The humming and trembling of Excalibur still vibrated through the War Room Beta, a strange, distressed sound that stunned everyone into bewildered silence. Sascha stood frozen, his jaw slack, staring at the legendary sword that now fought against his grip. This had never happened. Excalibur, his constant companion, his unwavering symbol of heroism, was recoiling from… nothing. The rest of the White Eagle Party mirrored his shock, their expressions a mixture of confusion and unease.
Only Arianne remained unperturbed. With the fluid grace inherent to her elven lineage, she walked towards Sascha, her movements serene amidst the chaos. She gently placed a hand on his arm, her touch both calming and firm.
"Sascha, sheath your blade," she urged, her voice a soft murmur that nonetheless carried authority. "It is clear Excalibur does not wish to be pointed at Aiden, or what Aiden represents. Listen to it, dear one. It is distressed."
But Sascha, his stubbornness now fully ignited, only tightened his grip, holding Excalibur with both hands, trying to keep its shaking blade steady, pointed at the silent figure of Aiden.
"No! What is this trick, Arianne? Excalibur has never… never done this before! It's just some illusion, some spell from this… thing!" He gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with defiance and a deep-seated frustration. He refused to believe his sword, his very symbol of power, would betray him. "This isn't real! It can't be!"
Sona, however, was already convinced. Her initial fear had lessened, replaced by a profound curiosity and deep concern.
"Sascha, please, Arianne is right! Look at it! The sword is almost crying! Put it away before you hurt yourself or… or upset it even more!" She took a hesitant step closer, her worry palpable. "It feels wrong, Sascha. My magic is tingling just watching it."
Lucille, ever the pragmatist, nodded slowly, her brow furrowed in deep thought.
"Sascha, listen to your sword. It's reacting to him. Whatever he is, Excalibur clearly recognizes something profound. This isn't just an illusion; that's genuine distress from an enchanted blade. It would be foolish, strategically, to ignore such a powerful omen, especially from your own weapon."
Her tactical mind had already processed the implications of such a reaction from a weapon of Excalibur's caliber. "This changes everything we thought we knew about his power."
Even Miriam, who had been itching for a physical confrontation, lowered her daggers slightly, her brow furrowed in thought. Her usual smirk was gone, replaced by a look of wary respect.
"Yeah, even for a show-off like you, that's weird, Sascha. Your sword looks like it's having a meltdown. Maybe this Pathfinder isn't just creepy, maybe he's got some kind of weird anti-magic aura or something. Or maybe… maybe he's just that powerful." Her voice trailed off, a hint of genuine awe in her tone.
Ignoring the mounting pleas of his friends, Sascha held firm, his eyes locked on Aiden. "I won't back down from a challenge! Not from a shadow, not from… whatever this is! I am Sascha, wielder of Excalibur! I don't give up!"
Aiden, still silent and motionless, slowly and visibly tilted his helmeted head towards Guildmaster Elara. His gaze, unseen behind the reflective visor, seemed to hold hers for a few profound seconds, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them. A nearly imperceptible nod from Elara seemed to confirm something. Then, with a single, unhurried movement, Aiden gave a slow, deliberate nod of agreement back to the Guildmaster. His head then tilted back to Sascha, and then subtly, meaningfully, to the violently trembling Excalibur.
Without a wasted motion, Aiden extended his gloved hand. He reached out, not aggressively, but with an almost delicate precision, and softly, almost reverently, pinched the very tip of Excalibur's vibrating blade with just three fingers. The touch was so light, so precise, it seemed impossible that it could have any effect on a heavy, legendary sword. Yet, it did.
The instant Aiden's fingers made contact, something miraculous happened. The furious humming and trembling of Excalibur didn't stop abruptly, but slowly, almost reluctantly, began to subside. The frantic vibrations lessened, the distressed hum softened, until the sword, still glowing faintly blue, was almost completely still in Sascha's stunned grasp. It was as if Aiden had reached into its very essence and soothed a frantic, troubled spirit. The silence that followed was profound, heavy with unspoken questions.
