The transition from the dusty bedroom to the shimmering halls of the Aethelgard Vault felt different this time. Shren didn't stumble; his new, agile legs carried him with a grace he hadn't possessed an hour ago.
The mansion was a marvel of impossible geometry—ceilings that stretched into starlit nebulae and floors of polished obsidian that hummed with power. In the grand foyer, a figure materialized from the shadows. He was dressed in a sharp, midnight-blue tailcoat, his face calm and refined, though his eyes held the flicker of ancient clockwork.
"Master Shren," the man bowed deeply. "I am Vane, the Custodian of this Vault and the voice you heard. You look... more suited to your destiny now."
"Vane," Shren's voice was deeper, steadier. "What is all this? The gold, the books... it's too much."
"It is your birthright," Vane replied, gesturing to a mountain of gold coins stamped with dragons and a library containing scrolls that vibrated with mana. "But a King is nothing without his court. Wealth attracts vultures, Master. You need a blade to protect your new life."
Vane led him to the Hall of Summoning, where a massive, ethereal wheel floated in the air.
"The Common Servants are many—laborers, guards, messengers. They are echoes," Vane explained. "But the Rare and Legendary... they are souls bound by the Shackle. You have one starter spin. Pray to the fates, Shren."
Shren stepped forward, his heart pounding against his ribs. He reached out and spun the wheel. It turned into a blur of silver, gold, and violet light. Symbols of shields, bows, and staves flashed by until the wheel slowed, locking onto a card that radiated a sharp, piercing cold.
The card shattered. In a burst of cherry blossoms and steel-colored mist, a woman appeared.
She was breathtakingly lethal, dressed in silver-lacquered armor over flowing white silks. A long, slender jian sword was strapped to her waist. Her eyes were the color of a winter sky. This was Sword Princess Xiwu, a warrior whose name once made empires tremble.
Xiwu looked at Shren, her gaze scanning his new form. She didn't see the "ugly" boy he used to be; she saw the soul bound to the artifact. She knelt, the metal of her greaves clinking against the marble floor. She placed her forehead against the hilt of her sword.
"I am Xiwu, the Blade of the Fallen Moon," she said, her voice like ringing steel. "I offer you my sword, my loyalty, and my very breath. From this day until the stars fade, your enemies are my prey. I am yours, Master Shren."
Shren stood frozen, looking at the legendary warrior kneeling before him. A month ago, he was being kicked into the dirt. Now, he had a private dimension, a mountain of gold, and a Princess of Swords sworn to his service.
"Rise, Xiwu," Shren said, a new spark of authority flickering in his eyes. "We have a lot of work to do before my parents return."