The Three-Year Transformation
The years had passed, and Toby was no longer the small, shy boy who once hesitated at the mouth of the ruins. Three years of relentless training had transformed him—body, mind, and spirit.
At first, it was just simple drills—stance, balance, footwork. Siegfried drilled the basics into him day after day until they became as natural as breathing. The wooden sword he once cherished eventually broke, worn down by constant use, but Toby saw it as a sign of progress. Without hesitation, he worked for the timberjack once more, earning a new, sturdier practice weapon. Each time it broke, he replaced it, and each time, his strikes became stronger, his form sharper.
As Toby trained, his body changed. He grew taller, his frame filling out with lean muscle earned through hard work. His once-soft hands became calloused from gripping his sword, his movements more refined. The timid boy who once stood in awe of adventurers was gone—now, Toby moved like a warrior in the making.
But training wasn't just about physical strength. Siegfried had been more than a mentor; he had been a guide into the mindset of a fighter. The ghostly swordsman taught him not just how to swing a blade, but why. He taught Toby about battle awareness, reading an opponent's intent, and the difference between fighting with reckless strength and with calculated precision.
Outside the ruins, life in Salthbridge continued. Toby still spent time with his mother, but she noticed the shift in him. He was no longer just a boy dreaming of adventure—he was preparing for it. And though she supported him, she couldn't hide the concern in her eyes as his skills grew sharper, his determination more unshakable.
The other villagers noticed, too. The once-quiet boy had become someone different—stronger, more confident. The local boys who had once been his peers began to look at him with admiration or, in some cases, jealousy. Some challenged him to sparring matches, but none could match the precision of his strikes. Even the village blacksmith, impressed by his dedication, allowed him to observe his work, teaching him the basics of weapon maintenance.
And now, the day had come. Toby's next birthday—the one his mother had promised would mark his right to wield a real sword.
As he stood before the gleaming steel blade, heavier than anything he had wielded before, he felt something stir inside him. This wasn't just another step in his training. This was the moment. The beginning of something greater.
A real sword. A new challenge. And a future that was finally within his grasp.
And Siegfried, watching from within the ruins, couldn't help but smile in his own unseen way.
"Now, the real training begins."
Toby stood before the towering Chorn tree, his fingers tightening around the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and leaves, the soft rustling of the forest a familiar melody in his ears.
"I'm back, old friend," he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet excitement. His gaze traveled along the deep scars that littered the tree's bark—marks left by years of relentless training. Every cut, every dent in its massive trunk was a testament to his growth.
But today was different.
Today, he wasn't just here to train.
"But today... your reign ends."
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he took a step forward, rolling his shoulders. The Chorn tree was no ordinary tree—it was ancient, massive, and revered. Its roots ran deep beneath the earth, its towering branches stretching high like the crown of a king. For years, it had stood unchallenged, an immovable titan in the heart of the forest.
Toby exhaled slowly, steadying himself. This was the final test. The wooden swords of his past had left their marks, but they had never been enough to truly challenge the king of the forest.
But now, he had something different.
He unsheathed his real sword, the steel gleaming under the filtered sunlight. It was heavier than what he was used to, but he had spent weeks adapting to its weight. Now, it felt like an extension of his own body.
Deep inside the ruins, Siegfried had once told him, "A swordsman must know his limits. But a warrior... a warrior must break them."
Toby adjusted his stance, feet firmly planted, body relaxed yet ready. His grip on the hilt was strong but flexible, just as Siegfried had taught him.
"Let's see if I can finally cut you down."
He lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air as he swung with all the strength he had gained over the years. The sound of steel meeting bark echoed through the forest. The force of his strike sent a tremor up his arms, but he did not waver.
The Chorn tree stood, unmoving, unshaken.
Toby grinned, breathless but exhilarated. "Not bad... but I'm not done yet."
He took his stance again, preparing for the next strike.
Toby felt his hands tremble, the force of his own strike reverberating through his bones. His arms ached, his grip tingled, and yet—the Chorn tree stood, unshaken, as if mocking his efforts.
"Is this truly all you can do?"
If the tree could speak, that's what it would say. That's what Toby imagined it saying.
