The port of Virella was alive.
Voices clashed from every direction—merchants shouting, sailors arguing, footsteps echoing endlessly across wood and stone.
Life moved fast.
Too fast for hesitation.
---
Thalren walked through it.
Unarmed.
---
The absence at his side was clear.
The wooden sword he had carried for years—
Gone.
Lost to the sea.
---
For a brief moment, his hand shifted slightly… as if expecting it to still be there.
Then it stopped.
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Gone meant gone.
---
"…Did you hear?"
A voice nearby.
Excited.
---
"…It's happening again today."
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"…That cursed thing?" another replied.
"…You really think someone can take it?"
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A short laugh followed.
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"…No one's taken it so far."
"…And the reward's still standing."
---
A pause.
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"…Whoever pulls it out… keeps it."
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Thalren passed them.
But the words remained.
---
"…Then why hasn't anyone done it?"
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Silence.
---
"…Because it chooses."
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The tone changed.
Lower.
More serious.
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"…That sword doesn't accept just anyone."
"…It rejects them."
"…Some couldn't even touch it…"
---
A pause.
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"…Some didn't walk out the same."
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Arena.
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Thalren stopped.
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Then—
He turned.
---
Without hesitation—
He changed direction.
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The noise grew louder the further he walked.
Crowds thickened.
Movement tightened.
Excitement filled the air.
---
Until—
It appeared.
---
A massive arena of aged stone.
Worn by time.
Standing firm.
---
People flowed inside.
Drawn by curiosity.
By challenge.
By something deeper.
---
Thalren stepped in.
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The sound hit instantly.
---
A wide arena floor stretched out below.
Spectators filled the seats.
Eyes locked on the center.
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And at the center—
A sword.
---
Driven deep into stone.
Standing still.
Silent.
---
"…Next!"
A voice echoed.
---
A man stepped forward.
Strong.
Confident.
---
He grabbed the sword.
Pulled.
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Nothing.
---
He pulled harder.
The ground cracked slightly beneath him—
But the blade didn't move.
---
"…Tch!"
He stepped back.
Frustrated.
---
Murmurs spread.
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"…Another failure…"
"…Told you…"
"…No one can take it…"
---
One after another—
They tried.
---
All failed.
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"…It's not normal…"
"…That thing's wrong…"
"…It chooses no one…"
---
Thalren watched.
From the edge.
---
Silent.
---
Then—
He stepped forward.
---
"…Who's that kid?"
"…Is this a joke?"
"…He can barely stand properly…"
"…Did they start letting anyone in now?"
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A few laughed.
Others looked away.
---
To them—
He wasn't worth attention.
---
Until—
He reached the center.
---
The sword stood before him.
---
Still.
---
For a moment—
Everything felt distant.
---
Then—
His hand moved.
---
And rested on the hilt.
---
Silence fell.
---
A breath passed.
---
Then—
He gripped it.
---
Nothing.
---
For a moment—
It felt ordinary.
---
Then—
A pulse.
---
Dark energy leaked from the blade.
Thin.
Like smoke.
---
Then it spread.
---
The air grew heavy.
Breathing slowed.
---
"…What is that…"
---
The ground trembled.
---
A low earthquake.
---
Cracks spread beneath his feet.
Racing outward.
---
The wind surged.
Violent.
Uncontrolled.
---
Dust rose.
Clothes snapped.
Voices disappeared.
---
Dark energy wrapped around his arm.
Climbing.
Pressing.
---
Testing.
---
For a brief moment—
It resisted.
---
Then—
It stopped.
---
As if—
It had recognized him.
---
Silence.
---
Thalren pulled.
---
The sword came free.
---
Instantly—
Everything stopped.
---
The wind vanished.
The tremor ended.
The pressure disappeared.
---
The arena returned to normal.
---
As if nothing had happened.
---
Only one thing remained—
The blade.
In his hand.
---
But the darkness did not fully fade.
---
It lingered.
---
Thin strands of black energy curled around the blade—
Slowly gathering.
---
Condensing.
---
The crowd watched in silence—
As the darkness hardened.
---
Form taking shape.
---
Until—
A sheath formed.
---
Black.
Smooth.
Unnatural.
---
It sealed the blade completely.
---
As if the sword had no intention—
Of remaining exposed.
---
"…He… took it…"
"…No way…"
"…That's impossible…"
---
Shock spread.
Deep.
Unsettling.
---
A loud laugh broke through.
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"Hah… so it finally came out."
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A large man stepped forward.
Muscular.
Confident.
Eyes locked on the sword.
---
"All I have to do…"
He cracked his neck.
"…is take it from you."
---
He moved.
Fast.
Direct.
---
A strike aimed at Thalren.
---
Thalren didn't step back.
---
A slight shift.
---
The attack missed.
---
A sharp strike—
To the ribs.
---
The man's breath broke.
---
A precise kick—
To the leg.
---
He dropped to one knee.
---
"…What…"
---
He tried to stand—
---
Thalren stepped forward.
---
One clean strike.
---
The man collapsed.
Unconscious.
---
Silence.
---
"…He didn't even use the sword…"
"…What kind of…?"
"…That wasn't normal…"
---
No one laughed now.
---
From above—
The hunters watched.
---
"…That reaction…"
---
"…That wasn't force…"
---
"…The sword didn't resist him…"
---
"…It accepted him."
---
Silence followed.
---
For a moment—
The world dimmed.
---
🌊
Endless darkness.
Still water.
No sound.
---
A figure stood alone.
Unshaken.
---
Before him—
A presence rose.
Massive.
Unreachable.
---
The sea itself—
Taking form.
---
And yet—
The figure did not move.
---
No fear.
No tension.
---
Only stillness.
---
Then—
The water parted.
---
Not by force—
But as if it obeyed.
---
🌊
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"…There was only one man…"
---
"…Who the sea itself did not resist…"
---
"…Who?"
---
A long pause.
---
Eyes remained fixed on Thalren.
---
"…Aleron Veyr."
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Silence.
---
"…No…"
---
A quiet breath.
---
"…It can't be."
---
Below—
Thalren turned.
---
The black sheath now resting at his side.
---
No pride.
No hesitation.
---
He walked away.
---
Leaving behind—
Silence.
Shock.
And a name—
That was beginning to return.