"Xerxez!"
The man voice was deep, gallant, yet cold—like a knight who had long forgotten warmth. The sound echoed in every direction, though no body stood before him.
"Yeak? Is that you?" Xerxez whispered, hope trembling in his chest. But a new thought struck him, sharp and sudden. "Wait… who are you?"
The space around him was strange—an endless calm, lit by a pale glow with no sun nor flame. Before him loomed a wall, vast and shifting, moving as if the whole chamber breathed. Half the void seemed filled, half empty, like a room waiting to collapse or expand. He spun in place, searching, but saw no man.
"Where's my dagger?" His voice cracked with desperation. "Where is Yeak?"
He stood there, fists clenched, in that quiet void. Curiosity gnawed at him, fierce enough to silence his fear. "And how do you even know my name?"
"Do you remember the dagger?"
Xerxez flinched, pressing his palms over his ears. The words came from everywhere, like thunder trapped in a shell.
The voice carried a strange weight, half awe, half calculation. He is a child of Thallerion? Hmm, Interesting…
"The… dagger?" Xerxez stammered. "You mean the talking dagger? Yeak?" His breath quickened. "I just found it in the stream! That's all! And now… now it's gone."
Panic twisted in his gut. His shoulders slumped, his eyes dimmed with sudden dread. "Oh no. I was surrounded… by the lizards! They'll take Yeak! I need to go back—I need to help him!"
The voice answered with an indifferent rumble.
"Yes. That noisy dagger."
Xerxez's brow furrowed, anger rising to the surface. His thoughts screamed, Oh no, he knows! What if he asks me where it is? What if he's its real master?
He squared his shoulders, shouting into the void. "So, what do you want from it?!"
The boy's tone cracked, but there was steel beneath. Suspicion and defiance sharpened his young voice.
Is this the owner? "But—there are swamp lizards out there trying to take the dagger. They'll snatch it from me!" Xerxez blurted, a new tremor of fear in his voice. How can I let them have it? He thought. How could anyone sacrifice themselves to save me?
A calm, low rumble answered from the shifting wall. "Do not fret about them—listen." The voice was steady, oddly comforting. "You have formed a bond with the blade. Time inside the dagger paused; your body was moved in the space of a heartbeat—milliseconds—like a blink."
"Wha—what?" Xerxez stammered, panic and wonder colliding. "A bond? When did that happen? How—what is a bond?"
"A portal," the voice said simply. "Between you and me."
Xerxez swallowed hard. "A portal? How does it work?" His mind spun with questions.
"When the dagger's lightning struck you, it chose you," the voice explained. "Look at your palm."
He looked. A mark had been burned into his skin—an intricate sigil, symmetrical and strange, as if stamped there by some deliberate hand. Lines and tiny runes spiraled outward like the spokes of a wheel. This is strange!
"Chosen one?" Xerxez breathed. "What is this mark?" I never seen before like this.
"A seal," the voice answered. "A sign that now links you to the blade. The dagger has bound itself to you. It is no longer merely a tool; it is a part of you. Summon it at will."
Xerxez's skepticism flared. "But—no blood pact, no ritual, none of the old Bellatrix guild's ceremonies. No sacrifice. How can it be that simple?"
"If the dagger had not chosen you," the voice said, patient as a tide, "you would not be here now. Many have held this blade; none of them were chosen. You were."
A rush of awe and self-doubt washed over the boy. He reached for his palm, fingers trembling on the hot, carved lines. Chosen? Me? His heart thudded like a drum. He had always heard of grand rites in Thallerion's folklore—ceremonies, blood, vows. This had happened without any of it. The simplicity made his head spin.
"Where am I, anyway?" he asked suddenly, peering at the pale void that held him. The chamber felt unreal—cold light, a quiet that pressed like a hand to his chest. "This place… it looks like some kind of tormented heaven. Am I dead?"
" I told you, you were summoned here." The wall's voice softened, just a fraction. "You are not dead, you are only inside the dagger."
For a heartbeat Xerxez only stared, the words folding through him. Inside the dagger. The truth struck him like a cold wind—and with it, a new, fierce resolve: If this blade is mine, then I will not let lizards.
"What?!" Xerxez's head spun. "You said the dagger is in my body… so how am I inside the dagger? Did I shrink? Is this some kind of… transmigration?" His voice pitched between fear and furious curiosity.