Gritting his teeth, he exhaled sharply and adjusted his stance. His fingers loosened on the hilt—not too tight, not too rigid. Speed, not just strength. That was what Siegfried had taught him.
He struck again. Then again. And again.
A flurry of blows rained against the ancient bark, each swing executed with precision, each strike faster than the last. His feet moved instinctively, weaving through the steps Siegfried had drilled into him for years.
One, four, two, five—
His movements were fluid, his sword an extension of his body. The wind howled through the branches above as if cheering him on. His strikes blurred together, forming a relentless storm of steel and motion.
And yet—nothing.
The Chorn tree did not yield. The mighty king of the forest stood tall, its thick bark barely chipped, barely scratched.
Toby's chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths. His muscles burned, his arms screamed in protest, but frustration burned hotter in his chest.
He lowered his sword slightly, staring at the unyielding trunk before him. He had spent years training, honing his body, perfecting his strikes—and still, he could not leave more than a scratch on the legendary tree.
Was this his limit?
No.
He refused to accept that.
Toby clenched his jaw, tightened his grip once more, and took a slow, steady breath. He had one last thing to try.
"If raw strength isn't enough... then I have to find another way."
He lifted his sword once more, this time with more than just force behind his swing.
With a sharp inhale, Toby steadied himself and launched into another relentless flurry of blows. This time, however, his strikes were not wild or scattered. He aimed for the exact same spot with each swing, again and again, carving his will into the ancient bark of the Chorn tree.
His muscles screamed, but he ignored the pain. His grip tightened, sweat beading on his brow as he forced himself to stay precise. If brute force wasn't enough, then precision would be his weapon. He had to focus, had to break through, had to prove that his training—his years of dedication—had not been in vain.
Yet, with each strike, the tree remained unchanged. The bark, thick and unyielding, refused to acknowledge his efforts. It was as if it mocked him, as if it was beyond the reach of his blade.
Toby's breathing grew ragged. His vision blurred from exertion, but still, he pressed on.
Strike.
Again.
Again!
His arms felt like lead, his legs weak beneath him, but he refused to stop.
And then—just as doubt began to creep in—he heard it.
A faint, almost imperceptible crack.
Toby froze mid-swing, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. His eyes widened as he stepped back, scanning the spot where his blade had landed again and again.
There it was. A thin fracture, barely visible, but there.
A slow grin spread across his face.
He had done it.
The king of the forest had finally acknowledged him.
Toby let out a long sigh as he dropped onto the grass, his back hitting the cool earth beneath him. His chest heaved with exhaustion, but a wide, satisfied grin stretched across his face.
"Even this counts as a victory," he muttered, chuckling breathlessly.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the vast canopy of leaves above him, golden rays of sunlight filtering through. The Chorn tree stood tall, unshaken, its thick bark barely scratched—yet to Toby, that single, tiny fracture he had made was everything.
"I wish one day I could be like you… strong, sturdy, and undefeatable," he mused, his voice soft with admiration.
For years, this tree had been his silent rival, his training partner, and now—his first true test. And though he had not felled it, though his sword had barely left a mark, he had made a mark. Even the smallest sign of progress was still progress.
After a while, Toby exhaled deeply, pushing himself up. He dusted off his clothes, stretched his sore limbs, and reached for his sword, sliding it back into its sheath with a satisfying click.
With one last glance at the mighty Chorn tree, he turned and walked away, his mind filled with the smallest but most meaningful kind of victory.
Truly, the Titan of the Trees had earned its name.
Toby walked back toward the ruins, his body still tingling with the remnants of exhaustion. His small victory against the Chorn tree fueled his spirit, but he knew all too well—if he was at his best now, then Siegfried's training would only push him further.
As he stepped into the dim underground chamber, the familiar glow of the ancient crystals flickered to life, casting soft, eerie light over the room.
"You're late, Toby," Siegfried's voice echoed through the chamber, calm yet knowing. "Were you at the tree again?"
Toby couldn't hold back his laughter. "You bet I was! I finally made the bark chip. Just a little, but still!" He grinned, standing tall. "Every day I get better. Every day, I get closer. Sice I get a real sword, nothing will stop me to grown even stronger!"
