Soul Weapons
────────────
These are weapons a person can awaken after a successful Soul Awakening. A Soul Weapon reflects the quality of one's soul essence, which allows for a smoother, stronger interaction with mana.
────────────
Soul Weapons…
If they really reflected the quality of a person's soul, then what did that mean for someone like me?
Three soul cores.
Three souls blended into one.
I stared at the description again, trying to make sense of it. If one ordinary soul produced a single weapon, then what would three souls even create? Three weapons? One fused monstrosity? Something unstable? Something stronger?
Or maybe nothing at all.
Maybe the system didn't even know what to classify me as. That would explain the question marks everywhere.
A single weapon born from three different essences…
The thought sent a small shiver down my spine.
Fuck, the anticipation is killing me.
.
.
"Wait! If soul weapons were important in this world, then why didn't I not see those soldiers with one, or even Elijah or Seraphina?" I muttered.
Then, my gaze met Seraphina.
She was leaning against the cold face of the massive boulder that concealed the cave entrance, her long, normal looking sword held upright in the cradle of her arms. Her eyes were closed, her breathing measured, yet every line of her posture seemed. She looked utterly formidable, even at rest.
I took a single, careful step toward her.
"Coming with more useless questions?" Her voice cut through the stillness, her eyes still slits beneath her brow.
I couldn't help the small, involuntary smirk that tugged at my mouth. A quick release of tension, almost like my mind was nodding back at her sharp instincts.
"Nothing gets past you, heh," I said, pausing where I stood.
"Just get it over with," she sighed impatiently. "What does your curious ass want to know next?"
"Seraphina, right? Elijah called you that," I said, brushing past her tone. "That blade you're holding. Is it your soul weapon?"
A genuine smirk, wider than mine, touched her lips, though her eyes remained closed, "What do you know about soul weapons? From our last discussion, you Haldrins seem completely clueless about anything outside your village."
She raised one hand, palm out, a clear signal.
"That distance is enough," she warned, the cold threat back in her tone. "Unless you genuinely miss your kind so much you want to join them in the grave."
"I know enough to say that a soul weapon is vital to any serious warrior," I retorted, ignoring the jab. "And I don't see one on you. That blade looks like good steel, but it's just a blade."
.
.
The silence stretched for a moment, punctuated only by the crackle of the tiny fire. Seraphina opened one eye, finally granting me her full attention.
Then, her gaze pinned me in place, sharp and calculating.
"So you're not as ignorant as you look," she said. "Good. Saves me the trouble of explaining basic concepts."
She shifted her grip on the sword, letting the point lower a fraction. It still wasn't a soul weapon. I could tell by how ordinary it fucking looked.
"You're right," she admitted. "This isn't my soul weapon."
"Then where is it?"
"Don't have one," she said simply.
I waited for more, but she offered nothing.
"Why?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.
Her eyes closed again, but something in her expression tightened, like I'd stepped onto ground I had no right to touch.
"Because awakening comes with a cost," she said. "A cost I wasn't willing to pay at the time."
She let that hang between us.
I didn't know what kind of price she meant. Blood? Pain? A sacrifice? It didn't matter—her voice made it clear she wasn't elaborating.
She flicked her wrist, dismissing me like an annoying child. "If that's all, leave me to rest. We move at dawn."
I didn't budge.
I'd been dragged through fire, corpses, and whatever twisted fate dumped me into this body. I wasn't about to sit quietly and act grateful.
I wasn't going to let fate have her way again.
"What do you people want with me?" I asked, stepping just close enough for her to know I wasn't backing down. "I'm not stupid. I can't be the only survivor from that attack."
Her reaction was almost insulting.
A slow exhale.
A bored shift of her weight.
Then she lifted her hand and waved me away like my question wasn't worth the energy it took to hear it.
"I didn't bring you here," she said, voice flat. "It was Lijah who did. Ask him."
With a sigh she continued, "If you're expecting some dramatic answer, save your breath. I don't know why he saved you. Lijah does whatever Lijah feels like. Maybe you looked half-dead enough to amuse him. Maybe he needed another sword arm. Maybe he saw something in you." She raised a shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Or maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
She yawned, of all things.
"Ask him," she repeated. "Not me."
....
Elijah was exactly where I expected him not to be.
Passed out.
Flat on his back near the embers of the fire, one arm draped over his chest, the other dangling off a loose pile of logs. A dry piece of hay hung lazily from the corner of his mouth as he snored loud enough to scare away anything short of a bear.
I blinked at him.
This was the man Seraphina respected enough to follow?
This was the leader of some feared rebel group?
I muttered under my breath, "Unbelievable. He's letting Seraphina guard everything alone."
As I stepped closer, Elijah rolled onto his side with the casual grace of someone who didn't care whether he lived or died. His snoring cut off.
Then, his voice came out low, sleepy, and somehow still irritated.
"What do you want, kid?"
I stopped short, shocked.
Everyone here was a damn alarm system.
"You heard what I said, didn't you?"
He didn't even open his eyes, "I don't really give a fuck what you think of me."
"So do I," I shot back. "Just answer one thing. Why bring me here? Why save me out of everyone else?"
Elijah finally cracked an eyelid open. He stared at me like I'd interrupted the best nap of his week.
"It's late, kiddo," he grumbled. "Go back to sleep or—"
"Or what?" I pushed.
For a second, the forest felt quieter. The night seemed to lean in to hear his answer.
I had to act tough.
Maybe that was the only language he respected.
Elijah huffed, pushed himself onto his back again, and let the toothpick shift a little in his mouth before speaking, "Acting tough won't help either, just go back to sleep and I might consider your question in the morning."