The knowledge that Rust-Eater was not just a weapon but a parasite changed the weight of the world for Kaela. The sword, which had felt like an extension of her arm, now felt like a slumbering viper coiled at her hip. Every hum, every vibration, was no longer a greeting but a growl of hunger. She spent the next two days in a state of hyper-vigilance, terrified that the black Void-Iron beneath the leather wrapping would suddenly decide to feed on her meager Ember Aura and leave her a husk in the Guild hallway. She avoided drawing the blade during drills, using the heavy training sword exclusively, drawing ire from instructors who thought she was being obstinate. But obstinacy was better than execution. She needed answers, and there was only one man in Ostrum who understood the language of broken things.
She found Master Hagar not in the gutters of the market, but sitting on the edge of a crumbling pier in the harbor, watching the gray waves batter the pylons. He wasn't drinking. His flask lay corked beside him, and his gaze was fixed on the horizon with a clarity that was almost more unsettling than his drunkenness. Kaela approached him silently, the sea wind whipping her hair across her face. She didn't offer a greeting. She simply unhooked Rust-Eater and laid it on the damp wood between them. The heavy thud of the sheathed weapon seemed to silence the gulls overhead. "You knew," Kaela accused, her voice flat. "You knew it wasn't just a rusty sword. You called it an 'iron corpse.' You knew it was a Sin-Eater."
Hagar didn't look at the sword. He picked up a pebble and skipped it across the turbulent water. "I suspected," he murmured, his voice gravelly. "I've seen blades like that before, in the deep vaults where they keep the mistakes of history. They feel... cold. Not temperature cold, but spiritually cold. They are holes in the world." He finally turned to look at her, his eyes dark. "Garn told you, then? The old soot-breather finally recognized the metal?" Kaela nodded, her fists clenched at her sides. "He said it eats Aura. He said it's why I can lift it—because I'm empty. But he also said if I get stronger, if I become an Adept or a Knight, it will drain me dry."
Hagar laughed, but it was a dry, humorless sound. "He's right. That sword is a death sentence for a prodigy like Silas Corvus. A Flame or Inferno Aura would be a banquet for that thing. It would drink them until their hearts stopped." He stood up, towering over her, his demeanor shifting from beggar to Grandmaster in a heartbeat. "But you, Kaela? You are a drought. You are a famine. That sword is starving with you. That is why it obeys. It hums because it is desperate for even a drop of your pathetic Ember." He kicked the sheathed sword toward her. "Pick it up."
"It's dangerous," Kaela hesitated. "It's a cursed artifact."
"It is a tool!" Hagar roared, the sound startling a nearby fisherman. "A sword does not have morality. It has function. Its function is to consume. Your function is to survive. If you want to wield it without dying, you must stop fearing the hunger and start controlling the diet." He grabbed his driftwood staff and assumed a combat stance. "Draw it. Now. And this time, do not use the Void. Do not suppress your Aura. Push every spark of that Ember you have into the hilt. Feed it. Let's see what happens when the beast gets a taste."
Kaela's heart hammered against her ribs. This went against every instinct she had honed over the last months. Slowly, she gripped the newly wrapped leather hilt. She closed her eyes and, instead of pulling her spirit inward, she pushed it out. She flared her Ember Aura, forcing the pale orange energy into her palms. She drew the blade.
The reaction was immediate and terrifying. The moment the steel cleared the scabbard, the hum became a shriek. The rusted metal didn't just vibrate; it pulsed. The blade turned a deep, bruised purple for a fraction of a second, and Kaela felt a sudden, violent lurch in her chest, as if a hook had been sunk into her lungs and yanked. Her vision grayed. The sword wasn't just taking the energy she offered; it was pulling at the roots of her soul. She swung at Hagar, not with technique, but with desperation.
The strike was faster than anything she had ever thrown. It was a blur of dark motion that tore through the air with a sonic crack. Hagar didn't try to block it with the wood; he threw himself backward, rolling across the pier. The tip of Rust-Eater slashed the air where his chest had been a microsecond before. The air itself seemed to scream, and the wooden pylon behind Hagar split cleanly in two, not from physical contact, but from the sheer vacuum of pressure the blade created.
Kaela dropped to her knees, gasping, the sword clattering from her hand. Her arms were shaking uncontrollably, and she felt cold—deeply, unnaturally cold. The burst of power had lasted less than a second, but it felt as though she had run a marathon.
Hagar picked himself up, brushing sawdust from his rags. He looked at the split pylon, then at the shivering girl. His face was grim. "That," he said quietly, pointing at the severed wood, "is the bite of a Sin-Eater. It converts spirit into severance. Absolute destruction." He walked over and sheathed the sword himself, using a thick cloth to avoid touching the hilt directly. He tossed it back to her lap. "You are in a race, Kaela. As you train, your Aura will naturally grow. You will move from Ember to Flame. And as you do, that sword will try to take more. If you ever lose control, if you ever let your emotions flare your Aura unchecked—like Silas did in the Weald—that sword will kill you before your enemy even gets a chance."
Kaela stared at the weapon, her fear replaced by a cold, hard resolve. "Then I don't feed it," she whispered. "I starve it. I keep the Leash tight."
"Tighter than tight," Hagar corrected. "You must master Total Suppression. You must learn to fight not just with low Aura, but with zero Aura leakage until the moment of impact. You have to live on the edge of spiritual suffocation." He turned back to the city, the sun setting behind the Bastion's spires. "The Guild wants you to shine, Kaela. They want you to be a beacon. But if you want to keep that sword, and your life, you must become a black hole. You must be the thing that light falls into and never comes back from." He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "And Kaela? If the Inquisitors do come... make sure you kill them with the first stroke. Because with that blade, you won't get a second."