Siegfried let out a low chuckle, his presence as strong as ever despite being bound to the ancient blade. "You've grown, boy. But don't let small victories blind you. A single crack does not bring down a mountain."
Toby smirked, rolling his shoulders. "I know, I know… but it's a start. And I have you to thank for it, Siegfried. You're truly an amazing swordsman. Sometimes I wish I could fight you, just once. To see what it's like to face a legend."
For a moment, there was silence. Then Siegfried's voice returned, carrying a hint of something unreadable—pride? Amusement? Or perhaps… something else.
"Careful what you wish for, boy."
Toby grinned, raising his wooden sword. "Then let's get started. What's today's lesson?"
Toby froze, gripping the hilt of his wooden sword a little tighter. "What…?" He blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "No more lessons?"
Siegfried let out a deep sigh, his voice carrying a weight that hadn't been there before. "Toby, you've mastered everything I can teach you—at least in theory. You know every form, every stance, every technique that I once wielded in life. The only thing you lack now is experience. And that… I cannot give you."
Toby furrowed his brows. "But… but I'm not done yet. There's still so much I need to learn! I haven't even wielded a real sword for long, and—"
"And that's exactly why I say you need experience," Siegfried interrupted. "No amount of drills will prepare you for a real fight. You need to face an opponent who can strike back. You need to feel the weight of battle, the pressure, the uncertainty. The lessons are over, Toby. Now, you must find your own way."
Toby took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He had spent years under Siegfried's guidance, training every day without fail. And now… it was over? Just like that?
A strange, uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach.
"I… I don't know if I'm ready," he admitted quietly.
Siegfried chuckled. "No one ever is. But that's the point. You won't feel ready until you are ready. And the only way to become ready… is to step into the world and face it."
Toby clenched his fists, staring down at his sword. He knew Siegfried was right. He had trained, he had pushed himself beyond his limits, but none of it would matter if he never put it to the test.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head. His eyes burned with determination. "Then I guess… it's time for me to start looking for real fights."
Siegfried chuckled again, his voice filled with something Toby could only describe as pride.
"Now you're starting to sound like a real swordsman."
Toby's grip on the sword tightened as frustration welled up inside him. He could feel the weight of everything he had worked for pressing against his chest. His breathing was heavy, uneven, as he stared down at the gleaming blade his mother had given him weeks ago. This sword was real. It was his. Yet, somehow, it still didn't feel right.
His eyes flickered toward the ancient blade resting at the center of the room, Siegfried's essence bound within it. His mentor, his guide—the one who had shaped him into the swordsman he was today. And yet, despite everything, Siegfried still held back.
"Then… let me wield you," Toby said, his voice firm but edged with desperation. "You're a sword yourself, aren't you? I've trained for years under you, and I know I'm ready. Let me—"
"Absolutely not." Siegfried's voice rang through the chamber, carrying an unshakable finality. "Toby, don't let your emotions take control. I know you're frustrated. I know you want more. But I cannot allow you to wield me—not yet."
Toby's teeth ground together as anger sparked in his chest. "Why?!" He snapped, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "You keep saying I'm ready for the real thing, but when I ask to prove it, you refuse! I've worked so hard, Siegfried! I'm not a kid anymore—I've grown! And it's all thanks to you!"
The moment those words left his lips, Siegfried hesitated.
Something shifted.
It was subtle at first, like a faint ripple in the air. But then it grew stronger—an unnatural stillness creeping into the chamber. The light from the glowing crystals flickered, their steady radiance now trembling as if touched by an unseen force.
Siegfried's presence tensed, his voice losing its usual calm. "Toby… stop."
But Toby barely heard him. His emotions surged, years of pent-up ambition and longing for battle surging to the surface. He wasn't a child anymore. He deserved this. He earned this.
Then, Siegfried felt it.
A presence. Faint at first, like a whisper curling through the cracks of reality itself.
Something was stirring.
Siegfried's voice grew sharper, more urgent. "Toby, listen to me—something is wrong."
Toby blinked, the fire in his chest suddenly flickering as an unfamiliar pressure settled over the room. The air grew heavy, thick, like the atmosphere before a storm. A strange sensation crawled up his spine—a feeling he had never experienced before.
Siegfried, bound to his ancient blade, had no body to tense, no breath to hold, but if he did—Toby knew he would be doing both.
