I lifted my hand and formed a hammer of mana thick, violet, pulsing with raw spirit. Then I brought it down.
Over and over, I struck the forming blade, each impact forcing the formless mana into shape while pouring my spiritrons into its core.
Doing this while maintaining my connection with my Mythical Beast made every muscle in my body scream but I didn't stop.
Malachi really should take me tonight. I deserve it.
The mana hissed with resistance, shifting and twisting as each second passed.
The orb, once faint, began to glow with blinding intensity reactive, alive. It screamed with unrefined power.
I glanced up for only a second. Malachi was watching, and his expression stirred an unwelcome feeling in me.
Was he doubting the sword?
Or worse, doubting me? No. It was my own insecurity, gnawing at the edge of my thoughts.
I set my jaw and struck again, harder.
My mana surged into the hammer itself, reinforcing it beyond what was sane, pushing it past what even I had once thought possible.
The hammer no longer struck the orb it spoke to it, commanded it.
Then came the final step.
I extended my palm over the glowing form and infused it with a spell, not just magic, but meaning.
A portion of my infons, carefully severed and shaped into a directive.
I wove a condition: Only awaken when the wielder's dream reaches beyond the finite.
An act: Protect not just life, but the future it wishes to reach.
A cause: The presence of Midnight Aevum, active and remembered.
And an effect: To become what the wielder needs most, even if he doesn't yet know what that is.
The orb pulsed one final time, then unraveled itself like silk, forming into a weapon not in the shape of a sword, but in the idea of one.
The air shifted. Reality pulled back. It had no fixed edge, no constant weight.
It shimmered between form and concept, steel and mist, idea and action.
I stepped back, breath heavy, and whispered its name. "Eidolon Aevum."
It flew around like an insane fairy. I stepped back as Malachi hurried to shield me.
But before he could reach me it pushed itself into his palm and became a weapon rivaling the divine.
The blade was long, straight, and black with blue flames etched into its frame.
Its guard was a black cloud, jagged and rough as well as bold. The hilt was blue like his eyes and seemed almost hot.
The pommel looked like the shape within his pupils only molded and black.
As for the scabbard, it was black with chains wrapped around its frame as well as blue, likely flames materializing and fading away just as fast.
Malachi stumbled forward catching his breath as he idolized his new weapon.
"I can feel it, calling to me."
I chuckled and wiped my forehead. "So does it suit you, dear?"
He smiled sheathing the blade. "Of course, I'll be sure never to touch another blade again."
I laughed while sitting back down. "I wouldn't go that hard, besides who knows what might happen."
He locked the sword to his side, chains appeared around his waist as he walked up.
"Oh, what did you see?"
The second he said that his hands covered his mouth. "I meant…"
I sighed. "It's fine, I did see something actually. My Mythical Beast is currently watching a fight."
He looked at me, confused. "Between who?"
I smiled and leaned against my arm.
"Well, it seems Nicholas is training with that boy, I think his name was Sansir."
They've actually been training for a while, and even more so I've seen many supplies be sent around the kingdom.
Nicholas has changed, for the better and maybe for the worst as well.
He jumped on the table and dangled his legs. "Who's winning?"
Just as he said that Nicholas was knocked to the ground, I scoffed.
"Obviously, Sansir, Nicholas still lacks the stamina and skill to beat him."
Malachi nodded. "It's only a short while until the ceremony; we should start our travels."
I rubbed his legs, looked up, and smiled. "Ah, but I'm tired."
With a small sigh and a smile, he picked me up by my waist and carried me.
I do love being his wife, so many wonderful benefits.
***
[Capital of Fertical: Rosen Vernasta.]
I stretched, leaning back as my leather armor bent with unnatural force.
The sun filtered through tall stained-glass windows, casting fractured patterns of light across the cold stone floor of the training hall.
The faint scent of burning torches mingled with the dust and sweat lingering in the air.
Then I looked back to see Uhana sighing, her arms crossed as she leaned against the worn wooden doorframe.
"You're entirely too arrogant."
I shrugged, the leather creaking softly with the movement.
"Is it not warranted? Besides, I know the limits of my power. Pride is not a trait I bear with caution."
During this time, preparing, training, and working, I've discovered the true name and nature of my Regalia.
While using it is fairly hard, its nature is known to me now, and that alone is enough.
She walked up, putting on training gear, and picked up a wooden sword while standing before me.
I sighed, then screamed with purpose, voice ringing out like a command to the cosmos. "King of Caution: Ormuth."
The tale of Ormuth speaks of a Great Old One burdened by relentless knowledge.
He was not like the others, who raged or slumbered or consumed. No, Ormuth questioned.
He sought truths that had no shape, no voice, truths that predated time, that mocked causality.
Curiosity drove him beyond the veil of existence, past the bounds of space and order.
He did not shatter the laws of reality through rage or rebellion. He dissected them.
He studied their shape, their structure, their weaknesses.
Then, without announcement or defiance, he simply stepped beyond them.
In doing so, he became lawless, free from the constructs that even the Old Ones obeyed without knowing.
But Ormuth, ever cautious, kept his revelations secret.
He cloaked himself in shadow and silence, unwilling to share power with those who would unravel the cosmos on a whim.
Still, secrets never stay buried.
When the others discovered what he had done, they turned on him, not with anger, but with hunger.
They stole fragments of his nature, siphoning the knowledge he'd uncovered. But what they gained was incomplete.
They could not master the laws he had transcended. They gained immunity to certain sets, but not control.
Control belonged only to Ormuth.
And in his endless caution, he saw that freedom was not enough. So he created new laws, laws to bind even the lawless.
He forged concepts that chained chaos itself, sculpted edicts that defined even undefined existence.
He became the architect of limitation, not out of fear, but because he understood what unrestrained power truly meant.
And so the title passed from whisper to myth. King of Caution: Ormuth.
In the ancient tongue, his name means afraid, but not in fear of others. It was the fear of what might be, if no one else was afraid.