"It is not magic," the voice from the wall replied, warm and steady, carrying a strange, ancient pride. "It is your fate."
"Fate?" The boy frowned, confusion flickering across his face. He didn't understand.
"You were chosen by the Constellar King," the voice said simply.
"The... Constellar King?" Xerxez echoed, the title tasting vast and unfamiliar on his tongue. He leaned closer to the flickering wall, curiosity outweighing his fear. "Who is that king?"
A long silence answered him, as though the voice searched through memories older than mountains. When it spoke again, its tone was deep and deliberate.
"A thousand years ago, all Entities across the world gathered—not in physical form, but within a great Cylindrical Spirit Tube. Within it, every Entity was present, their essence intertwined. Each possessed great power, yet the Summoner of Entities set forth a challenge: Whichever among you proves most helpful to humanity shall be crowned the Constellar King.
At that time, humanity was besieged by the Abyssal Beasts—creatures born from the will of an Entity beyond the stars. The wars against the Abyss raged without end, threatening to erase humankind itself. Thus, the Entities took action, each striving to aid mankind in hopes of earning the crown. I was chosen when my ability became fundamental to their survival."
"So... you are the Constellar King?" the boy asked in awe, eyes wide with wonder. "Which bloodline did you bless with your power?"
"We Entities dwell in every bloodline," the voice answered, resonant and calm. "Yet some of us... choose one family to guide, one lineage to protect across generations."
"How about us?" the boy asked, his voice rising with conviction. "We are Orion's people. His blessing flows through our blood. We can forge weapons without hammer or flame—our spirit energy alone shapes them. That power is his gift to us." He hesitated, then added, "Did he ever compete against you?"
"He never once competed against me," the voice replied.
"Why?" the boy asked quickly. "Was he not strong enough?"
The voice chuckled softly, though it carried an edge. "Do you truly think he was weak?" The question struck the boy like a thrown blade, rebounding deep into his thoughts.
"Well..." he muttered, lowering his gaze. "He abandoned us. And any Entity who would forsake his people—I'd call that weakness. My bloodline... it's weak now. We hide behind Thallerion's walls, afraid to face the world."
"No," the voice said firmly, yet with warmth. "You told me the blessing of Orion flows through your bloodline. Your people should not be weak. If only your ancestors had continued to pass down the knowledge—to train the next generation in Orion's ways—your strength would still shine today. You... you awakened his gift by accident, didn't you?"
The man's voice softened, rich with the gravity of ages. "Do not let his absence blind you to your own strength. A blessing, once bestowed, is not a flame that dies—it is a seed, resting within your spirit, waiting for the hand that dares to nurture it. But tell me, how can a seed grow if it is hidden away in shadow? You must tend it, understand it, and let it reach toward the light. Only then will it blossom into the power your ancestors once carried."
But... I have practiced," the boy protested, voice trembling with doubt. "And yet my power remains the same—a simple bow. To my neighbors, it looks no different from a child's toy." He lifted his hand, summoning a faint blue light. It shimmered, shaping itself into a small bow — humble, yet radiant with sincerity. The man in the wall watched in silence,if the boy saw his eyes, it is unreadable.
"It is because," the voice finally said, calm but firm, "you've only trained through comfort, not challenge. Gathering eggs may sharpen patience, but true strength is forged through struggle. Power does not bloom in leisure—it is born in pain, refined by discipline, and tempered through trial. You must chase more than a hobby, boy. You must chase purpose."
"Hey, Cassowaries are deadly birds!" Xerxez shot back, folding his arms. "They nearly pecked my butt off—but, I'm still smarter than them!"
"Just listen...and learn things....i understand you are still a child, that awakening is rarely impossible for a normal mortal...but, I think there is a special thing inside your heart. Even my talking dagger summoned you here to be my chosen one."
"Did I shrink here like a tiny ant?" The boy said, curiously as he imagined himself an ant, lost inside a blade. Tiny, trapped, helpless. He hugged his knees until his arms ached. Though, his mind still thinking about what happening outside of the dagger, the swamp lizards still hunted him there.
"You are wrong to think this void is small," the voice soothed. "You are safe here. Do not be afraid."
"Tell me—who are you?" The boy still puzzled. " You said, you are the Constellar king, but why are you hiding inside this dagger's void?"
A pause, like the inhalation before a bell toll. "My name is Martheuw Cereun. I am… a living entity, the Constellar king."
