonder what they would think."
"Hey, stop thinking about such things and rest, tommorow answers wiil surface."
A faint vibration ran through the weapon. Not painful. Almost… questioning.
She lifted it.
To be continued...