Elowen didn't carry me out of the vault like a doll, thank the Saints.
She walked beside me—matching my tiny steps with her long stride—like I was a fellow knight who just happened to be the size of a backpack.
Which was good.
Because the Archivist absolutely looked like he was about to try putting me in a box labeled RELIC (FRAGILE).
We left the underground vault and climbed into the upper halls of the Sanctum. Everything smelled like old wax, ink, and stone warmed by late morning sunlight. Knights in white-and-gold tabards stopped mid-step when they saw Elowen.
They were ready to salute her.
Then they saw me.
Then they forgot how their bodies worked.
One guard blinked twice, then whispered, "Is that… the Heroine's—?"
Elowen's voice cut clean through the stares. "Training hall. Clear the floor."
That tone wasn't rude. It was final.
The guards scrambled like someone had just announced a dragon was loose in the pantry.
I leaned closer to Elowen and whispered, "So you just… do that?"
Elowen murmured back without moving her lips. "It's easier than explaining why my legendary sword is currently… small."
"Good," I hissed. "Because I'm still not emotionally prepared."
The link between us hummed with amusement. She was trying very hard not to smile.
We reached the training hall: a wide room of polished wood, practice dummies, hanging sandbags, and rune-marked pillars that looked like they'd seen a thousand heroes grow up and break things. Sunlight poured in through high windows. The air tasted clean.
Elowen shut the doors, then faced me.
"All right," she said. "We learn what you are. Safely."
I planted my hands on my hips, trying to look authoritative despite being… tragically adorable.
"Finally."
Elowen crouched so we were eye level. "First question. Can you become the sword again?"
"I think so." I glanced at my hands like they might betray me. "I didn't exactly press a button."
Elowen held out her palm. "Try focusing on the bond. On the feeling you had in the vault—when you were in my hand."
I closed my eyes.
The bond was there like a cord of light between us. When I leaned into it, I felt her heartbeat again—steady, brave, slightly nervous.
I remembered being steel.
I remembered the weight.
The purpose.
And something inside me clicked.
My body turned warm—then weightless.
Light wrapped around me like a blanket—
—and shhnng.
Elowen's hand closed around my hilt instinctively, and the world snapped back into that strange, sword-sense: no eyes, but awareness; no lungs, but presence. I could feel the air move. I could feel the room's runes.
Elowen lifted me.
"Hello?" she said softly.
I'm here.
My voice sounded clearer like this—less squeaky, more… me.
Elowen's shoulders relaxed. "Good. That means you're not trapped in the child form."
Not trapped, I agreed. Just… humiliatingly flexible.
She almost laughed. Almost.
Then she raised me into a guard stance, careful like she was holding something sacred.
"Second question," Elowen said. "Can you help me defend?"
The training hall's rune-pillars glowed faintly, like they were listening.
Elowen stepped forward and swung me in a simple arc—not fast, not flashy, just a clean practice cut.
The moment she moved, I felt it.
A flow.
Not just her strength, but how her muscles lined up, how her balance shifted, how her intent sharpened.
I wasn't a dead tool.
I was part of the motion.
I can… correct you, I realized.
Elowen paused. "Correct me?"
I pushed a thought through the bond—gently.
Your elbow is flaring. Tuck it slightly. You'll keep the blade path straighter and protect your ribs.
Elowen blinked, then adjusted and swung again.
The cut was cleaner. Her posture tightened into something more confident.
Her eyes widened.
"Rin," she breathed. "You can teach."
Apparently.
I didn't know why that made my chest ache with pride, but it did.
Elowen repositioned. "All right. Let's test defense magic."
Across the room stood a practice dummy fitted with rune-inset emitters—training devices that simulated blunt force impacts.
Elowen pointed me toward it. "Can you cast from sword form?"
I focused. The feeling of magic wasn't like gathering fire in your palm.
It was like… unfolding a shield that already existed.
The runes on my fuller lit up.
A translucent barrier snapped into place in front of Elowen—
and then the dummy's emitter fired a heavy training bolt.
THUNK.
The bolt hit the barrier and stopped dead, suspended for a heartbeat before dropping to the floor like it had hit an invisible wall.
Elowen stared.
Then she whispered, "Again."
I cast again.
Barrier. Impact. Stop.
Again.
Again.
Each time, the barrier formed quicker, smoother, like my body—my blade—was remembering an old language.
After the sixth bolt, the barrier flickered.
I felt a drain—like pulling too hard on a muscle I didn't know I had.