Aiden then raised his helmeted head, his gaze, unseen, fixing directly on Sascha. And then, for the very first time, Aiden finally spoke. His voice, though muffled slightly by his helmet, was surprisingly calm, deep, and utterly devoid of emotion, yet it carried an undeniable weight, an ancient authority that resonated in the quiet room.
"Fine... Training hall. In five minutes. I'll be waiting."
With those few words, Aiden released his pinched fingers from Excalibur's tip. He turned away from Sascha and, without a single sound, simply walked towards the nearest shadow. In a blink, he was gone, dissolving into the deeper darkness of the war room walls, disappearing into the Path as effortlessly as he had appeared. There was no shimmering, no distortion; one moment he was there, the next, he was simply not.
The party was utterly stunned by what they had just witnessed. Sascha stood there, still holding the now-calm Excalibur, his mouth slightly agape, a mixture of shock, confusion, and a burgeoning, unfamiliar emotion warring on his face.
"He… he just pinched Excalibur," Sona whispered, her voice full of disbelief, her eyes wide as saucers. "And it stopped… shaking. How did he do that? Is he some kind of… sword whisperer?"
"He spoke," Miriam added, almost reverently, then quickly shook her head, trying to snap herself out of it. "And he's going to the training hall? Sascha, are you seriously going to fight him? He just made your sword act like a scared puppy, and then he just… vanished like a bad dream! What are you going to do, swing at empty air?" Her usual bravado was tinged with a genuine awe she rarely displayed. "I mean, I'm all for a good spectacle, but this feels like you're walking into something you don't understand."
Lucille sighed, running a hand through her hair, a look of intense calculation on her face. "Well, Sascha, you got what you wanted. You challenged him, and he accepted. Though, 'pinched' is an understatement, Miriam. He calmed a legendary magical blade with three fingers. This 'Pathfinder' is far more than just a rogue or an illusionist. His abilities are… profound. They defy conventional magic and even our understanding of physical presence." Her eyes were narrowed in thought, already analyzing the possibilities and dangers of this new, enigmatic teammate. "This is a serious tactical unknown for us."
Elara, who had watched the entire exchange with a mixture of exasperation at Sascha's stubbornness and a profound relief that a full-blown, potentially disastrous conflict hadn't erupted, finally stepped forward, her voice cutting through the lingering shock. "Indeed, Sascha. You got your challenge. You wished to test him, and now you will. Consider this your induction. Though, I must warn you, Sascha, this is not just any sparring match. This is… a demonstration. A very necessary demonstration." Her voice was grim, her usual stern demeanor edged with a rare concern that seemed to be directed more at Sascha's well-being than anything else.
"I will be calling for the best healers in the Guild to be on standby at the training hall," Elara continued, her gaze fixed on Sascha, unwavering. "I suggest you pick out the strongest healing potions from the Guild stores. And not just a few, Sascha. Stock up. You will need them. Trust me on this. I've seen enough to know when to prepare for a rough aftermath. This isn't some goblin skirmish."
Sascha's head snapped up, a spark of indignation and a flicker of his characteristic pride returning to his eyes. "Healers? Potions? Guildmaster, I wield Excalibur! The legendary sword! And this… this shadow isn't going to defeat me! I've faced dragons, demon lords, entire armies of beasts! This is just some sneaky cultist playing mind games!" He gestured angrily at the empty space where Aiden had been. "He got lucky with the sword, that's all. It's just a trick!"
"A trick that made the most powerful sword in Caledonia recoil, Sascha," Lucille countered dryly, crossing her arms. "That's some trick. Are you going to be swinging at ghosts for five minutes?"
"He's not a ghost, Lucille!" Sascha retorted, his voice tight with frustration. "He's just… fast. And maybe a little annoying. But I'll land a blow. I'll make him show himself. Excalibur will show him what happens when you challenge a true hero!" He gripped the sword tighter, as if trying to reassert his dominance over it.
