It'd been about an hour since they left the hospital. Not much talk—just the steady hum of the engine filling the silence. The car finally came to a slow stop in front of a plain-looking gate. Not flashy, but the kind that had Order personnel standing still like statues, weapons ready.
Zen leaned over, eyeing the place through the window. "Huh… so this is it?"
Before he could really take it in, Vivian casually pulled him back by the collar.
"Quit staring. You look like a lost kid."
Zen clicked his tongue. "Tch. Just admiring the prison I'm about to be locked up in."
Driver passed a black VIP pass to the guard without a word. The man gave a look, nodded once, and waved them in. No questions. Gate creaked open, slow and heavy.
Zen leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. "Kind of weird how serious this all is."
Vivian shrugged. "Welcome to the Order. Try not to blow anything up this time."
Zen sighed. "No promises."
The car rolled to a stop in front of the academy's main building. Zen stepped out first, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, eyes drifting toward the tall, reinforced doors ahead. Standing near them, already waiting, was his father—posture straight, face unreadable as ever.
Vivian hopped out behind him, adjusting her jacket. Zen gave her a look.
"You're not coming?"
She shook her head. "This is where I drop you off. From here on, it's you and the Order."
Zen raised a brow. "Seriously? You're just gonna leave me like that?"
Vivian smirked. "Relax, dumbass. I'm still on campus, just heading back to my dorm. Besides, your dad said they're taking you to the research sector—gonna run a few tests. Y'know, making sure you and that oversized butter knife aren't about to explode or something."
Zen rolled his eyes. "Great. Can't wait."
Vivian gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "You'll live. Try not to freak out when they start poking around your head."
She turned and walked off without looking back.
Zen sighed, then walked up to his father, standing tall before giving a small nod.
"Sir."
His father nodded back. "Come. There's a lot to cover."
Zen glanced back one more time before following him through the doors.
Following behind his father, Zen stepped into the Order's main building—sleek, polished, and ten times more impressive than the smaller center he may or may not have blown half of. Marble floors, crystal-lit corridors, and displays of old Geonite relics lined the walls. Some looked ancient, some pristine. A few had labels with names he recognized—former Pillars, warriors of renown.
They stepped into a glass elevator, and as it ascended, Zen caught a full view of the interior. Training arenas below, armories across the wings, even a garden nestled within a courtyard. Fancy didn't even begin to cover it.
Finally, the elevator stopped at one of the top floors. The doors opened to a clean, high-tech lab—white walls, blue lights, floating screens, and the faint hum of machines running diagnostics. Definitely had that "sci-fi" feel, whatever that meant.
Zen looked around, then eyed his father.
"So just to be clear," he started, arms crossed, "when you say you're gonna run tests on me… we're not talkin' slicing my stomach or cracking my skull open, right?"
His father didn't laugh, but the corner of his lip tugged—barely.
"No. Just scans, resonance monitoring, maybe a blood sample or two."
Zen gave him a deadpan look. "Great. So needles. My favorite."
"You'll manage," his father replied, stepping forward. "Besides… you chose this path the moment you picked up that weapon."
Zen followed, muttering under his breath, "There was never any choices to begin with considering the fact It was that or I fight those golems bare-handed, you know how that turns out don't you?"
He followed with a sigh, disappointment scattered across his face
"If I could, I would have chosen something badass, like a scythe or a sledgehammer."
Suddenly, without warning, a voice echoed in his head—calm, but dripping with offense.
[The Blade Ashen feels offended by your rejection.]
Zen jolted slightly, almost stumbling. His father turned, eyebrow raised.
"You alright?"
"Y-Yeah," Zen said quickly, waving a hand. "Just… surprised by all the equipment in here. Looks like a sci-fi movie. Definitely not used to all this."
His father gave a skeptical hum but didn't press.
Zen exhaled through his nose, composing himself before narrowing his eyes slightly, now speaking within the corners of his mind.
"Since when were you awake? You've been real quiet this whole time."
[The Blade Ashen was observing.]
"Observing what, my anxiety?"
[Among other things. Particularly you humans.]
Zen sighed internally. "Could've said something earlier instead of jump-scaring me like that."
[Where's the fun in that?]
He rubbed his temple, shaking his head slightly. "Great. I got stuck with a sarcastic sword."
His father gave him another glance. "What was that?"
"Nothing. Talking to myself. You know… nerves and all that haha."
They stepped into the testing chamber, the hiss of the door sealing behind them. The room was spotless—polished chrome, white panels, and that sterile scent only hospitals and top-secret facilities ever had.
His boots echoed lightly against the tiled floor as he approached the center, where a sleek metallic bed waited, ringed with monitors and scanning equipment.
Technicians moved with urgency, each one knowing exactly what to do. No small talk. No hesitation. Just cables, needles, and calibrated screens lighting up with his vitals.
