The cold reached him first. Not a chill, but an intense cold that made each nerve in his body prickle. While attempting to breathe, the smell of damp soil and moss mixed with the scent of decaying leaves filled his lungs. The forest above him was immense. Through the branches, sunlight cascaded in golden beams. It was like a dappled ballet on the forest floor. Trees so gigantic that they seemed to touch the sky with their knotted ancient guardian-like trunks. Every leaf was a whisper of some language he could not decode.
He attempted a movement and recognized an unusual feeling in his body. His limbs felt light, yet heavy, delicate, and pliable, as though they'd been in a state of suspended expectation. A sense of unease that took the shape of a jagged flame in his chest. Where am I? How did I get here?
Then the voice came. Not from the forest, not from outside—but inside. Calm, commanding, undeniable.
"Weapon Soul awakened."
The words didn't just echo in his mind—they struck him like lightning, resonating in every fiber of his being. Something deep inside him stirred. Muscles coiled with newfound strength. His senses sharpened until the forest wasn't a place anymore—it was alive, breathing, watching, waiting. Every movement, every flicker of light, every subtle sound snapped into focus.
His hands glowed first. A faint silver mist, like starlight caught in liquid, coiling around his fingers. Then the weapon appeared. Impossible. Shimmering. Shifting in shape and color like it was alive, like it had been waiting for him. Sword? Spear? Something beyond thought. Colors that made his eyes ache to comprehend, reflections that danced across his vision like firelight and moonlight colliding.
"Your Weapon Soul is born," the voice said, steady and deep. "Bond with it… or be lost in this world."
He reached out. The instant his fingers brushed the hilt, a surge of power shot through him. Lightning threaded through his veins, fire ignited in his muscles, and clarity flooded his mind. He could feel the heartbeat of the forest, the wind shifting in hidden currents, the very pulse of life around him. The weapon vibrated against his grip, alive, responding, recognizing him. Not a tool—but a part of him.
Every step forward made the forest react. Leaves shimmered, the air quivered, the unseen animals paused, acknowledging his presence. He swung the weapon experimentally, and the air itself seemed to sing. Every movement felt like an extension of thought, every strike a conversation with the forest itself.
"Test your limits," the voice urged.
In the sunlit clearing, he twisted the weapon into a blade of pure, stretching light. Every swing, jump, and parry pulsed with energy. The ground shivered beneath him. Trees bent subtly as if acknowledging a new force among them. He had never felt so alive.
And then—the eyes. Molten gold, gleaming from the shadows. A creature emerged, sinew and claw twisted into nightmare form, growling in a voice that rattled his teeth.
Fear? Yes—but it was different. Controlled. Sharpened. Focused.
He gripped the Weapon Soul. Time slowed. Every movement, every strike, every dodge flowed perfectly, as though he and the weapon had always been one. He danced with the creature, a deadly rhythm, feeling power thrumming beneath his skin. When it finally fled, the forest seemed to exhale, approving, alive with unseen energy.
He dropped to his knees, chest heaving, body trembling, heart pounding like a drum of war. He had survived. The forest, the Weapon Soul, this strange world—it was no longer alien. It was home. A crucible. A challenge.
The voice came one last time, gentle but heavy with promise:
"This is only the beginning. The path ahead is yours. Fail, and you vanish. Rise, and destiny bends to your will."
He gripped the weapon tighter. The forest stretched endlessly, alive with power and danger. He felt it—he was awake. Fully awake. And for the first time, he belonged.