Arcturus stared at his hands in silence as voices washed over him, ignoring everyone while pondering Adam’s words. He was vaguely aware of plans being made for their now larger party to depart, and of discussions about who would go where and what the new combination of people would be. All of it was muted to him though; a dull buzz that held none of his interest. The words his friend had spoken kept rattling around in his head unceasingly.

“Amélie is our enemy, Arcturus.”

He absently tongued his cut lip, noticing it already healing thanks to his System-enhanced regeneration. It had already gone from a fresh laceration to a mild irritation in less than five minutes, and would likely be repaired in another five. The process of oathbinding had been far less painful — at least for him — as well. Danica, Camera, and Andy had all suffered the same as Adam; but Arcturus had felt only a flush of uncomfortable heat and nothing more. Adam had postulated that it was because he was the ‘anchor’, and creating the focal point for the oaths had been a one-time affair.

It seemed such a minor thing to worry about at that moment.

“Amélie is our enemy, Arcturus.”

Arcturus grit his teeth in irritation and instead glanced at his HUD and pulled up the alerts he’d ignored in his fugue, determined to try to get his mind off of that accursed line repeating itself over and over in his head.

⚜️MAIN QUEST UPDATED⚜️

QUEST NAME The Dragon Resurgent (Updated!) DIFFICULTY Legendary STATUS On-Going DESCRIPTION

Having found yourself thrown into mad situation after mad situation, you have finally reached some sense of equilibrium and stability within the Source.

Despite your first experiences on Terra being awful enough to conceivably turn you into some sort of megalomaniacal villain, you have managed to stay grounded and true to the man you were raised to be.

Having found a Mentor in Tylariel Rubastra, and new friends in a group of people initially trying to bag you for a quick profit: You have also reunited with your friends from your source-shard, and made a new friend of their companion.

Despite the revelations about your former flame and her newfound allegiance to the one man on Terra you cannot conceivably befriend, you are in an enviably good position to continue your adventure.

Armed with several new outfits courtesy of your estranged grand-uncle Maurice, and better equipped with the knowledge and allies necessary to find your way in the Source; the time has come to take the next step on your journey.

PREVIOUS OBJECTIVE(S)

Survive (Complete!)

Reward: 150 Experience

CURRENT OBJECTIVE(S)

Acquire a proper Weapon

Acquire a Seat of Power

Complete 'The Uncrowned King'

???

???

???

Arcturus felt the wave of experience flood into him as he finally acknowledged the updated Main Quest, mentally noting that he would need to keep checking it and others to ensure he didn’t miss the experience gained from completions in the future. A quick glance at his hidden quest confirmed that, while he had gone from 0 / 10 Oathsworn to 4 / 10, he had received no experience for the partial completion. That was still useful information, since it meant he could reasonably rely on quests to follow set rules and consistencies.

“Apprentice!”

Arcturus snapped his head up at Tylariel’s sharp tone, realising belatedly that she’d been speaking to him for several moments prior to raising her voice.

“My apologies, Mentor. I was reviewing another Quest.”

“I see. More divine instruction or deducement?” She asked in a mollified tone.

“Yes. I’ve been issued with objectives to acquire a Weapon, a Seat of Power, six more Oathsworn and a number of hidden objectives which I’m guessing will be revealed at the right moment.”

“The gods work in mysterious ways.” Tylariel said with a nod. “We should simply be grateful their desires align with our objectives.”

“I doubt it’s anything quite so benevolent.” Adam interjected. “But we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The party divvying is complete, by the way. Myself and Danica will go with you and Archon Tylariel, while Andy, Caeara, Jess, and Sumeko return to your temporary residence and inform everyone what happened. It’s been decided that we’re all going to stay in the Archon’s residence moving forwards, for safety reasons. It is the most sensible choice.”

Tylariel gave Adam a weighing look as he spoke, and Arcturus could see the woman evaluating him as one might assess a particularly promising bull at a cattle auction.

