Eiden sat cross‑legged at the center of the living room, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the Endless pocket bag resting before him. The black pouch sat in the middle of the polished floor like a dormant singularity, swallowing the lamplight instead of reflecting it. For hours it hadn't twitched, shifted, or pulsed—just existed, impossibly heavy in its stillness.
Around him, the Eight Sages formed a quiet circle.
Vaelus, emerald eyes glowing faintly, sat with perfect stillness. Beside him, the tall and broad‑shouldered Morvath leaned forward slightly, his long black hair secured in a neat bun. Dravien, lean and restless, tapped his knee in impatience while his black feline tail flicked behind him. Iris, crimson eyes sharp beneath a curtain of long black hair, sat with her arms folded as her robe pooled like ink‑black shadows. Seraphaine, curly brown hair framing pensive hazel eyes, rested her chin on her hand. Selyndra, radiant with long golden hair and amber eyes, sat with serene, regal posture. Agora, her bright skin glowing faintly and twelve blue tails curled neatly behind her, watched with ethereal calm. Finally, Gavron, white hair falling over glowing white eyes, sat with his massive wings folded behind him like a cathedral of feathers.
The mansion's lamps burned low, casting warm gold across the room. Shadows stretched long across the floor, bending around the Endless pocket bag as if even darkness refused to touch it.
Four hours passed in silence.
Then—
"Aw, c'mon, Eiden!" Dravien finally exploded, throwing his hands up. "It's been four hours, just open ittt."
Morvath didn't even look at him. "Let the man think first, jeez."
Eiden's lips twitched—almost a smile. Then he extended a hand. His fingers brushed the pouch. The air shifted. He lifted it, unclipped it open, and peeked inside.
Nothing. Just darkness—pure, depthless, absolute.
Then he flipped it upside down.
THUD—THUD—THUNK—CLANG.
Several grimoires spilled out in a cascade of ancient leather and glowing runes, followed by a single sheathed blade that hit the floor with a metallic resonance. The blade's black‑and‑silver sheath shimmered with divine etchings.
Dravien's eyes widened. "Whoa‑hoh! There's a lot! Well, Eiden? Look at them—look at them!"
Eiden reached down, picking up the sheathed blade with deliberate care. He slid the blade out just an inch—a divine gleam flashed across the room.
"The Sword of Gods…" Eiden murmured. "It's even more beautiful up close." He grinned—sharp, confident, dangerous. "Heh. Now I have seven blades, and nobody can stop me."
Iris crossed her arms. "Maybe we should take the blade from him?"
Agora twirled a strand of her long, blue hair. "He'd just take it back."
Gavron stepped closer, wings rustling softly. "Well, I sense mana from it," he said.
"Yeah, it feels weird," Seraphaine added.
Eiden turned the blade over, inspecting the hilt—and something moved.
A folded letter slid out from beneath the metal, as if pushed by an unseen hand. Eiden set the blade down and unfolded the letter. Dravien leaned so far forward he nearly fell. "Well? What does it say?"
Eiden cleared his throat and read:
"Whoever finds this blade and anchors their aura into it will be granted ALL abilities in existence. All abilities embedded into weapons, all abilities that exist, all abilities that ever existed, all abilities that will ever exist, all divine arts, all mortal arts, all conceptual arts, all forgotten arts, all future arts—every ability that can be conceived or unconceived—will be embedded into your mind and soul.
When you find the Endless pocket bag, latch your mana to it, and then latch your mana to the blade. From that moment on, every item related to the Three Gods, every grimoire, every artifact, and every ability will be drawn to you and stored within the Endless pocket bag.
The current ability housed within this sword is called Unstoppable Field. The user's body will be surrounded—inside and out—by an invisible field that prevents all harm. It nullifies toxic atmospheres, gases, poisons, illusions, mind control, deception, manipulation, curses, divine interference, conceptual attacks, and all forms of damage or influence.
When the field is active, the user breathes God Air, which infinitely fuels their power. This field also—"
Eiden stopped. "Yeah, I'm not reading allat."
Dravien threw his hands up. "But whyyy?! It makes you sound like you're… just unstoppable! C'mon, man!"
Agora shrugged. "Quite an interesting ability."
Eiden extended his palm. A pulse of aura surged from him—first into the Endless pocket bag, then into the Sword of Gods. Both artifacts glowed in response, accepting him. He clipped the blade to his waist, then lifted the Endless pocket bag again.
"Round two," he muttered.
He flipped it upside down. This time, the flood was overwhelming.
THUD—THUD—THUD—THUD—THUD—THUD—THUD—
Grimoires poured out like a waterfall, stacking, sliding, and spreading across the floor until the entire room was covered in ancient tomes. Some hovered. Some vibrated. Some glowed with divine symbols.
Then—silence.
Eiden exhaled, closed the Endless pocket bag, clipped it to his belt, and let it rest against his hip like a loyal shadow.
Dravien's jaw dropped. "Woah… so many cool grimoires!"
"And you're going to stay up all night mastering all of them?" Selyndra asked.
"Well, of course," Eiden said. "The Grimoire of Divinark is in this pile somewhere."
Selyndra stretched, golden hair shimmering. "Welp, it's nighttime. I should get to bed."
"No, for real—we've sat for hours," Seraphaine said. "I'm going too."
"Us as well," Morvath said, rising. Vaelus, Dravien, Iris, and Agora followed him out.
The room slowly emptied, leaving only Eiden and the mountain of grimoires. He began stacking and organizing them with methodical precision. Then he paused.
Gavron was still there.
The winged Sage sat beside him, white hair falling over glowing eyes, his massive wings folded neatly behind him.
Eiden turned. "Hm? You look tired. You should head to bed."
Gavron shook his head. "Well… yeah. But I just want to make sure you're okay. I don't want to leave."
He leaned gently against Eiden, resting his head on his shoulder. His right wing unfurled slightly, wrapping around the two of them like a protective cocoon.
The room fell quiet again. But this time, it was a warm quiet. A quiet that belonged only to them.