"Mr. Martheuw Cereun—can you help me? The swamp lizards are after the dagger. They'll take it!"
Martheuw's laugh rumbled low, like distant thunder rolling across unseen mountains. "Why fear monsters?" His voice seeped through the luminous wall, deep and measured, yet tinged with amusement. "Well, you still a child, and I advice you, never confront monsters."
Xerxez stiffened. "I'm not afraid!" he snapped, though his voice cracked at the edges. "Grandpa said I'd be the bravest boy in all of Thallerion. I just—" he glanced at the shifting light, swallowing hard, "I just need a little backup, that's all."
The wall pulsed in response, its ripples of light bending like liquid under an unseen wind. The glow deepened, almost mocking, as if the barrier itself doubted him.
"Really?" Martheuw's tone slithered between teasing and sinister. "Would you still boast so loudly… if I were a monster too?" His words dripped with playful darkness, each syllable stretching the boy's courage taut.
Xerxez froze, eyes wide. For a fleeting moment, he imagined claws raking across the glowing wall, a shadowed figure straining to break free. His heart hammered, yet his feet refused to retreat.
"Hmm, I don't think you're a monster, you don't growl either." The boy's chest puffed out. "And I'm not afraid of monsters." He took a step closer to the wall and pressed his fingers to its surface; the light spread around his touch like water.
"Whoa—this wall's amazing." He peered upward where the void opened into a sky of black and stars. These stars… I've seen them with my father when we stargazed. The memory warmed him.
Martheuw observed him in silence, amusement flickering beneath his calm. The boy's awareness was greater than expected, though he cloaked it in doubt. Very well. A test of bravery may reveal the shape of his spirit. Strength is hollow without courage to guide it.
"Hey!" The boy frowned. "Are you imprisoned in this wall?" The man in the wall froze as he was being asked by the boy about his situation.
The boy pressed closer, peering as though the barrier were glass. But no figure lurked beyond. The wall was not stone but a prison of light, its surface glowing and shifting, rippling like water caught in eternal motion. Within, nothing could be seen—no living soul, no object—only the restless dance of radiance, as if the wall itself was alive.
"That's a good question… and yes," the voice answered, carrying a trace of sorrow, "but not in this void."
"Really?" The boy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Then… where are you?"
The voice grew heavier, distant — like echoes from a memory long buried.
"After I became the Constellar King, the Draco Entity rose against me, challenging my right to the title. I faced him without hesitation; defeat never crossed my mind. But fate can be cruel. It was a trap — he conspired with another Entity, and together they cast a powerful curse. I was sealed away, bound deep within the Dungeon of Entities. No matter how I struggled, the spell would not break.
Yet… I was not powerless. Through fragments of my essence, I forged creations — anchors to the mortal realm. One of them… was the dagger. I used it as a thread, hoping one day it would find someone who could hear my call. And now… it has found you. Through it, you were summoned here — my last hope for freedom."
"Whoa… that's so sad," the boy whispered, eyes dimming with sympathy. "But… I don't know how to help you. I'm still just a kid. I don't even understand magic or spells…"
"That's all right," the voice replied gently, the warmth returning. "For now, all I ask is this: stay connected. You carry my link to the mortal world. In time, I will uncover the answer — and when that time comes, I will need your help. So… can you promise me this, child of Orion? Will you help me break free from the Dungeon of Entities?"
"But first," Xerxez said, still catching his breath, "tell your talking dagger to help me defeat those lizards out there!"
"I told you," the voice replied calmly, "you are already safe."
For a heartbeat, Xerxez froze. Then his face lit up, eyes wide with disbelief. "So… they didn't catch me?" he asked, voice trembling with relief. The tension in his shoulders melted as gratitude washed over him — his heart still thudding from the memory of the chase.
"They are Lacerta's inheritors," Martheuw explained, his tone measured. "Reptilian hunters of treasure. Not all are like the common lizards you see as pests. The ones you encountered — the Thavizarus — are of the Lacerta bloodline, born from the Salamandar realm. Their instincts are sharp, and their purpose far greater than mere scavenging."
Xerxez bristled. "Hey! Hunting eggs is still hunting!" He protested, stung that the man dismissed his harmless exploits. The Thavizarus? I heard that name before, grandpa told me a story about that clan. Oh, so those are the Lacerta bloodline?