Something was here.
Something unnatural.
And it was responding to him.
Toby's heart raced as he sprinted towards Salthbridge, the smell of smoke growing thicker in the air with each passing second. The familiar scent of wood, stone, and earth was now tainted with the acrid scent of burning, and it churned his stomach. His mind raced as his eyes scanned the horizon, searching for signs of the town's familiar landmarks.
As he neared the outskirts of Salthbridge, the once peaceful town was now a scene of chaos. Flames licked the sky, rising higher and higher, and thick black smoke billowed from several buildings. The crackling of fire and the panicked shouts of the townspeople filled the air. Toby's breath quickened, and his hands trembled, but he forced himself to focus. There was no time for fear. There was only action.
"Please, no…" Toby whispered under his breath, as he rounded the corner and saw the first of the burning houses. His legs pushed harder, carrying him through the narrow, smoke-choked streets. His eyes darted from one building to the next, trying to find a path through the destruction. He could barely make out figures running in every direction, some clutching belongings, others pulling loved ones along in haste. The town was in complete disarray.
He spotted a few familiar faces, people he knew by sight, rushing into the streets from their homes. They didn't seem to know where to go, lost in the chaos.
Toby's chest tightened. His mind was spinning, but there was no time to think. The town was under attack, and he needed to help. His eyes were drawn to the largest building in Salthbridge—the town hall, the heart of the village. It was already surrounded by smoke, and the fire was quickly spreading toward it.
As he pushed forward, Toby could feel his heart beating in his ears. He needed to get closer, to find his mother, to make sure she was safe. He had to do something—anything—to stop the fire from consuming everything.
Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath his feet. A low rumble vibrated through the earth, like the sound of something heavy crashing against the ground, followed by a series of thunderous steps that shook the air. Toby skidded to a stop, looking around, his senses alert, his sword instinctively drawn. He wasn't sure what he was facing, but he could feel it—the unmistakable presence of something wrong.
"What's happening?!" Toby shouted to a man passing by, a stranger with wide eyes.
"Raiders!" the man gasped, panting as he stumbled toward the makeshift barricades that were being hastily set up. "We're under attack! They're… they're everywhere!"
Raiders? That meant the town wasn't just burning—it was being destroyed by force. Toby clenched his teeth, a surge of anger rising within him. He wasn't going to let Salthbridge fall—not without doing everything he could to help.
Without hesitation, Toby dashed toward the center of the town, where the smoke was the thickest. His thoughts raced, but there was only one clear mission now: protect his home, his mother, and the people he cared about.
As he reached the center square, he finally saw them—dark figures moving through the smoke and flames, carrying weapons and shouting orders. Raiders. Bandits. Whoever they were, they were armed, ruthless, and intent on taking Salthbridge for themselves.
Toby's heart pounded in his chest as he gripped his sword tightly, stepping into the fray. He wasn't ready for this—not fully. But he couldn't wait any longer. The time for training was over. Now, the time for action had come.
The first raider spotted him, a hulking man with a jagged blade raised high. He lunged, aiming for Toby's throat. Instinct kicked in, and Toby sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blow. He felt the air rush past him as the blade slashed through empty space. With a swift motion, he swung his sword—still clumsy, still inexperienced—but it was enough. The blow landed on the raider's arm, knocking the weapon from his grasp.
The raider stumbled back, surprised, but only for a moment. He drew another blade, his face twisted in fury. "You'll regret that, boy!" he snarled.
Toby's pulse raced as he took a defensive stance, breathing hard. His grip on the hilt tightened, and the weight of the sword felt different now, more natural, as if it had finally become an extension of his will.
He had no time to waste. The town was burning, and he couldn't do this alone. He needed help. He needed more than just his sword.
The man's greatsword slammed into the ground with a deafening crash, the force of it sending a shockwave through the earth beneath them. Toby barely managed to sidestep in time, feeling the gust of wind as the blade passed dangerously close. His heart raced, and without thinking, he shifted into the strike, launching himself at the man with speed and precision.
The sword in his hand cut through the air as he aimed for the man's side, the strike quick but powerful. But the raider was ready. With surprising agility for his size, he twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding Toby's blade. He grinned, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Not bad for a boy," the raider sneered, his voice low and mocking. "But you're out of your league. This is real combat."