“So where to next, then?” Arcturus asked as he pushed himself to his feet.

“First, you need to change.” Maurice interjected. “I’ve prepared a more suitable outfit than those vestments. You don’t want to attract unnecessary attention, but you will need to fit in with people of the Archon’s calibre.”

“What about my face? I can’t just walk around wearing a mask, that’d be absurd.”

“Correct, which is why if anyone asks you will claim to be from Regalia.” Tylariel instructed.

“Regalia?” Arcturus questioned.

“The Empire’s Capital.” Maurice elucidated. “Tell them you are a distant relation of House Valoura, from the lesser imperial branches. Most nobody will dig too deeply for fear of offending someone connected to the Highborn of the capital Dominion. It will not work on your grandfather or anyone who knew your father at all intimately, but most people see what they want to see. It is far more believable for you to have a chance resemblance than it is for you to be the lost son of the departed Crown-Prince.”

You would be dumb enough to be one of those people.

“As ridiculous as it may sound, Maurice is right.” Adam confirmed. “It’s like seeing a celebrity back on Earth. Even if you know you’re seeing them, the implausibility of it forces you to believe you’re mistaken. Hell, in this case that reflexive denial will probably be way stronger given who it is you’ll remind them of. Mind games, dude.”

“So how do I introduce myself, then?” Arcturus asked dubiously.

“Arcturus Regis.” Maurice said with a smile.

“What the hell?” Arcturus asked in bewilderment.

“You aren’t the first Arcturus Regis, my boy. Your namesake, and ancestor, was one of the most storied warriors in Terran history. It is perfectly plausible for the arrogance of an Imperial house to consume them enough to name their child for him. It’s also common practice to invoke powerful names in the hopes of the gods showing favour.”

“And my surname?”

“Voltaire.” Tylariel said decisively. “They’re a small House, but known for exceedingly high levels of pride in their Valouran and Imperial branch statuses.”

You should look into acting, at this rate.

“So what am I going to wear, then?” Arcturus asked, feeling decidedly well-managed by his companions.

“I’ve prepared something rather practical, actually.” Maurice said cheerfully. “A full-sleeve black shirt, buttoned in silver to a high collar flush against your throat for added gravitas. That will match nicely with some comfortable and durable trousers, a nice pair of black combat boots and a sturdy sword-belt.”

“What about a jacket?”

“Ah, yes, I did anticipate that. Having dealt with Nephilim before, I’ve learned several unique styles. I thought that the one I picked out would very much match your desires.”

“I suppose I won’t know ‘til I see it.”

“Quite right.” Maurice said jovially. “Shall we see you to the changing rooms so I can settle the account with your Mentor?”

Arcturus nodded and, from there, things happened quickly.

Andy, Caeara, Sumeko, and Jess left the store in short order after a round of farewells and — in Andy’s case — promises to behave.

Arcturus carefully pulled off the clothes Maurice had painstakingly made for him after being reassured they’d find their way to Rubastra Manor securely. The replacement outfit his grand-uncle had prepared for him fit like a glove when he pulled it on in the vestments’ place, and the jacket he’d selected was exactly to Arcturus’ liking: Pliable dark crimson leather on the main body of the jacket with black on the elbows and epaulets, along with aesthetically added buckles and belts over the shoulder and around the biceps.

Tough strands of black string were tied into neat knots at various places along the arms to offer a more renaissance look to the piece, as well. The collar was naturally folded down towards his shoulders in the same shade of vermillion, with black trimmings near the edges. The centre of the jacket even had a black vest sewn in, which he zipped up over his high-collared shirt.

The final result was a mix between what he could only call Earth-modern and Gothic Victorian, with a very ‘Underworld’ feeling to his overall appearance.

He was a sucker for early Earth-2000s pop culture.

As he stepped out, he was pleasantly surprised that the material — which extended to just above his knees at the back — had no tangible feeling of impact when he walked; subverting his expectations for the mild annoyance of leather bouncing off of his thighs or the backs of his knees.

