Silence clung to the walls of the old armory like a layer of dust that thickened over the years.
Ardyn was still sitting leaning against a large wooden chest, observing the room which was lit only by a faint light coming through the gap in the roof.
The sound of a practice gong sounded faint in the distance, growing fainter because the wind carried the sound in the opposite direction.
The outside world was busy celebrating the potential successors of the Vale Clan, while in this quiet place,
a young man who was considered to have no future tries to understand the silence that surrounds him.
Old Harven, the warehouse keeper, sat on a low stool in the corner of the room.
The old man occasionally glanced at Ardyn, as if trying to interpret the young man's character from the way he sat and looked around.
Harven knew Ardyn often came here, but something was different today.
There was a strange calm, not resignation, but like someone who was recalculating the world from the beginning.
The cloud of dust moved slowly as Ardyn stood up.
He started down the aisle of wooden shelves, touching several rusty swords hanging randomly.
Each blade has a small name engraved in the iron, a sign that they were once worn by someone who is now a story.
Sir Calden Thornvale.
Marsha Ironthorn.
Geralt Duskmar.
The names of the warriors who once defended Vale in the Three Seasons War. All those memories have now turned into dead iron in this dark space.
Harven opened the conversation while observing Ardyn.
"You know, those swords have saved many lives.
But look now, everything is forgotten. Just like people who don't have meridians."
Ardyn touched the hilt of the broken sword with his fingertips. "Iron has no meridians, but it can still kill."
Harven raised an eyebrow. "An answer I didn't expect from a sixteen year old."
Ardyn didn't answer. He walked further into areas that were rarely touched. He wasn't looking for a weapon.
He looks for patterns. Since childhood, he has had the habit of paying attention to things that people consider less important.
The angle of the sword, the line of the blade's ridge, the fine cracks that show age. All of this spoke to Ardyn in his own language.
As he moved the pile of old swords, his eyes stopped on one object that didn't resemble anything else around him.
A dark sword, without luster, without carvings, its shape even looked duller than even the rustiest sword.
But it was precisely because of its stillness that the sword seemed the most alive.
Ardyn researched from afar. The blade is not symmetrical. The back of the sword cracked slightly like a stone vein.
No name. No notes. It was as if the world had never acknowledged its existence.
Harven followed Ardyn's gaze and took a deep breath.
"Oh, that one. A strange sword that no one wants to touch. Even the elder doesn't care. There's no record.
No history. Nothing. It was kept only because no one wanted to throw it away."
Ardyn approached, his eyes sharpened. "It is precisely because there are no records that this sword is interesting."
Harven tsked, but made no attempt to stop him. "You've always been strange, Ardyn. But this time your strangeness feels more serious."
Ardyn squatted down, studying the blade from a fathom's distance. No aura. There is no current vibration.
But the sword seemed to have its own world, a world that was silent and dark. Ardyn felt something, not energy, just
silence that was too perfect. The silence made his heartbeat sound louder.
The warehouse door creaked. Seraphine appeared while holding her breath. Her hair was a little messy, a sign that she had been looking for Ardyn for a long time.
"I found you too. Elder Renar wanted to talk about the testing earlier."
Ardyn kept his eyes on the sword. "There's nothing to talk about. The stone doesn't lie."
Seraphine stepped closer, then looked at the dark sword. "What is that? I've never seen it before."
"The sword they forgot," Ardyn answered briefly.
Seraphine furrowed her brows. "Why does it feel… uncomfortable?"
"Because the world doesn't change with comfort." Ardyn stood up, but his eyes did not leave the sword. "Not for me."
Seraphine wanted to argue, but she knew Ardyn was right. The sword world made no room for comfort.
Authoritative footsteps sounded from outside the warehouse.
Elder Mirra Thorncrest entered the room, the fabric of her robes rubbing gently against the floor. His face was firm, but not cruel. He looked at Ardyn with an evaluative gaze.
"Ardyn. You have to come to the hall. There is a decision that must be announced."
Ardyn turned his head. "The decision to stop my training."
Mirra held her breath for a moment. "The clan rules are like that. Without meridians, you can't enter the warrior path. But the clan still offers other jobs. There's still a place for—"
"A place without a future," Ardyn interrupted.
Harven looked at Elder Mirra. Seraphine looked down at the ground. The room was filled with tension.
Mirra took a slow breath. "I don't want to hurt you, Ardyn. But the path of warriors cannot be taken without meridians. You can be a guard, or a logistics organizer, or—"
"I know," answered Ardyn. "I understand the rules. I just don't believe in rules looking at the whole world."
Mirra was silent longer than before. There was something in the way Ardyn looked at him that made him hold back his next sentence.
He finally just said, "After this, you still have to come to the hall. That's an order."
Ardyn turned his gaze back to the dark sword on the floor. He reached out his hand without hesitation. Seraphine held her breath as the young man grasped the hilt cold as a grave stone.
No flash of light. There are no currents that shake. There is no magical reaction.
But Ardyn felt something. The sword was not as heavy as it looked. The rust isn't just rust, it's a coating that hides the older metal.
The blade was cold, but not ordinary cold, but rather a cold that felt like the empty space between two pulses.
Harven stood up. "Be careful, child. That sword isn't normal."
Seraphine stepped back half a step. "Ardyn, maybe you should—"
Ardyn raised the sword slowly. "A weapon that no one recognizes may be the only one left to me."
Mirra stared at the sword with narrowed eyes, as if an old memory had surfaced in her mind. "That iron... I've seen something like that in an old archive. But I don't—"
He fell silent, choosing not to continue.
Ardyn did not demand an explanation. He held the sword in a simple way, testing a balance that was not entirely normal.
But he felt one thing for sure: the sword was not hostile to his hand. Didn't refuse. Even as if to let it go.
He walked towards the warehouse door. The light from outside changed as his body stepped out.
The wind stopped for a moment, as if holding its breath. The shadows of the ancestral statues in the courtyard seemed longer, darkening as if watching.
Seraphine followed to the doorway, stopping there.
"Ardyn... be careful."
"Caution changes nothing." Ardyn stared far away. "But I can't stay in place either."
Seraphine brought her hands to her chest, feeling that something had changed since Ardyn touched the sword, even though it wasn't visible to the eye.
Harven watched from inside. Mirra remained standing in the middle of the warehouse with an expression that was hard to read.
Ardyn took the dark sword outside, leaving the silence of the warehouse and entering into a larger world, a world that began to turn its attention to a young man who was not supposed to have a future.
In the distance, the practice gong rang again, but the sound sounded different, heavier than before, as if it echoed deeper in the morning air.
Ardyn didn't look back. The dark sword hung in his right hand, silent and dark like a starless night.
The steps are steady. The world is not waiting. And he also has no intention of stopping.