The air in the dream tasted like smoke and rust.
Solis stood on the edge of an endless dark plain, where stars flickered like dying embers. The ground beneath his boots was cracked and scorched, yet cold to the touch — like standing atop a burned-out forge.
Wind howled above him, but it wasn't wind. It breathed like something alive, whispering not with air, but intention. Whispers curled around his ears like threads of fire:
"So... you have come."
Solis turned. Behind him stood no figure — only a silhouette. A shape darker than the void around it. Its outline flickered, like a candle that refused to go out.
"Where am I?" Solis asked.
The voice came again — closer, but still disembodied. "You are on the threshold of power. The edge of what you could be."
His fingers itched. He looked down. In his hand — not his axe, but the red sword. The dragon-forged blade. It hummed, pulsing with a warmth that throbbed in his palm like a heartbeat. But the warmth was… wrong. Like a forge left untended too long, dangerous and ready to flare without warning.
"What is this?" he whispered.
"It is a part of you. And you are a part of it."
The shadows stirred. A black mist crept up his boots, wrapping around his knees like vines seeking purchase.
"You've already heard it, right?" the voice said, now with a serpentine smoothness. "In moments of doubt. In pain. In fury. The sword listens to those emotions. But it also obeys them. What happens when you no longer command it?"
"I will command it," Solis said, gripping the hilt tighter. The mist recoiled slightly.
The voice laughed. A low, vibrating chuckle that rang in the hollows of his chest. "Control? A blade like this does not obey. It binds. You think it hasn't chosen you? That it didn't mark you the moment you first held it?"
"I don't believe you."
"Then ask yourself why your dream is burning you. Why your hands are shaking when you draw it. The blade doesn't want a wielder. It demands a vessel."
The mist rushed in, swallowing everything but the sword in his hands.
"But you have a choice, Boy," the voice continued, now closer than ever — inside his head. "Let me teach you. I know how to tame it. I know its name. Its secrets. Give me your trust. Just for a while."
"I—"
"Just listen to my instructions," it purred.
In that moment, the blade in his hand shimmered — the red turned black, then flared into dark flame.
Solis staggered back—
---
"—ghhh!"
He bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. Sweat drenched his neck and collar, his shirt twisted around him. Moonlight filtered in through the tilted window above. His breath rasped in his throat like dry gravel.
From the other bed, Ada stirred. She blinked sleepily, then sat up. "Whoa… Solis?" she said, rubbing her eyes. "Were you having a nightmare?"
Solis wiped his brow. "Yeah. I... guess so."
"You're full of sweat. I thought the room was freezing," she muttered. She got up, grabbed a cloth, and tossed it to him. "Here. Dry off before you look like you slept in a well."
"Thanks," he said, breathing slowing.
Ada gave him a long look. "You okay?"
He hesitated.
"…I will be," Solis replied.
She didn't press. Just nodded and slid back under the covers. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."
---
Morning Light and Metal Roads
Dahlia served them eggs with flatbread, buttered tomatoes, and sweet onion jam. The smell alone could've made someone believe in gods.
"Off to the Armory today?" Dahlia asked, hands on hips.
"Yep," Ada said, slipping on her boots. "Solis's blade is stored there for analysis."
Dahlia paused, giving Solis a slightly more careful glance. "That's not just any blade, is it?"
"No," he admitted.
She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded to herself. "You're a good lad, I think. But don't forget, powerful things are never just 'weapons.' They're stories that haven't finished being told."
Solis swallowed. "I'll keep that in mind."
---
The Caldemount Armory
The Caldemount Armory stood at the northern rise of the mid-ring — a fortress within a city. Walls of obsidian-brick interlaced with copper, huge gears embedded into the façade spun lazily, and massive chimneys bled faint trails of silver smoke into the sky.
The front gates were guarded by armored specialists who bore the sigil of twin hammers crossed over an anvil — the mark of the Armory Guild.
Ada led the way up the steps. "Try not to trip over your own awe," she whispered.
Solis couldn't help but glance at the smithing rails, the elemental forges, the pulley lifts moving crates marked with runes.
"This place could build an army," he murmured.
"They have," she replied. "Twice."
Inside, they were led to a high-forged corridor where swords, staves, and even enchanted bows hung along the walls like relics in a museum. Elemental flames danced behind reinforced glass. There were artifacts humming with magical residue so strong, even Solis's skin tingled in their presence.
At the end of the hallway stood a tall woman in a thick smith's apron, with a streak of ember-red hair coiled down one side of her neck. Her arms were lean and scarred, her eyes a shade of volcanic glass.
"Ah," she said, removing a heat-proof glove. "You must be the one who's here for the possessed sword."
"Possessed?" Solis blinked.
The woman grinned. "Relax. Just a term of study. I'm Belladonna. Head of the Caldemount Armory. I oversee weapon classification and artifact analysis." She extended a soot-stained hand.
Solis shook it. Her grip was like iron.
"I'll get to the point," she continued, guiding them to a secured chamber behind a rune-locked door. "Your sword — red hilt, draconic edge, breathes fire even when unsummoned — is not made by mortal hands. Not fully."
She waved her hand. The runes flickered, and the door creaked open.
Inside, the blade lay in a stasis field — suspended by three crystal rods humming softly. It pulsed with red light, like a heart barely contained.
Solis took an involuntary step forward.
"The flames aren't from any forge," Belladonna said. "They're living fire. Elemental."
Ada stepped beside Solis. "So it's a fire-elemental weapon?"
"More than that," Belladonna said. "It's bonded to something. A spirit. Or what we think might be a proto-spirit — not a true elemental, but something trapped or merged with the weapon."
Solis stared at the blade, his breath shallow. "What kind of spirit?"
Belladonna crossed her arms. "That's what we don't know. Its energy signature is chaotic. It flares when you touch it — reacts to your emotions. But… it's not trying to break free. Not exactly."
Ada frowned. "Then what's it doing?"
"Testing him," Belladonna said. "It wants something. It's not just a weapon. It's a door. A door to unimaginable power."
Solis finally stepped into the chamber. The red glow intensified.
He held out his hand, palm up.
The sword snapped out of the stasis field and dropped neatly into his grip — like it had been waiting.
No fire erupted. No whispers came.
But the warmth returned. A quiet, curious hum.
"…Welcome back," he murmured.
Belladonna watched closely. "If you're going to keep using that, train with someone who knows how to handle spiritbound weapons. That thing could fuse deeper into your soul if you're not careful."
"I don't want it controlling me," Solis said.
Belladonna raised an eyebrow. "Then make sure you're the one telling it why you draw it. Every time."
---
Aftermath and Foreshadow
Outside the Armory, the city wind tugged at Solis's coat. He held the sword sheathed in a cloth wrap over his back again.
Ada studied him. "You alright?"
He nodded. "A voice… it spoke to me last night. In a dream. Told me to let it in."
"You think that was the sword?"
Solis didn't answer right away.
"I don't know. But I'm not going to let anything take over my body. Not even for power."
Ada smiled faintly. "Good. Because if you ever start acting like some spooky possessed warrior, I'll bonk you with a ladle and drag you back to Mailie."
Solis laughed. "Noted."