He slipped his hands, now covered in a new pair of durable combat gloves, into the pockets of the jacket as he reunited with Adam, Tylariel, and Danica as he exited the store. Maurice had not deigned to say farewell, but Arcturus assumed the old clothier had his reasons.

“Apprentice, that jacket is… Unique.”

“Pffthahaha, you look like a twentieth century scene kid!” Danica cackled.

“I’m okay with it.” Arcturus said resolutely.

I’m not. Let me out. I can’t handle this much edge.

“Scene kid?” Tylariel questioned suspiciously.

“Nomenclature from our shard, Archon.” Adam said dismissively. “Not worth dwelling on. Did you have a particular destination in mind to find Arcturus an Aetherblade?”

“I did. The sooner we’re about it the better. Given his Psionic talents, there’s only one Aethersmith in the Outer City that could potentially offer him what he needs. Were we to enter the Inner City we’d have more options, but we will have to make do.”

“An Aethersmith?” Arcturus asked as they set off with Tylariel in the lead. “Couldn’t Angela make me a sword, then?”

“My sister, for all her unique talents, cannot count bladecrafting among them. Hers was the path of ranged weaponry and armour. A bladesmith is a rare and specialised form of Aethersmith. There are less than a hundred in Luxanium, and of those, only a dozen cater to the more unique and unlikely of affinities. For Psionics, I can only think of four — three of which are inaccessible to us due to House Rubastra’s fall from grace.”

“So if we don’t find anything where we’re going?”

“Then I fear you will have a very, very difficult few months ahead of you Apprentice.” Tylariel responded grimly.

There was little discussion from that point onwards and Arcturus found himself sinking back into his thoughts as they set a determined pace away from Maurice’s now-reopened store and into the thronging crowds of Luxanium. He noticed that Tylariel’s aura was more contracted as she moved, using it only to clear people immediately around her and not to forcefully intimidate passersby into not looking at them. The result was a mix of admiring glances and curious eyes as the party of four cut a line through the crowds towards an unknown destination.

Arcturus’ map constantly updated and added labels as they travelled, allowing him to identify any stores, stalls, markets, bureaucratic offices, inns, bars, or functionary buildings they passed on the way. He marvelled at how useful it was, and allowed his wonder at having a map built into his mind distract him from Adam’s resonating words.

Could he fight Amelie if he had to? The possibility itself was almost ludicrous to consider, and yet Arcturus couldn’t dismiss the theoretical from his mind. His last memory of the lithe french beauty was the feeling of his lips on hers, the scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body in his arms.

Two Houses, both alike in dignity…

Arcturus snorted at his subconscious and threw his mind away from his ruminations, instead taking in the sights, sounds, and even smells in his immediate area. He noted laughing children and scolding parents; chatting couples strolling in each other’s arms; arguing spouses gesticulating violently; customers and hawkers haggling over this and that; criers beckoning passersby into their employer’s stores; and even heralds proclaiming the latest decrees and offering magically replicated newspapers to give insights into the latest events in the Valarian capital.

His eyes trailed over any manner of eclectic sights and images both new and oddly familiar to his mind’s eyes, marvelling at how similar and yet how alien Terra was to his home. A bewildering blend of what he would call high fantasy and soft sci-fi, with aether-driven technology whose function he could only guess at married to almost primitive practices like carrying swords and wearing armour.

“Arcturus.” Adam called.

His name was like cold water thrown in his face and he tore his eyes from the engrossing sights around him, looking for his friend only to realise he’d kept walking after Tylariel and the others had stopped in front of a open-air store; its identity emblazoned on a hovering plaque above the cavernous entrance: “Luthaire’s Arms & Armour”.

“Sorry.” He said as he reunited with the group. “I was lost in thought.”

“I understand that the news you received about your lost love might have rattled you, Apprentice.” Tylariel began with a tone that Arcturus found surprisingly gentle. “But you must focus on what comes next. Choosing an Aetherblade that is right for you is an imperative step to becoming an Archon.” Her voice took on a serious quality, and Arcturus listened more intently when he noted the shift. Even Adam and Danica seemed to be paying attention.

