Blood And Light

The morning after King Argos's death dawned with an unnatural heaviness in the air. Even the sunlight that filtered through Xezar's tall spires seemed muted, as if the world itself mourned. Arthur sat in a quiet corner of the palace gardens, his hands absently tracing the hilt of the sword he had forged. The once-proud city beyond the palace walls had become a sea of whispers, each rumor more fantastical and terrifying than the last.

"They say the King's death has cursed us," Alexander said, breaking the silence. Arthur's friend and confidant had found him not long after Arthur's meeting with Prince Darius. "Some claim the Lumens are stirring again. Others think this is the work of Yakaria or Benad."

Arthur looked up, his brow furrowed. "And what do you think?"

Alexander hesitated, his fingers drumming against the bench. "I think we're standing at the edge of something big, Arthur. Something none of us are ready for."

Before Arthur could respond, a palace steward approached. The man's robes were immaculate, but his expression betrayed his unease. "Arthur," he said, bowing slightly. "Prince Darius requests your presence in the council chamber."

Arthur stood, his heart heavy with apprehension. "I'll be there." He turned to Alexander, gripping his shoulder. "Stay safe, my friend. Things might get worse before they get better."

The council chamber was abuzz with tension when Arthur entered. Prince Darius stood at the head of the long table, his youthful features hard with determination. Around him sat the kingdom's most influential figures—advisors, generals, and nobles—all of them speaking over one another in heated debate.

"The people are terrified," one nobleman declared, slamming his hand on the table. "If we don't act swiftly, we risk rebellion."

"Rebellion?" scoffed a general, his armor glinting in the dim light. "They need to see strength, not desperation. Mobilize the army, and they'll fall in line."

Darius raised a hand, silencing the room. "We cannot afford to make rash decisions. The situation is more delicate than any of you realize."

His gaze fell on Arthur as he stepped forward. "Arthur, thank you for coming. I believe your perspective may prove invaluable."

Arthur bowed slightly, unsure of what to say. "Your Highness, I'm just a blacksmith. I'm not sure how I can help with matters like these."

"You're more than a blacksmith," Darius said firmly. "You forged this." He gestured to the sword strapped to Arthur's back. "A weapon capable of withstanding the power of a Lumen. That alone makes you unique."

One of the advisors, an elderly man with a sharp gaze, leaned forward. "Tell me, Arthur. What inspired the creation of such a weapon?"

Arthur hesitated, his mind flashing back to the long nights spent in his forge, poring over fragments of ancient texts he had come across years ago. He still wasn't sure where the texts had come from. They had been tucked inside a nondescript package left at his forge one night—a mystery he had never solved. The incomplete scriptures spoke of a material imbued with properties that could resist and even channel the power of Echoes of Light. While the texts were riddled with missing passages and cryptic language, Arthur had used what little information he could decipher to forge the blade.

"The sword was a commission for the King," he began slowly. "But I wanted it to be more than just a weapon. I studied what I could of the champions—their weapons, their techniques. I experimented with rare materials and ancient forging techniques, some inspired by incomplete writings I... found. I didn't fully understand the Echoes of Light referenced in those texts. But something told me they were important."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

"Then perhaps," Darius said, his voice steady, "you're exactly the person we need right now. The people need hope, Arthur. And if this sword can help provide it, then so can you."

The meeting adjourned shortly after, but Arthur's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as he left the chamber. He wandered the palace corridors, eventually finding himself in the library—a vast hall filled with shelves that stretched to the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and candle wax.

"Looking for something?" a voice asked, startling him. Arthur turned to see an elderly man dressed in simple robes, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"I'm not sure," Arthur admitted. "I feel like I'm in over my head."

The old man chuckled, his laughter warm and reassuring. "A common feeling in times like these. I am Roderic, the palace historian. Perhaps I can help."

Arthur hesitated before nodding. "I want to know more about the champions. About how they defeated the Lumens."

Roderic's expression grew serious. "A worthy subject of study," he said, leading Arthur to a secluded corner of the library. He pulled a thick tome from the shelf, its leather cover embossed with a symbol Arthur recognized as the mark of the champions.

"The champions were not just warriors," Roderic explained as he opened the book. "They were vessels. Each carried within them the essence of a Lumen, sealed away by their immense sacrifice. But their weapons—those were the key. Forged with the power of the Echoes of Light, they were designed to channel and contain the Lumens' energy."

Arthur froze at the mention of the Echoes of Light, his heart pounding. He had read those words before in the mysterious scriptures that had guided his work. Could it be the same? Was the sword he forged somehow tied to this ancient force?

"The Echoes of Light… what are they?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Roderic smiled faintly. "A mystery even to me. Some say they are fragments of the Lumens' own power, repurposed by the champions. Others believe they are a force older than the Lumens themselves. Whatever the truth, they are the reason the champions' weapons could endure such power."

Arthur's mind raced. If the champions could harness the Echoes of Light, then perhaps his sword could do the same. But how? And why had the scriptures been left for him in the first place?

"Where did these come from?" Arthur muttered under his breath, thinking of the texts. He shook his head, resolving to uncover the truth later. For now, there were more pressing matters.

Later that evening, Arthur found himself in the forge, the familiar heat and clang of metal soothing his restless mind. The sword lay before him, its blade gleaming in the firelight. He ran his fingers along the hilt, feeling the intricate runes he had etched into the metal.

"What are you hiding?" he murmured. The sword remained silent, but Arthur could sense its potential, a power waiting to be unleashed.

As he worked, his thoughts turned to the future. The kingdom was on the brink of chaos, and the threat of Argoth's return loomed over them all. Arthur was no warrior, no champion. But he was a blacksmith—a creator of tools, a shaper of possibilities. Perhaps that was enough.

For now, at least, it would have to be.