Aetheron's vision blurred.
For a moment, it felt like he was floating—trapped between two worlds.
Then—
A sudden pull.
His feet hit solid ground. The world snapped back into focus.
Aetheron stood in the middle of a vast, empty space. No sky, no earth—just an endless expanse of shifting energy.
But in his hands—he held the Sovereign's blade.
It was heavier than he expected. Not physically—but something deeper.
Like it carried the weight of something far beyond him.
The Blade's Voice
The moment his fingers tightened around the hilt, something rippled.
Aetheron's breath hitched.
A voice.
Faint at first, then growing stronger—whispers curling around his mind.
"Are you worthy?"
His grip tensed.
Then—
The energy around him exploded.
The First Trial
Aetheron barely had time to react before the space around him shifted.
No longer an empty void—he was standing on a battlefield.
Corpses.
The air smelled of blood, steel, and something… rotten.
Figures moved through the haze—shadows of warriors long past.
Each one wielding the same blade he held.
Aetheron's heart pounded. What was this? A memory? A vision?
Then the figures turned to him.
Their hollow eyes locked onto his form—and they attacked.
Facing the Past
Aetheron moved on instinct.
The first warrior struck—his movements fluid, precise. Too perfect.
Aetheron raised the blade—steel met steel.
The impact sent a jolt through his arms. These weren't illusions.
They were real.
The second warrior lunged.
Then the third.
Then the rest.
Aetheron barely had time to breathe.
His body moved, weaving between attacks—but there were too many.
A blade sliced his shoulder. Another cut across his side.
The pain was sharp, real—like he was truly dying.
Aetheron gritted his teeth.
Something was off.
They weren't just attacking. They were testing him.
His mind raced. Why? What was the pattern?
Then—he saw it.
Each one carried the same technique.
Aetheron's grip tightened.
Then he stopped dodging.
Cutting Through the Illusion
The next warrior swung—but Aetheron didn't block.
Instead—he stepped inside the attack.
His blade pierced through the warrior's chest.
The figure froze.
Then—it shattered.
The other warriors paused.
Aetheron exhaled. "I see now."
They weren't testing his skill.
They were testing his understanding.
This wasn't about fighting.
It was about acceptance.
The Sovereign's blade didn't belong to a mere warrior.
It belonged to one who understood the burden of those who came before.
Aetheron closed his eyes.
Then—he lowered his sword.
The warriors stopped.
A moment of silence.
Then—they bowed.
The Second Trial
The battlefield dissolved.
Aetheron was falling.
No ground. No sky. Just endless descent.
Then—he hit something solid.
He gasped, forcing himself up.
The world had changed again.
This time—he was standing before a throne.
It was massive, ancient—cracked and crumbling.
And in the seat—a figure sat.
Not the Sovereign.
Something older.
Its eyes opened.
"Show me."