Toby's grip tightened on the sword. His breath was coming faster now, each exhale sharp in the smoky air. He wasn't just fighting for himself now—he was fighting for his town, his home. He could feel the heat from the nearby flames, smell the smoke thickening in the air, but he forced his focus to remain sharp. He wasn't going to let this man intimidate him.
The raider swung his greatsword again, a wild overhead strike meant to crush Toby with sheer force. Toby, anticipating the blow, dropped to one knee, narrowly avoiding the heavy strike that cleaved the air above him. He immediately pushed himself forward, using the momentum to thrust his sword forward, aiming for the man's exposed lower leg.
The raider howled in pain as Toby's blade grazed his calf, a shallow cut, but enough to make the man stumble. Toby didn't give him a moment to recover. He shifted his stance once more, this time aiming for the raider's torso. He could feel his body moving with a fluidity he hadn't quite experienced before—his training with Siegfried, the years of practice, were all coming to a head.
But the raider recovered quickly. With a snarl, he swung his sword around, forcing Toby to retreat just out of reach. The force of the swing was immense, and Toby barely managed to block the blow with the flat of his sword, the impact rattling up his arm.
The raider grinned again, wiping the sweat from his brow. "You're persistent, I'll give you that," he said, his tone more amused than anything. "But persistence alone won't save you."
Toby's eyes narrowed, his breathing steadying as he took a few steps back. He was outmatched in strength, but he had agility on his side. The man's greatsword was heavy, and his strikes slow after the initial momentum. Toby just had to be faster, more precise.
"You still haven't answered me," Toby said, his voice a little sharper now. "Why are you here? What do you want with Salthbridge?"
The raider paused, his grin fading just slightly. "We're here for something," he said cryptically. "Something the town has, something that would be of great use to my… employer."
Toby's mind raced. "Your employer?" he repeated. "Who are they?"
The raider only chuckled darkly. "You really think you can stop me, boy?" He raised his sword again, but Toby was already in motion. His feet slid across the ground, his body moving with the grace of someone who had trained for this moment.
He feigned a charge, causing the raider to swing his sword once more. But this time, Toby was prepared. With a swift motion, he ducked beneath the massive blade, sliding under the raider's guard. With his sword angled upward, Toby took the opportunity to strike at the man's exposed side, aiming for a vulnerable spot under the ribcage.
The raider gasped, his confidence momentarily shattered as the tip of Toby's blade sank into his side. He staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief. Blood began to stain his armor as Toby swiftly withdrew his blade.
The raider's expression turned from shock to rage. "You little—"
Toby didn't give him a chance to finish. The man was off-balance now, and Toby seized the opportunity to press the attack. He moved in quickly, a flurry of strikes aimed at the raider's injured side, exploiting the weakness he had created.
With one final thrust, Toby drove his sword forward, aiming for the raider's exposed throat. The blade met its mark, and the raider's eyes went wide in shock before he crumpled to the ground, his greatsword falling beside him with a heavy thud.
Toby stood over him, panting heavily, his sword still gripped tightly in his hand. His heart pounded in his chest, but there was no time to savor the victory. He could hear more raiders in the distance, and the smoke was thickening, the fire still raging out of control.
But for now, he had survived. He had faced an enemy far stronger than him and had emerged victorious. And with that victory, a new surge of determination filled him. He wasn't just a boy anymore. He was a fighter—a protector.
"Whoever your employer is," Toby muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'll stop them too."
And with that, he turned, ready to face whatever came next in the battle for Salthbridge.
Toby's heart raced as he glanced at the raiders closing in from all sides. The weight of his sword seemed to increase with every passing second, and his exhaustion was starting to set in. His breath was heavy, his body sore from the earlier battle. He had given everything he had, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.
"How is there a swordman here?" one of the raiders sneered, looking Toby up and down with contempt. "This is supposed to be a simple raid, not a battle for the ages."
Toby gripped his sword tighter, his muscles aching. "I'm not going to let you hurt this town," he said, his voice hoarse but full of resolve. He couldn't let fear show—not now. But inside, his mind raced, looking for a way out.
