The Bladeweaver [Book 1 Complete]

The air grew colder as the group made their way into the Valley of Urihonma. The landscape was mostly barren—rocky cliffs, jagged peaks. Here and there, patches of vines clung to the crumbling stones and ancient ruins.

"Creepy place for a legendary bladeweaver to hide out," Rika muttered as she looked around at the crumbling stones.

Liliana was silent. She scanned the area, taking in the ancient, worn ruins that dotted the landscape. "He's here," she said. "I can feel it."

Kale wasn't sure what to expect. Kulgar's description of Sylorin had been vague, and the mystery surrounding the ancient bladeweaver only deepened the tension in his gut. What kind of man would live in a place like this?

As they moved further into the valley, the landscape began to shift. The jagged rocks smoothed into an ancient stone pathway, cracked and weathered from centuries of disuse. Kale could sense something—a subtle but undeniable pressure, as if something unseen was watching them. It was faint at first, just a whisper of power in the air, but the closer they got to the end of the path, the stronger it became.

Rika stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she peered ahead. "I think we've found him."

Kale followed her gaze and saw what she meant. At the far end of the path stood a large stone archway, half-collapsed and covered in moss. Beyond it, nestled against the base of a mountain, was a small stone building, its roof caved in and walls weathered with age. But that wasn't what caught Kale's attention.

Hovering above the entrance to the ruin, almost imperceptible at first, were blades. Dozens of them. Some were small, like daggers or throwing knives, while others were larger, like swords. They floated in the air, spinning slowly, as if waiting for something.

"Okay," Kale said. "Are we going to die?"

"He's showing off," Liliana said.

The three of them stepped forward cautiously, as if one wrong step might trigger something. The closer they got to the ruins, the more blades they saw—some embedded in the ground, others resting in the cracks of the stone walls, but all of them had one thing in common. They weren't just weapons. They were alive with energy, pulsing faintly with a magic that felt primal yet controlled.

The air shifted, Kale felt it immediately, a change in the wind, a subtle disturbance. And then he heard a voice.

"You shouldn't have come."

It was calm, almost serene, but there was an edge to it, a warning. Kale's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword as he scanned the area, looking for the source. And then, from the shadows of the ruins, a figure emerged.

He was taller than Kale had expected, with dark skin weathered from years in the wild. His hair was long and silver, and his eyes, piercing and cold, seemed to take in everything at once. He was dressed in worn, simple robes, and yet there was something about him that screamed power. Sylorin.

Kale couldn't help but feel a pang of uncertainty. This was the man who might hold the key to unlocking his full potential? He looked nothing like the mentors he had imagined. There was no air of warmth or wisdom, just raw, calculated power.

"I know why you've come," Sylorin said. "A new bladeweaver in this world… It has been a while."

Kale straightened, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I need your help. I'm… I'm still learning."

Sylorin's eyes flicked to the dagger on Kale's hip. His expression darkened, and for a moment, Kale saw a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, a recognition that sent a chill down his spine.

"You wield Aeloria's Promise," Sylorin said. "That alone is reason enough for me to kill you where you stand."

Kale's heart lurched. "What?"

Rika stepped forward, her grip tightening on her warhammer, muscles tensing. "Hold on, old man. We didn't come all this way to—"

"Silence," Sylorin snapped, his eyes never leaving Kale. "Do you even realize what you carry? How the hells did a weakling like you get your hands on that blade? Do you have any idea who you're pretending to be?"

Kale swallowed hard. The tension crackled in the air. He felt his pulse quicken, every instinct screaming at him to draw his weapon, but he was afraid that if he did Sylorin would simply kill him where he stood.

His mind scrambled for words. He instinctively gripped the hilt of Aeloria's Promise, but even as he felt its power thrumming through his palm, doubt crept in. Was it enough? Was he ever going to be enough?

The man in the temple had been a monster of raw strength, but Sylorin... Sylorin was something else entirely. A figure of quiet, terrifying mastery. His presence was suffocating, every movement radiating power and control, as if he could erase Kale from existence with a mere thought. Sylorin made him feel small, insignificant. A fledgling, fumbling with power he barely understood.

Kale couldn't shake the thought that he was always a step behind, always struggling to catch up. He'd fought, bled, and learned, but every battle, every lesson, seemed to only reveal how much more there was to learn. With every person he faced, he felt like he was falling further behind. Sylorin wasn't just a warrior; he was everything Kale aspired to become—mastery, power, control.

His heart raced. How could he ever hope to match that? How could anyone? The gap between them felt insurmountable, like a canyon that stretched out forever. But he had no choice. He had to find a way. He had to convince Sylorin to teach him, to show him how to close the distance between them, to make him more than just a fleeting shadow in the wake of others' power.

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Kale had always felt like he was chasing something—an ideal, a skill, a strength that was always just out of reach. Every move Sylorin made, every word he spoke, was an echo of the mastery Kale craved. If he could just learn from him, if he could just gain something, anything, from this encounter, maybe then, for once, he wouldn't feel so far behind.

But how? How could he make Sylorin see him as more than a novice unworthy of his time? He wanted to speak, to make his case. But what could he offer? What could he say that would make someone like Sylorin consider him worthy of teaching?

"I—I didn't steal it, if that's what you think," Kale stammered, trying to steady his voice. "I was… chosen. Aeloria, she spoke to me."

Sylorin's expression didn't soften. If anything, his scowl deepened. "Chosen? Do you even understand what you're saying? What it means to be chosen by her?" He took a step closer, his form casting a shadow over Kale.

"That blade has carved through gods and severed the threads of entire ages. It has ended kings, undone legends, and shaped the very reality you stand in. It does not suffer the weak. It does not forgive the unworthy. Do you truly think you can wield it? That you can stand among the dead it has left behind and call yourself its master?"