“Choose the wrong blade and you will be as impeded as if you had a deformed limb. The binding process for an Aetherblade is not one easily replicated, and if you should bond to the wrong weapon it can have lasting consequences for your future growth.”

“I understand, Mentor.”

“There will be false positives, and you will feel close to right, but it is important you understand what is right and what seems right. Do not be hasty with your choice, Apprentice. The blade will choose you as much as you will choose the blade.”

Danica and Adam nodded unconsciously, as if they’d heard such statements before, but for Arcturus it elicited a sense of trepidation.

He resolved, in that moment, not to be reckless no matter how long it took to choose.

The four of them entered the store behind Tylariel to the sound of chatting voices and laughter, immersing themselves in a dissipated crowd of around twenty people of all ages, genders, and social classes. There were no other Archons present, though more than a few of the people within seemed capable and powerful enough to give Tylariel’s presence no more than a curious glance.

“It’s like a candy store, but for weapons and armour.” Danica said appreciatively. “I love coming to Luthaire’s.”

“You’ve been here before?” Arcturus asked her as they followed Tylariel through the interior past armour racks and glass displays.

“Yeah, a few times. Andy and Adam love it here, and Amelie used to come here a lot before she left.”

“It seems like it has everything you could ask for.”

“And more besides. Luthaire’s one of the best Aethersmiths in Valaria, and the few apprentices he has are pretty good too. Sylvia makes some of the best female armour I’ve ever seen.”

“Female armour is a myth, Danica.” Arcturus said automatically. “Women just wrapped their breasts to fit into plate.”

“You’d be right professor—” Danica said sarcastically “—if we were still on Earth. Aethersmithing on Terra is different. You can design an entire set of armour to hug every curve or even adapt within tolerances to changes in your body shape, and the method they use to weave the magic into it makes it tougher than any alloy back home.”

Perception Check successful!

“Wait, so platekinis…?”

“Completely feasible.”

Arcturus’ smile earned him a prompt punch in the arm.

“Perv.” Danica admonished with a grin.

“Yeah whatever. You brought it up.” Arcturus said dismissively as Tylariel called out to them impatiently.

The pair of them made their way to where the Archon was standing with the most stereotypical blacksmith Arcturus had ever seen: Bushy black beard, bushy black eyebrows, massive muscles, and a permanent scowl to his features. Even the simple linen shirt and apron were detail-perfect, giving Arcturus flashbacks to ren faire trips with his parents. Capping it all off was the fact that Luthaire was huge; large enough to force even Arcturus to look up at him.

“This the kid?”

“Indeed.” Tylariel confirmed with a hint of pride. “The first potentiate to catch my eye in decades.”

“Must be worth the time, then. Very well Archon, I’ll take him to see the collection. You’ll be alright here?”

“Yes. His companions and I will peruse your wares in the interim.”

Luthaire grunted in acknowledgement. “If anything catches your eye—”

“I will hail one of your Apprentices. I know.”

Another grunt of affirmation and the big man jerked his head towards a large, sealed door behind the counter at the back of the huge showroom. “Follow me, Apprentice. Let’s get you an Aetherblade.”

Arcturus followed the massive Terran, who he’d wager was close to seven feet tall, to the large door at the back of the showroom. A ring of keys appeared in his right hand and the Aethersmith slotted a strange-looking key into an oddly shaped lock at the middle of the door, turning the key right, then left, and then right again. The moment the third turn was completed the door lit up with sequential blue-white sigils and the sounds of multiple locks and bolts retracting came through as rapid thuds and clicks.

After about ten seconds of those sounds Luthaire placed his left hand to the door and pushed, opening the massive construct with a groan of metal.

“You really don’t want anyone getting back here, do you?”