One of the raiders chuckled. "You've got some spirit, kid. But spirit won't save you here." Another raider eyed Toby's stance. "Exhausted, aren't you? You've got skill, but you don't have the experience to back it up. Not against all of us."
Toby quickly assessed the situation. He couldn't take them all on—at least not in his current condition. His movements had already slowed, his sword feeling heavier with every passing moment. His mind searched for an opening, a way to use their overconfidence against them.
He couldn't rely on brute force. He'd have to outthink them.
"Come on, boy," one of the raiders taunted, stepping forward with a smirk. "I'm tired of playing. Let's see what you've really got."
Toby's eyes flicked around, looking for something, anything he could use. The ground was uneven here, littered with fallen debris from the burning town. His mind locked onto an idea, and for the briefest moment, he let himself breathe.
In the back of his mind, he could almost hear Siegfried's voice: Use your surroundings. The fight is never just about you and your opponent—it's about everything around you.
Toby's grip on his sword loosened for just a second as he feigned exhaustion, making himself appear more vulnerable. The raiders took the bait. One of them, a large brute with a scar across his face, laughed loudly and charged forward.
Toby moved with surprising speed, stepping aside just in time to dodge the man's overhead swing. The raider overextended, and with a swift motion, Toby shoved his shoulder into the man's side, sending him stumbling forward into a pile of broken wood. It wasn't much, but it gave him the space he needed.
"Nice try, kid!" the scarred raider yelled, recovering quickly, but Toby wasn't done. He took advantage of the confusion, his sword flicking out to slice at another raider's exposed side. The man yelled in pain, and for a moment, there was chaos among the group.
The other raiders hesitated, clearly underestimating Toby's ability to outmaneuver them. He darted between them, striking fast but never staying in one place too long. He knew he couldn't take them all head-on, but if he kept them off balance, he had a chance.
"Split up! Don't let him use his speed!" one of the raiders ordered. They began to fan out, trying to box him in, but Toby was quick on his feet, weaving in and out of their attacks. He ducked and dodged, his sword a blur as he slashed at anything within reach.
But even as he fought, Toby knew he couldn't keep this up forever. His movements were becoming slower, and the raiders were starting to adapt to his tactics.
Then, he spotted it: the edge of the alley where he was standing, the space narrowing, and a few wooden crates piled up against the wall. It was a gamble, but it was his only option.
Toby made a break for it, darting toward the crates with the raiders hot on his heels. They shouted after him, but he was already ahead, leaping up onto the crates and using them as leverage to launch himself higher. The raiders were momentarily caught off guard.
He landed on top of the crates, his sword held steady. "You'll have to try harder than that," Toby called down, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. He was on top now, at least for a moment.
The raiders snarled, realizing they had underestimated him. They spread out again, looking for a way to reach him. Toby's mind raced, but for the first time, he felt a surge of hope. He had them on the defensive now.
"I may be exhausted," Toby said, his voice dripping with confidence. "But I will fight until my last breath to protect this town."
The raiders were clearly frustrated now, unsure how to approach him. Toby had bought himself some time—time to rest and think. But he knew this wouldn't last forever. They would find a way to reach him eventually.
And when they did, he would be ready.
Toby gritted his teeth, his body trembling as exhaustion pushed him closer to the edge. Every movement felt like dragging a boulder, and the pain of his wounds was almost too much to bear. Blood dripped from several cuts on his arms, chest, and legs, staining his tunic as the raiders continued their relentless assault. He barely had the strength to raise his sword, the heavy blade feeling like a mountain tied to his arm.
"Dammit... Dammit, damn it!" he cursed under his breath, eyes burning with frustration. His heart raced, each breath coming in sharp gasps. He couldn't hold on much longer. The weight of the blade felt heavier, like it was pulling him to the ground.
Toby staggered to his feet, forcing himself to stand tall, despite his failing body. But as he stood there, the wind around him began to shift. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible—a small breeze ruffling the air. But then the breeze began to swirl. Slowly at first, like an omen of a coming storm. The air seemed to hum with a strange energy.
And then, it happened.
"Siegfried!!!!!"