"I'm not pretending," Kale said. "I know I'm not as strong as them. But I will be."

Sylorin's eyes narrowed. He was close now, so close Kale could feel the intensity of his aura. The air felt like it might shatter from the pressure.

"Then prove it," Sylorin said. His hand shot toward the hilt of a blade at his side, the speed of his movement barely perceptible. "Show me if you deserve the blade. If you don't, I'll cut you down."

Rika moved to step in, but Kale raised his hand, stopping her. He could feel Aeloria's presence in his mind, the soft, urging pulse of her power pushing him forward. This was his fight, his test.

With a deep breath, Kale drew Aeloria's Promise. He faced Sylorin, heart racing, fear clawing at the edges of his mind. But deep down, beneath the fear, there was something else—determination.

"I'll prove it," he said. "I'll show you I'm worthy."

Sylorin's eyes gleamed with cold amusement as he stepped back, giving Kale just enough space to ready himself. "Then let's see what you've got," he said, drawing his own blade—a sleek, dark weapon that hummed with power, seemingly absorbing the light around it.

There was no turning back now. He took a deep breath, centering himself as he felt the familiar connection to Aeloria. Her presence was there, comforting, guiding him as he prepared to face the man who, just moments ago, had been ready to kill him outright.

Sylorin lunged.

He moved faster than Kale expected and his blade came crashing down toward Kale's head. Kale activated Swiftform, his body becoming a blur as he sidestepped the strike. The force of Sylorin's blow cracked the ground where Kale had been standing, sending chunks of stone flying into the air.

Using the momentum from Swiftform, Kale spun around, summoning a flurry of glowing blue blades with Echoing Blades, sending them hurtling toward Sylorin. The magical daggers whistled through the air, aiming for every possible weak spot.

Sylorin reacted with uncanny precision, and his blade met each of Kale's summoned daggers, parrying them mid-flight with a series of rapid, flawless movements. Sparks flew from the clashes, illuminating the space between them in flashes of blue and white.

"You're not worthy," he said. "You're too slow."

Sylorin closed the distance again, his dark blade slashing upward. Kale barely managed to block the attack, but the force of Sylorin's strike sent him skidding back across the ground, his feet digging into the dirt.

Kale's arm shook from the impact, Sylorin's power was overwhelming. He grit his teeth, refusing to falter. He couldn't, wouldn't, let this man break him.

"Is this it?" Sylorin taunted. "Is this the strength of a bladeweaver? You're nothing."

A surge of anger rushed through Kale, but he didn't let it cloud his judgment. He steadied his breathing, feeling the pulse of Aeloria's power flow through him again. Her voice echoed faintly in his mind, urging him to push harder, to reach further.

Kale pushed off the ground with a burst of speed, closing the gap between him and Sylorin in the blink of an eye. This time, he didn't rely on his magical blades, he went in for a direct strike.

Sylorin's eyes flickered with surprise as the blade came dangerously close, forcing him to dodge to the side. Kale followed up with a series of rapid strikes.

For the first time, Sylorin seemed caught off guard. He parried and dodged, but Kale's relentless speed and determination pushed him back step by step.

"Where's that smug look now?" Kale growled, his strikes becoming faster, more focused.

Sylorin raised his sword high, preparing for a final, devastating strike.

Kale's heart raced. This was his moment. He activated Swiftform and Echoing Blades, sending a volley of blades toward Sylorin with the intention of overwhelming him.

But Sylorin's expression remained unimpressed. Without a word he raised his hand, and hundreds of blades of all shapes and sizes appeared, suspended in the air around him. With a single gesture, they all shot toward Kale.

Kale's eyes widened in shock as the barrage of blades rushed toward him from every direction. In that instant, he realized Sylorin had been toying with him all along. This was the moment he would die.

The world seemed to slow. Just as the blades were about to tear into him, Kale felt a sudden warmth, a presence. Aeloria. He couldn't see her, but he felt her. Ethereal wings, unseen but powerful, wrapped around him. All of Sylorin's swords clashed into the invisible barrier, crashing and clattering harmlessly to the ground.

Sylorin's lips curled into a knowing smile. "I guess Aeloria has chosen you. She just saved your life."

Sylorin stepped forward, his demeanor shifted from the cold disdain of earlier to something more contemplative. His eyes never left Kale, as if reevaluating him. "Perhaps I was wrong about you," he said. "But don't think that means you've earned anything yet. Power like Aeloria's comes with a cost."

Kale's breath was still heavy, his body tense as he tried to process everything that had just happened. The image of those blades crashing against the invisible wings was seared into his mind. He felt Aeloria's presence like a gentle whisper in his thoughts. But what did it mean? And why had she intervened?

Sylorin continued. "You've been chosen, but that's only the beginning. You have no idea what kind of responsibility that carries. Bladeweaving isn't just about summoning swords and fighting. It's about balance, maintaining order, and if you're not careful, it'll destroy you."

"So what now? You train me, or do you try to kill me again?" Kale asked.

A chuckle escaped Sylorin's lips, and he sheathed his sword with a swift, fluid motion. "We'll see if you're worth my time. But first..." his gaze darkened. "There's something you need to know."

Kale's whole body tensed in anticipation for what Sylorin was about to say.

"I got a mean stew cooking, and it's just about dinner time," Sylorin said.

Kale, Rika, and Liliana all stared at him, their mouths falling open in unison.

"What?" Kale finally managed to say, blinking in disbelief.

Rika looked between them, wide-eyed. "Wait…what?"

Liliana, ever composed, simply sighed. "Unbelievable."

Sylorin grinned, walking away without further explanation, leaving the trio standing dumbfounded in his wake. "Come on, bladeweaver," he said. "You'll need your strength. The real work begins after dinner."