Sleep came again without knocking.
Ugly, inky, cold as a dead blade across the spine. There was darkness all around—not just a lack of light, but a void where time and space didn't exist. Only him.
And Ward.
"...you're here again," a raspy voice said in the darkness. A knight emerged from the depths of the void. His silhouette shimmered like a flame in a windless room. Red patterns pulsated on his armor. His eyes, glowing with a blood-red light, pierced through Kallen's very soul.
Kalen didn't flinch.
— Am I dreaming?"
"You are dying. Temporarily," Vard replied, stepping closer. His footsteps made no sound, as if he were a shadow in the Darkness itself. "But you take each death with you. And with each death, you grow stronger."
— ... what do you want?"
Ward reached out his hand, and darkness slowly began to form on his palm. It twisted and coiled, as if it were being woven from the threads of night, and finally, a shadow blade flared to life. The blade was black as a void, with crimson patterns crawling across it like capillaries. It did not reflect light; it devoured it.
"It's your sword, Kalen. You earned it."
Kallen reached out, and his fingers wrapped around the hilt. Instantly, his veins bulged, and pain radiated up his arm. The tattoo on his back flared to life, spreading across his shoulders. His blood boiled, as if the blade had pierced his soul and begun to drink.
"Fuck," he hissed, falling to one knee. "What the hell are you doing?"
"It's not just a weapon," Ward said quietly. "It's an extension of you. But remember... you can't use it in this world without consequences. You're still too weak to hold it for long."
"And if I try?"
— You'll bleed yourself out.
Silence.
Kallen gripped his sword. The darkness around him trembled like a frightened animal. He stood up.
"Then I'll be stronger."
— You're on your way."
Ward stepped back, and his silhouette disappeared into the darkness once again.
"Remember his name. The Sword of the Devoured Dawn. It will call to you when the time is right."
The darkness closed in.
And Kalen woke up.
He gasped for air. Sweat. His pulse pounded in his temples. His back burned, and he could feel the symbol vibrating beneath his skin. His tattoo was no longer just a mark. It was alive.
He sat up in bed, breathing heavily.
"A sword of darkness..." he whispered, looking at his hands. "You're a damn shadow..."
It was just beginning to dawn outside.
***
Night
The city of Voldkrann slept uneasily, like a predator after a failed hunt. Smoke hung over the towers, and alchemical vapors glowed a greenish-blue. In the distance, metal clanged, magic hummed, and flesh crackled under someone's experiments.
And in one of the far, abandoned hangars, where the walls were charred and the floor was strewn with ash, he stood.
Kalen.
One.
With her back bare, where his mark vibrated—now wide, leading black lines from her shoulder blades to her lower back. It seemed to breathe. Like a wound. Like a portal.
He stretched out his hand and whispered:
— I know you're here.
Her fingers twitched.
And in the next instant, a slit appeared in the air before him—like a crack in a mirror, but with nothing inside. From it, slowly, wheezing as if it were climbing out of an abyss, a blade began to form.
First the handle, wrapped in black cloth, then the blade. Smooth, curved, as if it had been forged from bone and shadow. Patterns like blood spread across its surface. The air around it began to vibrate.
The Sword of the Devoured Dawn.
He grabbed it and immediately let out a scream.
The hand flared with pain. The fingers went numb. The shadow seemed to be bursting out, wanting to devour the flesh along with the blade.
"Bitch," Kalen said through his teeth, but he didn't let go.
He gripped the hilt tighter.
"You're my creature. My..."
Magic flowed through his veins. He took a step forward and swung his sword into the air. The blade not only cut through the void, but also caused it to disappear. The magic in the area shuddered as if it were alive.
Step. Swipe. Turn. Scream.
Kalen fell, rose, and fell again. Blood dripped from his arm. Each summon of the blade burned something inside. He understood: it's not a weapon — it's a thirsty entity. But if he doesn't learn to control it, it will consume him.
Wardes didn't come.
He was alone.
He must be alone.
Minutes became hours. The sword tore itself free. The sword cut the air. The shadow danced with madness, and only when he fell to his knees, exhausted, did the blade dissolve... of its own accord.
Kalen stayed where he was.
"…one more step," he whispered. "I'll get stronger. Even if it kills me."
No one was supposed to know. Not Reina, not the teachers, not the damn principal. He would learn on his own.