The shout echoed through the air as the wind picked up, turning into a fierce gust that whipped around Toby's body, swirling violently in a circle. His eyes widened in surprise as black, tendril-like marks spread from his chest, winding like dark veins across his skin. The raiders, startled by the sudden change, hesitated, their eyes widening with confusion and fear.
"What's happening?!" one of the raiders shouted, trying to step closer, but the wind grew stronger, forcing them back. The marks continued to spread, glowing faintly with an ominous energy, like dark flames crawling up Toby's arms and legs.
"He's the Veil!" one of the raiders gasped, realization dawning. "We found him!"
"Not just that," another raider said, his voice shaky, "did you hear what he said? That language... It sounds like he has the tongue as well!" They exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unable to understand what was happening, but feeling the power radiating off of Toby.
Toby stood still, his body shaking with the surge of energy coursing through him. It was as if something deep inside him had awoken, a power that had been dormant for so long. His heart raced, his mind whirling with confusion and fear. He couldn't control it. He didn't even know what was happening.
In that moment, Siegfried felt it. The energy—the raw, untamed force—flared up from Toby. The bond between them grew stronger than ever, and for the first time, Siegfried could feel Toby's pain, his fear, his desire to survive.
But something was different. Something had changed.
Siegfried could feel the pull of the energy, but he also felt the boy's inner struggle. Toby was barely holding it together. He was calling out for him, but Siegfried was helpless. He couldn't reach Toby. Not like this.
"Toby…"
But then, Toby's desperation reached a boiling point. With a single, agonized cry, the energy exploded outward. The wind howled, the air around Toby thickening with an almost tangible force. The raiders tried to step forward, but the air felt like a barrier, a wall of invisible power that kept them at bay.
In that instant, Toby felt it—an intense surge of energy, like his body was being pulled apart. His hair whipped around him, turning an unnatural shade of white, glowing like silver in the moonlight. His skin began to change, the marks spreading across his body like they were burning into him. His arms, his chest, his entire body felt like it was being branded by the power.
And then, the sword, the blade, began to respond. It was like an extension of him, a part of him that had been dormant all along. The blade in his hand pulsed with the same black energy that now swirled around his body, and with a sudden, violent flash, the sword became part of him.
The energy exploded, a shockwave of black smoke and light that sent the raiders flying backward. It was too much—too fast.
Toby stumbled back, clutching his chest as the transformation overtook him. His body was changing before his very eyes, his figure morphing in ways he couldn't comprehend. His muscles grew, his posture changed, becoming more refined—more like a warrior, like the man Siegfried had once been in his prime. The veins, now black and glowing, coursed with raw power, stretching across his body like living ink. His eyes were the last to change, turning a dark, eerie shade, like the void itself.
His hair, now stark white, fell in messy strands around his face, a visual representation of the chaos that had just unfolded within him. It was as though the sword had merged with him completely. The connection between Toby and Siegfried had become absolute.
Toby... Siegfried thought, but he could hardly recognize the boy anymore.
Toby's voice—once unsure, uncertain—now sounded deeper, more powerful. It resonated with a newfound authority, carrying the weight of a thousand battles. His breath steadied, and he took a step forward, feeling the full extent of his transformation.
"What... what is this...?" Toby's voice was strained, as if still processing the change. His gaze landed on his hands, his once small, untested hands now strong, the power radiating from them almost intoxicating. "Siegfried... What happened? What is this...?"
Siegfried's voice, steady and familiar, echoed in Toby's mind. "It seems... you've awakened a power that was within you all along. But be careful, Toby. This power—it's not just a gift. It comes with a cost."
Toby gripped his sword—the sword that was now part of him—and looked out at the raiders, who were struggling to get up from the shockwave. They stared at him, mouths agape, as if they were seeing a different person entirely.
Toby's breath was steady now, his senses sharper than ever. He could feel everything—the weight of the sword, the pulse of energy within him, the raiders' fear. He felt like he could do anything now.
With a flash of black energy, Toby raised his sword, ready to face whatever came next. The raiders, once confident, now hesitated, unsure of how to deal with the new force standing before them.
Siegfried felt the shift as the power surged through Toby, but he also felt it within himself. The void that had once surrounded him, the endless darkness where he'd existed for so long, was no longer the same. It was as if the very fabric of his existence had been altered, twisted, and reshaped by the force Toby had unleashed.