Martheuw's voice grew quieter, edged with a warning. "Wealth begins desire. It breeds greed, and greed eats the soul. Your hunting showed courage—not covetousness—so I do not scorn you. But do not mistake eggs for the kind of treasure these clans crave."
Xerxez squinted, trying to remember the tales his grandfather had told. "Grandpa said Thavizarus could regenerate quickly but have weaknesses. He once beat them."
"Yes, and your grandpa was right." Martheuw said, voice like flint. "Use the dagger to cut wickedness, not pride. You're chosen, but you're still a child. Avoid the stream for now. Train. Learn. Never go alone to that border. If you can't end the fight, don't start it—those things understand life and death; they survive by killing."
"Life and death?" Xerxez repeated, his brows furrowed. The words pressed on him like a weight he couldn't quite carry. "Grandpa died as a hunter… must I die the same?"
Martheuw's gaze lingered on him, the light of the wall flickering across his face. "Death is not only an end, boy. It is a gate every creature must walk through. To hunters, it comes by claw or blade. To prey, by hunger or teeth. But life—life is the fragile chance in between, the struggle to hold one more breath, one more heartbeat."
"So… life is just waiting for death?" His voice trembled with both defiance and fear.
Martheuw's laugh was low, though not unkind. "No. Life is the choosing. Every day, a choice—to fight, to protect, to endure. Death is certain, but how you walk toward it… that is where bravery and foolishness part ways."
The boy tilted his head, the thought twisting in him. "And if I choose wrong?"
Martheuw's eyes darkened. "Then death will teach you. It is the harshest teacher, and the last. That is why I tell you: do not run to meet it before your time. Train. Learn. Grow strong. Life is the gift that lets you prepare; death waits for all, but only fools invite it too early."
Xerxez bit his lip. The image of his grandfather's still body flickered in his mind. "Crush me—like the eggs?"
"Yes," Martheuw said plainly, though his tone carried the weight of truth rather than cruelty. "Fragile things break quickly. But an egg, given time, becomes a bird strong enough to fly. That is the difference between life and death."
Xerxez's curiosity flared again. He could not help his hunger for answers. "Are you Orion? The protector of Thallerion? Or another entity?" The question spilled out fast.
Martheuw held back. "I will not answer that—at least not yet. Not until you have proven you will be the hunter you dream to be."
"That's not fair!" Xerxez pouted.
"Did I?" Martheuw countered. Then, with a teasing challenge: "If you are smart, you may answer a question for me. Succeed, and perhaps I will answer you."
Xerxez's eyes lit. "Yes! I'll do it. Ask me!"
Martheuw's voice dropped, grave as a bell. "If there stood a single feral entity—four-legged, ferocious—threatening your land, could Orion alone save your nation?"
The boy blinked, the thought rolling inside him like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. "Orion can do everything on his own," he said slowly, pulling from the hollow of his grandfather's stories, from the legends whispered at hearths. "But… Orion is powerful. We believe in him—wait—" his eyes sharpened suddenly. "Are you talking about the Thavizarus clan?"
Martheuw's laugh was little more than a breath, as if the boy had only grazed the surface of a deep well. "Not all of them have four legs," he said mildly. "Some have many. Some, fewer. Some are not beasts at all." His gaze lingered on the wall's shifting light, then slid back to the boy. A pause stretched, heavy as prophecy, before he struck deeper.
"Yeah, exactly...I saw some of them have many legs."
"Without Constellar's entities, humans would remain only human—fragile, bounded, blind to the greater spheres. But without humans, the Constellar entities would never draw breath. They are tethered to human being, as flame is to air. Neither survives without the other. That is the truth your people fear to name."
" Let me ask you again, if the beast attack your country, or destroy your peace...can you still forgive Orion by not helping your bloodline?"
Xerxez frowned, trying to reconcile the paradox. "But Grandpa said humans and entities can be friends—if they forgive each other."
"Forgiveness," Martheuw echoed, gentler now, though his eyes did not soften. "Tell me this—when the truth of the world is laid bare before you, will your heart still know forgiveness, or will it turn to stone?"
The boy's mouth opened. "What truth?" he breathed.
Martheuw's voice dulled to a whisper that seemed to sink into the void. "That is the question you must live to answer. For now—train, survive, and when you come of age, do not let myths blind you. Seek the truth. If you can forgive the world after you see what it hides, then you will have learned more than most do in a lifetime."