He laid down as instructed, backpack set aside, arms resting at his sides while mechanical cuffs gently locked around his wrists and ankles. A cold gel was smeared across his temples before sensors were applied. The monitors pulsed to life with his heart rate, neural patterns, blood pressure—everything laid bare on the screen in real time.
Above him, a thin circular scanner hovered down, whirring softly as it began its slow sweep over his body.
"Vitals stable," a voice called from behind the glass observation window. "Begin resonance trace."
Zen felt a strange pressure crawl through his chest—not painful, but tight. The scanner started glowing faintly as it pulsed with pale light.
Somewhere on the screen, various statistical data were displayed, though he doesn't have the faintest of idea what those numbers meant.
Zen stared up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing slightly. So this was what it meant to be "watched over" by the Order.
(Hope they all know what they are doing), he thought.
After what felt like an hour of scanning, beeping, and feeling like a glorified lab rat, the restraints finally clicked open. Zen sat up, rolling his shoulder with a tired grunt as the last of the wires were peeled off.
The room's door hissed open again, this time revealing his father, cloak trailing behind him, followed by a woman in a long white coat—definitely a researcher, clipboard and all. She adjusted her glasses and gave Zen a professional nod as he stood, steady but clearly drained.
"You find anything?" Zen asked, trying to sound casual even though the machines still made his skin itch.
The woman glanced at his father, then at Zen. "Fortunately for you," she began, flipping a page on her clipboard, "the resonance between you and the broadsword—designated GSW-04—is… stable."
Zen raised a brow. "That sounds like there's a 'but' in there."
She nodded. "There is. We believe the weapon—whatever it truly is—is suppressing the majority of its power. Which… isn't typical behavior. A geo-linked bond tends to unleash power, not hide it. In all our previous studies, no weapon has ever chosen to limit itself post-resonance."
Zen blinked. "So… it's holding back?"
"Exactly. Which means two things: one, it's aware—intelligent in some way. And two, it's likely protecting you. Why? We don't know."
Zen felt a familiar thrum in the back of his mind. Ashen, you really are full of surprises, huh.
The researcher continued, "As for you, there are no physiological anomalies. Vital signs are normal. Bloodwork's clean. You're still very much human—though you're now connected to something that definitely isn't."
His father gestured to the researcher, to allow them to talk with each other alone in the meantime. The researcher nodded and stepped out obediently outside the lab.
His father stepped forward. "For now, you'll remain under observation. You've been... unofficially enrolled in the Academy. A full record won't be made—only select individuals within the Order know about your situation."
Zen furrowed his brow. "And my old school? My friends back home? What about Nath and Lyra?"
There was a pause. The kind that said everything before a word was spoken.
"They've been told what they need to know," his father said carefully. "A story's been made—an official transfer due to the incident, combined with a scholarship relocation program. Nath and Lyra will keep quiet… they were briefed. The rest? We'll handle it."
Zen looked away, jaw clenched. "So that's it? I'm just gone from their lives now? Like I vanished?"
"Not vanished," his father replied. "Just... reassigned. For your own safety, Zen. This isn't just about you anymore. That weapon put a mark on your back. Anyone too close might get caught in that shadow."
Zen didn't say anything for a moment. His hand absentmindedly reached toward his chest, like he could feel the blade's pressure even now.
"Right," he muttered under his breath. "For their safety."
His father nodded solemnly. "You'll see them again. Just not now. Not until things settle."
Zen gave a short nod, but his eyes held that same distant stare—one caught between a new world and the one he'd just left behind.
He furrowed his brow, his voice edged with disbelief as a thought comes up to his mind. "So… can't you just take it off? I mean, I resonated with it, but that doesn't mean I'm chained to it forever, right?"
His father exhaled slowly and dropped to one knee in front of him. The air around him shifted—gone was the usual firm, composed figure. In his place stood a man worn by truth he didn't want to deliver.
"I wish that were the case," he said, his tone low and tired. "But it's not that simple."
Zen stared, confused. "What do you mean?"
"The moment you connected with that blade, a shiftlock was formed—an anchor between your life and the weapon. It's not just bonded to your body, Zen… it's tied to your very existence."
Zen blinked, that weight creeping into his chest. "So… there's no way to undo it?"
His father looked up, eyes heavy. "There is one way. But you wouldn't like the answer."
Zen stayed silent.
"If we tried to forcibly remove it—even if we somehow separated it from your wrist—it wouldn't change the link. That connection to your lifeforce is sealed. And the only way to break it…"
He paused.
"…is if the wielder dies."
The room went cold. Zen sat there, jaw clenched, processing.
His father stood back up. "Once you're gone, the blade would simply move on—to someone else it deems worthy. That's the kind of entity we're dealing with. That's why we kept it locked away to begin with."
He placed a hand on Zen's shoulder.
"Now it's out. And it chose you. Which means you're no longer just a student, Zen. You're a walking beacon. The Golems know. The ones that hunt relics like this—they know. And they'll come."
Zen swallowed hard. "To kill me?"
His father nodded, voice steady. "To claim what's bound to you."