Sona wrung her hands. "But Sascha, if even Excalibur reacted like that… maybe he's truly beyond what we understand. What if you get hurt? Really badly hurt? What if he's not just testing you, but… teaching you a lesson?" Her voice was laced with genuine fear for her friend. "Please, just be careful."
"Careful? Sona, I'm Sascha! 'Careful' isn't in my vocabulary when it comes to defending my honor, or our party's reputation!" He slammed Excalibur's hilt gently on the table, a sound that nonetheless echoed. "Five minutes, he said. I'll be ready. And he'll learn that the White Eagle Party doesn't just accept unknown shadows into its ranks without a proper introduction!"
Miriam raised an eyebrow, a flicker of mischievous excitement now firmly back in her eyes. "Oh, this is going to be good. I'm putting ten gold on the spooky silent guy." She grinned at Sascha. "Don't disappoint, hero boy. I need new daggers."
"Miriam!" Sona exclaimed, exasperated.
"What? It's just a friendly wager! Helps keep things interesting," Miriam defended herself. "Besides, if he can make Excalibur blush, I wanna see what else he can do. Might learn a new trick or two."
As Elara turned towards the door, ready to arrange the medical support, something else happened. Excalibur, still in Sascha's hand, suddenly produced a faint, steady blue glow that slowly began to blink, like a pulse. It was a soft, rhythmic glow, almost gentle, catching everyone's eyes, drawing them in, a silent, rhythmic beat in the quiet room.
Arianne, her eyes still holding that deep, ancient wisdom, placed her hand gently on Excalibur's hilt, right over Sascha's fingers. The moment her palm touched the sword, a soft, harmonious humming resonated from the blade, different from its earlier distress. This hum was resonant, calm, almost conversational, like a sigh of relief, or perhaps, profound understanding. Arianne closed her eyes for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration, as if listening intently to an unheard voice, translating a complex message from the ancient blade. Then, her eyes opened, and she looked at the stunned faces of her companions, a profound sadness mixed with reverence on her features.
"It… it speaks," Arianne whispered, her voice filled with wonder and a profound sorrow. "Excalibur… it is ashamed."
Sascha stared, utterly baffled. "Ashamed? Of what, Arianne? Ashamed of him?" He gestured wildly towards where Aiden had vanished. "Ashamed of me for wanting to fight him?" His voice held a hint of hurt, a childlike confusion.
Arianne shook her head slowly, her gaze sweeping over them all, finally resting on Sascha with a look of deep sympathy. "Not ashamed of him, Sascha. Not ashamed of you, my dear friend. Ashamed of the act itself. Ashamed of being pointed with such… ignorance." She paused, choosing her words carefully, her voice tinged with a deep solemnity. "It is not the act of pointing it at Aiden in a literal sense. But rather, at the Order which Aiden is part of. The Pathfinders."
She took a deep breath, her eyes shimmering with something ancient, a weight of forgotten history resting upon her. "Excalibur conveys that it remembers. It remembers a time before kingdoms, before even the oldest elven settlements were carved into the forests. It remembers the Pathfinders. It speaks of them with a reverence that borders on awe, a profound respect for their very existence. It tells me that it will never forget the Pathfinder Order. Their true purpose. Their ancient vows."
Sona gasped, her hands flying to her mouth again, her eyes wide with a newfound understanding. "It remembers? What does it remember about them, Arianne? What do the Pathfinders truly represent that a sword would feel such… shame?"
"It remembers what The Pathfinders represent," Arianne continued, her voice gaining strength, echoing with the sword's silent, profound revelation. "They were not just warriors; they were the guardians of the deepest secrets, the quiet protectors of balance when the world was young and formless, when chaos reigned. Excalibur states that they stood as silent allies in conflicts far grander than any recorded history, conflicts that shaped the very fabric of reality. They fought not for glory, not for conquest, but for existence itself, for the preservation of all life against truly ancient, primordial evils. They were the first line of defense, the unseen hand that steered destiny."