“Better safe than robbed, boy. I don’t know how they do it in Regalia, but in Luxanium we don’t take our security lightly.”

“Of course.” Arcturus responded simply, not knowing what else to say and wanting to avoid any kind of discussion about his fabricated background. “Given the importance of Aetherblades, I can understand the need for security.”

“Not just Aetherblades. All my best work and my apprentices’ best work is stored here. If you see something you like let me know. I don’t like disengaging the security more than I need to. One trip is preferred.”

“Will do.” Arcturus said conversationally as Luthaire led him into the private showroom, his eyes taking in the carefully polished racks and pristine sets of armour, mail, leather, and other such items displayed with prominence. There were swords, axes, spears, aether rifles, pistols, daggers… If a weapon or piece of armour had been conceived of, Arcturus was willing to bet that Luthaire had an exquisite example stored away in his private showroom.

“Aetherblades are this way.” The massive forgemaster said as he guided Arcturus past armour displays and glittering weapons to a wall of sword hilts at the back of the room. Even with his limited control over his powers, Arcturus could feel the magic surrounding these more than any of the other items within the showroom. The first and most immediately obvious details were the love and care with which each hilt was crafted. Precious jewels sat in every pommel, and though many of the blades seemed strangely absent ostentation: the lines and careful exactness of dimension in each piece — no matter if it was a hilt suited to a claymore or shortsword — spoke to the intricacy of the work.

“These are beautiful.” Arcturus said in an awed voice. “Did you make all of them?”

Luthaire grunted in affirmation. “When the mood struck me. Bladecrafting is fickle.”

“They all look so appealing.”

“This your first time ever attempting a Choosing, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” Arcturus said without thinking. The respectful address just seemed right.

Luthaire grunted again. “Look over the hilts and find the ones that seem to glow, subtly, to your eyes.”

Arcturus did as he was told. His eyes swept the available hilts and he focused on them intently, looking for what Luthaire described.

Arcana Check successful!

Perception Check successful!

After several moments of nothing, several hilts lit up abruptly with subtle glows, followed by more, and then even more.

“Uh, Luthaire?”

“What?”

“I think I messed up.”

“You haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yeah, but they’re all glowing.”

“Then pick one up.” He grumbled.

Arcturus did as instructed and reached out to grab a nice-looking longsword hilt that was narrow at the grip, rising up into a curve cross-guard in the shape of an elongated prong. He held the hilt in his hand and looked at it, staring for a moment before turning to Luthaire hesitantly. “Is something supposed to happen?”

The massive Aethersmith growled something under his breath and plucked the hilt from Arcturus’ hand, slotting it back onto its wall stand and waving at the rest. “Pick another.”

Arcturus, once again, did as instructed.

The process repeated multiple times for the next hour, with Arcturus picking up different hilts — sometimes even rotating back to previous ones — and holding them until Luthaire snatched them away; the forgemaster’s mutterings growing more aggrieved with each failed selection.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Arcturus asked after the latest hilt was taken away, and Luthaire stood glowering at the wall.

The answer is always yes.

“No.” He responded with a clear sound of irritation. “There is nothing wrong with what you’re doing, you just aren’t resonating with any of them. I’ve had you cycle through six different Psionic hilts and despite knowing you’re Psionic, not a single one of the bloody things has resonated. I’ve never seen this before.”

“I’m sorry…?” He said uncertainly.

“I’ve never had a customer I couldn’t find a blade for.” Luthaire growled. “You won’t be the first, boy. Wait here.”

Arcturus was left alone as the giant of a man turned on his heel and stomped over to a smaller door set into the back of the private showroom, unlocking it and vanishing inside.

Instead of standing awkwardly in front of the wall of Aetherblades, each of which seemed to almost taunt him with their glowing auras; Arcturus turned away and set to exploring the rest of the showroom. He passed spears, conventional swords, daggers, flails, and all kinds of odd and unique weaponry until he came to a halt before a mannequin displaying a set of armour that almost seemed hidden away.