The oppressive emptiness was gone. Instead, there was an unfamiliar, surreal lightness to the atmosphere, as if he were no longer trapped in the infinite abyss. He could see things now—things he hadn't been able to perceive before. The blue skies stretched above him, vast and clear, a strange contrast to the darkness that still clung to him. The soft, shimmering light reflected off what appeared to be an endless field of glass, stretching as far as the eye could see.
But something was wrong.
Siegfried's gaze dropped to his own body, and a chill ran through him as he saw it. He wasn't free. No matter how much the world around him had changed, something had ensnared him, binding him once again.
Pitch-black spectral chains, like the darkness itself, wrapped around his form, shackling him to the ground. They were not physical, but made of the same shadowy void that had once defined his existence. These chains were a prison, invisible to all but him, and their weight was something he could not escape. They dug into him, a constant reminder that even though the world outside had changed, he was still bound by his past, by his purpose, and by the curse that had tied him to this eternal battle.
What is this? Siegfried thought, feeling the unnatural force of the chains. He couldn't understand it fully, but it was clear that this transformation—this new power Toby had awakened—had done something to the bond between them. It wasn't just Toby who had changed. It was both of them.
In the vast glass field that surrounded him, Siegfried could feel the weight of the transformation pressing down on him, like the very ground beneath him was shifting and reshaping, just as Toby had. But these chains, these dark shackles... they were not from Toby. They were not from any force he had ever encountered before. It felt as though something far greater and more ominous was at work—something that had been set in motion the moment Toby awakened this new power.
The connection between them, the bond that had been forged through years of training and struggles, had been altered. Siegfried could sense it now more than ever. It was not just a weapon or a sword anymore. He was a part of Toby in a way that transcended the physical. But the chains around him—they were a price, a curse for something so deeply intertwined.
Toby's voice, powerful and resolute, broke through the haze of his thoughts, bringing him back to reality.
"Siegfried… What happened? What is this?"
Siegfried felt the pull of Toby's words, his concern, and his newfound strength. He could hear the echo of that energy in Toby's voice, could feel the weight of the power coursing through the boy. But more than that, he could feel the desperation, the fear, and the struggle. Toby wasn't fully in control, not yet. He needed guidance, more than ever.
"Toby..." Siegfried thought, reaching out in his mind, but even his voice felt distant, bound by the chains that held him in place.
The raiders, who had been watching with fear and awe, had started to regroup. They were still disoriented, their confidence shattered by Toby's sudden transformation. But they weren't giving up. Their leader, who had been observing silently, stepped forward, shouting orders.
"Focus, you idiots! He's just a boy! We can overwhelm him!" one of them shouted, but even his voice trembled with doubt. The terror was palpable. They had never seen anything like this before. And with that, they charged again, weapons raised.
But Siegfried knew this moment was different. Toby was different. He had awakened something within himself, something beyond his understanding.
"You are ready now, Toby," Siegfried's voice, though faint, rang out in Toby's mind. "But there is much more to you than you realize. Don't let them define you. You have the power to change this. But you must learn to control it... before it controls you."
The chains around Siegfried tightened, a sharp, unnatural pull that made him wince. But he refused to be silenced. He couldn't help Toby in the way he once could, not in this form. But he could still guide him, still offer his wisdom.
Toby stood tall, the weight of his sword heavy in his hands, but now he felt something else—a connection to Siegfried that transcended the physical. It was like they were one, both struggling under the weight of their fates, but in that moment, Toby knew that he had the power to change it all.
With a flash of black energy, Toby raised his sword, his eyes glowing with a fierce determination, and took a step forward. The raiders took notice, their fear turning into hesitation, and for a moment, they paused.
But Toby was no longer the boy they had seen before. His power, his very being, now radiated with the same darkness that had once defined Siegfried. He wasn't just wielding a sword anymore. He was the sword.
With a final breath, Toby surged forward, the ground beneath him cracking as he moved with the speed and power of something beyond human.
The raiders, who once believed they could overpower him, now realized they were facing something far more dangerous than they could have ever imagined.
And Siegfried, trapped by the chains, could only watch as Toby's transformation became his salvation.