Elowen sensed it too through the bond and lowered me immediately.
"You're tiring."
Yeah, I admitted. My… whatever-this-is, feels like it's running out.
Elowen nodded slowly. "Then we need rules. Limits."
She walked to the center of the hall and set me across her palms like a ceremony.
"I have a theory," she said.
Let me guess. It involves 'mana.'
Elowen's lips twitched. "Yes. But more specifically—your manifestation and your defensive output draw from the same core. Your spirit is a reservoir."
So if I overcast, I get… tiny again?
Elowen looked down at me, serious. "Or worse. You might go dormant."
That word hit like ice.
Dormant. Asleep. Silent. Alone.
Okay. No overcasting, I said quickly. We pace ourselves.
Elowen nodded once, approving.
Then she lifted me and took her stance again.
"Third question," she said. "Can you boost me?"
The bond responded like it had been waiting for permission.
I felt the ability again, sitting behind my awareness like a sealed door with my name on it:
HEROINE'S RISE.
But it wasn't automatic.
It needed intent.
Consent.
I pushed the thought toward Elowen.
You might feel… warmer.
Elowen inhaled, bracing. "Do it."
I opened the door.
Light poured through the bond—steady, controlled—like sunlight being poured into a glass.
Elowen's eyes widened.
She didn't glow dramatically.
She didn't sprout wings.
But her posture shifted—subtly, unmistakably—like her body suddenly remembered it was made to survive.
Her breathing steadied.
Her grip became iron.
When she moved, her sword form—me—cut through the air with a cleaner sound.
Elowen tested a practice combo.
One. Two. Three.
Her footwork tightened. Her reaction time sharpened.
Her gaze lifted, focused and fierce.
She stopped, chest rising, and looked down at my blade.
"That's…" she whispered. "That's not just strength."
It's… you, I said, surprised by my own realization. I'm not adding something foreign. I'm amplifying what's already there.
Elowen swallowed, and through the bond I felt it—the weight of responsibility settling in her spine.
"If I rely on you too much—"
You'll burn out, I finished. Or I will.
Elowen nodded.
Then she did something I didn't expect.
She bowed her head slightly to the blade in her hands.
"Thank you," she said. "For choosing to help me."
My runes dimmed in a way that felt like… embarrassment.
Don't make it weird, I muttered. We're a team. Also, I did not exactly choose this. I woke up already legendary.
Elowen smiled outright this time. "Team, then."
She raised me again.
"All right, Team," she said. "Next lesson. Combat integration."
And then she walked toward the training dummy with the emitters, but instead of stopping in front of it—
she angled herself sideways.
Like she was anticipating an attack from the blind spot.
I felt the instinct before she did.
A flicker in the hall's rune-pillars.
A ripple in the ward line near the ceiling.
Something moved where nothing should move.
Left—! I warned.
Elowen reacted instantly—boost still humming in her muscles—pivoting into guard.
A training bolt fired from a hidden emitter that absolutely should not have been active.
It hit my barrier and shattered into sparks.
The doors at the far end of the hall groaned open.
A tall figure stepped inside, cloak trailing like a shadow.
Not a knight.
Not a priest.
A woman in dark-blue armor with silver edges—an outsider's cut. Her gaze locked on Elowen like a blade locking onto a throat.
Then her eyes dropped to me.
To the runes.
To the glow.
And she smiled.
Not warmly.
Like someone who had finally found what they were hunting.
"Elowen of the Fifth Dawn," she said, voice smooth. "So the sword awakened."
Elowen lifted me slightly, protective.
"Who are you?" Elowen demanded.
The woman's smile widened just a fraction.
"Someone who knows," she replied, "that legendary weapons don't awaken without a reason."
My runes shivered.
Because the moment she said it, I felt something inside my steel—deep, old, and unpleasant—react.
Like a scar remembering the knife.
And for the first time since waking…
I was afraid not of being a kid.
Not of being a sword.
But of being recognized.
Elowen… I whispered through the bond. Don't let her touch me.
Elowen's grip tightened.
"Stay back," she warned.
The woman took one slow step forward anyway.
"Relax," she said. "I'm not here to steal you."
Her gaze sharpened.
"I'm here to ask the sword one question."
Her eyes met Elowen's again.
"Does it remember what it was forged to seal?"
The hall's rune-pillars flared—violent, sudden—
and somewhere deep inside me, behind my defense spells and my booster and my child form…
a locked memory trembled.