The aftermath of the Abyssmorph battle left the PCA's underground base in awe of Marcus. Not just because he survived—but because he annihilated a creature that ranked far beyond a cadet's threat level. The whisper among recruits now wasn't "who's Marcus," but "what is Marcus?"
Still shaken, Marcus sought out Tyrese and Geoffrey in the weapons vault late that night. The room was quiet, aglow with glyph-lit walls and rows of relic containers humming with suppressed energy.
"I need to ask you something," Marcus said, voice low. "That weapon I used against the Abyssmorph... it wasn't anything I was carrying. It came from me."
Tyrese, leaning against a table polishing a talisman, paused. Geoffrey looked up from cataloging potions.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Tyrese asked. "The sword."
Marcus nodded. "It called itself Orenmir."
Geoffrey's lips tightened. "Then it's begun."
They gestured for him to sit.
"What you summoned," Geoffrey began, "was an Eidolon Relic—a soul-bound manifestation of your true self. Few awaken theirs so early. Most spend years just hearing whispers of it."
Tyrese leaned forward. "Eidolon Relics are ancient gifts—some say punishments—bestowed by Primordial Deities or crafted by Dimensional Architects. They're tied to fate, trauma, desire..."
"And once it chooses you," Geoffrey said, "you're never the same."
They explained the hierarchy: Base Form, Awakened Form, Mythos Breaker, Cataclysm Drive, and the rarest of all—Transcendent Concord. Each form unlocked more of the Relic's abilities, but at the cost of emotional, spiritual, or even lifespan tolls.
Marcus, silent, absorbed every word. He recalled the moment Orenmir first manifested—the rage, the will to not die helpless again.
"That sword... It felt alive," Marcus whispered.
"It is," Tyrese replied. "And now, we teach you how to summon it at will."
They stood, walking him to the Eidolon Chamber—a sacred, echoing arena built with spell-forged marble. Arcs of sealing magic glowed along the walls.
Geoffrey stepped into the center. "You'll learn through Resonance Meditation. Let Orenmir feel your thoughts. Let your soul bleed into the void."
Marcus dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.
It didn't take long.
As if waiting in the silence of his soul, a low hum echoed across his inner world. A deep pulse—like the ticking of a divine clock—grew louder, until the blade shimmered into reality, cold and colossal in his hands.
White-and-black gauntlets surged over his arms. The sleek armor traced his body in faint, flowing light. He was no longer just a boy…
He was chosen.