"And it feels… a profound sense of shame," Arianne's voice trembled slightly, burdened by the weight of the sword's emotion, "to be pointed at them. To be directed with such a lack of understanding, such a casual disrespect, towards the oldest and most loyal Allies this world has ever known. It is ashamed to be wielded with such a… a blind challenge against those who have always stood by the side of true light, in the deepest and darkest shadows."
Sascha, who had been listening with a mixture of disbelief, dawning horror, and a crushing sense of personal failure, slowly lowered Excalibur, the sword still blinking its faint blue light, as if in silent agreement with Arianne's words, a gentle pulse of condemnation. His face, usually so bold and confident, was now pale, etched with a profound, bitter, and cutting realization. His legendary sword, his very identity as a hero, his proudest possession, had just condemned his actions, shamed him for his arrogance and ignorance in the face of something truly ancient and powerful. He had challenged not just a man, but an entire legacy, a lineage of allies that even his sacred blade revered. And his own sword had called him out on it, exposing his own shortsightedness. The challenge he had so readily thrown down now felt profoundly foolish, a testament to his own monumental arrogance.
"The oldest… and most loyal allies?" Lucille murmured again, her analytical mind reeling, trying to process this new, monumental piece of information. "But if they are so ancient, so important… why are they forgotten? Why have we never heard of them? Why aren't they lauded in songs?"
The Excalibur hummed again, a soft, resonant vibration against Arianne's hand. Arianne closed her eyes, listening intently, then opened them, a deeper understanding reflected in their depths. "The sword tells me… it is because of the Creed that Pathfinders took. Their sacred vow. To walk in the dark, to march onto the unseen path with a single purpose... serve the light. They chose to be unseen, to be forgotten, so that the light could shine without knowing the darkness that protected it. Their power lies in their anonymity, their ability to work from the shadows, without ego or recognition. They sacrifice their names, their legends, so that the world can simply exist, unburdened by the knowledge of the constant, ancient threats they face. Their glory is in the absence of chaos, the peace that humanity takes for granted."
Lucille murmured again, her analytical mind reeling, trying to process this new, monumental piece of information. "A Creed… to walk in the dark... for sole purpose to serve the light. It's… it's incredible."
Miriam let out a low whistle, her previous amusement now completely replaced by a chilling, profound awe and respect. "So, this guy isn't just a sneaky magic-user who makes swords cry. He's part of a secret society that Excalibur respects more than its own wielder, an Order that chooses to be forgotten so the world can be safe? Well, that changes things, doesn't it?" Her usual glibness was absent, replaced by genuine shock and a glimmer of fear, but also a strange sense of respect. "I guess Borin's ring was just him being polite. We really, really, messed up, didn't we?"
Sona, tears welling in her eyes, looked from the gently blinking Excalibur to Arianne, then back to the empty spot where Aiden had vanished. "He truly representing something truly ancient, then," she whispered, her voice full of a sudden, profound respect and a touch of remorse. "And we… we were so rude to him. So... So quick to judge. Oh, Sascha…"
Sascha slowly looked at Excalibur, then back at his friends, a flicker of genuine shame passing across his own features, a profound weight settling on his shoulders. The glowing, blinking sword in his hand seemed to pulse a silent, sorrowful rebuke, a constant reminder of his hubris, a symbol of a greater truth he had blindly ignored. The legendary blade, a sentient relic of the past, had spoken, and its words were a harsh lesson on true power, the weight of history, and the profound wisdom that lay beyond superficial bravado. He had challenged not just a man, but an entire legacy, a lineage of allies that even his sacred blade revered more than its own proud wielder. And his own sword, his truest companion, had just called him out on it. He stood, humbled, by the silent, judging pulse of Excalibur. He had only five minutes to prepare for a fight he suddenly realized he might not understand at all. This wasn't just about winning; it was about learning, and perhaps, surviving.