Chapter 4: Ashes of Knowledge
The morning light slanted through cracked blinds as German Sparrow gazed through Ken's eyes at the city beyond. His subtle control of the vessel had become more seamless—Ken's twitching and resistance were barely noticeable now. But the world still felt foreign.
After Dario had left to gather contacts, Sparrow turned toward the apartment's dark corner, where a rusted terminal flickered with static pulses. Ken's father had once collected relics from the black market—some technological, some supernatural. Sparrow found a data shard lodged in the console and slid it into the port.
A holographic interface snapped open. Ancient runes lit up, swirling in mechanical rhythm.
"Encrypted… until you ask the right questions," Sparrow mused.
The system blinked. A voice, ancient and hoarse like wind through dying stars, replied:
"Query access: Registered. Welcome to the Cradle Index."
"TOPIC: The Crafter."
The image shifted. A vague silhouette hammered at an anvil that sparkled with reality threads. Stars exploded around him. Universes swirled at his feet.
"At the dawn of metaphysical formation, the Crafter forged existence from the Void with three sacred relics:
1. The Anvil-Hammer, forged as one, shaped stars and willpower.
2. The Totem of Restoration, a living glyph of duality, granting life or removing essence.
3. The World-Spanning Staff, capable of crossing all conceptual space in a microsecond.
He did not build time—he refined it. He did not mold space—he hardened it.
And when the forging ended, he vanished.
His children—known as the Forgeblood—scattered. Some became monarchs. Some became monsters."
Sparrow leaned back in the chair, folding his fingers together.
"So... the weapons are fragments of that original perfection."
He tapped again.
"TOPIC: Soul Collectors."
The interface stuttered—glitched—then displayed twisted figures with no eyes and serpentine cloaks made of weeping weapons.
"The Soul Collectors were born from a failed weapon—a mirror shard from the Crafter's totem that cracked under paradox. They no longer seek weapons to wield. They seek to consume weapon-souls.
They devour the bond.
Where most thieves want a weapon, Collectors want the echo inside the weapon—the music of the soul. And they punish those who defy the original order.
They consider reincarnated beings to be anomalies. They consider you, German Sparrow, a heretic."
Sparrow exhaled slowly, his gloves tightening around the chair.
"Good. I like being targeted."
He clicked again.
"TOPIC: Weapon Drawbacks."
The screen flickered. A dozen silhouettes appeared—men, women, beasts—all writhing in madness.
"Every weapon with soul has intention.
But intent resists the wielder.
1. If you lack conviction, the weapon doubts you.
2. If your mind fractures, the weapon controls you.
3. If your will falters, the weapon consumes your soul and replaces you.
The longer you fight with a weapon, the more it understands you.
The more it understands you... the more dangerous it becomes.
Once your soul is fully mapped by the weapon's echo, it can overwrite you without changing form.
This is called Black Dethroning."**
German Sparrow paused. That name.
Black Dethroning.
"...So the soul isn't just at risk. It's waiting to be replaced."
Suddenly, a small clown doll on the shelf—the weapon Ken Moretti had bonded with—twitched. A faint giggle echoed in the silence.
Sparrow turned to it.
"I suppose you'll betray him too, won't you?"
The doll didn't answer. It didn't need to.
Sparrow stood, walking toward the open window.
His mind now brimmed with truth. The Crafter. The Collectors. The echo system. The cost.
He whispered to the wind:
"We need more allies. Before our shadows are taken from us."
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To be continued...