Curiously, Arcturus triggered his [Inspect] skill.

INFORMATION PANEL

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME Armour of the S̸̡̙͎̒̈́̑̇͠ͅ@̵͚̞͓͐̎̂͛͐/̵̭̓̎̊͋|̸̛̺̈́̏̈͘/̴̯̫̉̈́g̷͖̱̦̎̀͐͘͝ų̴̬̃͒̇1̷̟͒̓̒̐̈́n̸̢̘̘̠̗̞̎͊3̷̺͈͔͚̜̙̋̀͗̃ ̴̨̰̮͈͈͈̅͊̈́L̶̩̎̆͌0̶͓̻̹̭͋̏̈́6̴̜̂̎̈̀͘͝d̶̮̈́̂̌̈́̚͝ SLOT(S) Head, Chest (Multiple), Arms (Multiple), Hands, Legs (Multiple), Feet TYPE(S) Enchanted, Restricted RARITY Mythic CLASSIFICATION(S) Armour (Full Body) STATISTIC(S)

+5 to ??? (Restricted)

+5 to ??? (Restricted)

+5 to ??? (Restricted)

+5 to É̶͕͉̌ṙ̴̡̛r̵͉̂̃ŏ̵̳͖̓r̶̼̖͛̀(Restricted)

MODIFICATION(S)

É̶͕͉̌ṙ̴̡̛r̵͉̂̃ŏ̵̳͖̓r̶̼̖͛̀

DESCRIPTION

Recovered from an unknown ruin in the Blighted Lands and restored, mostly, by the careful efforts of Luthaire Gildedhammer: This set of forbidding armour holds a hidden power that has been frustratingly inaccessible.

Whatever boons are hidden behind the esoteric locks placed upon its use, no one has been able to decipher the secrets required to unlock its full and terrible potential.

SOULBOND(S) N/A DURABILITY 1,500 / 1,500

Each piece of the armour was an elegant shade of onyx, inscribed with silvery runes of a language even his [Arcane Linguistics] skill couldn’t decipher. The helmet was in the style of what Arcturus would confidently name ancient Corinthian, if he had seen the armour on display on Earth. The front of the helmet curved down to cover the wearer’s face and below the jawline, with a single extension to cover the nose. A crimson plume adorned the top of the helmet, ranging from above the forehead to the centre-rear of the skull in a neat line.

It was more commonly known as the ‘Leonidas Helmet’ by the uninitiated, though the description was antithetical to a student of history.

You may not become King of Valaria, but you’re definitely King of the Nerds.

The breastplate was a match for the helm, extending from the collarbone to the pelvis with stylised abdominal muscles built into the metal and two dark pauldrons that could be connected to the breastplate via sturdy buckles. In a strange twist of culture, it was the more roman style of skirting attached to the breastplate, with a dense ring of leather straps hanging down where they would obscure the wearer’s thighs from view. A pair of wrist-to-elbow forearm vambraces sat on a separate display beside the breastplate, with a set of thigh cuisses, shin greaves, and reinforced sabatons on a shelf below.

Upon closer inspection, Arcturus noticed that there was a single well-cut ruby inlaid to every piece of armour; from the helmet to the sabatons.

Perception Check unsuccessful!

Drawn by something inexplicable, he extended his hand towards the most prominent ruby — socketed between the rendered pectorals of the breastplate — and was about to touch it when the door at the back of the showroom banged open again.

Arcturus jumped in surprise at the sudden noise, heart pounding against his ribs as he spun to face the approaching figure of Luthaire. A cloth-wrapped object was held in the giant Aethersmith’s right hand and, when he rejoined Arcturus, he extended it out in offering.

“Take it. If this doesn’t work, boy, then nothing will.”

Arcturus glanced surreptitiously at the armour again, and then looked at the item in Luthaire’s massive palm. A moment of trepidation stalled him, and then Arcturus steeled himself and took the item.

When the cloth cover was pulled away, Arcturus was brought up short in surprise. In his hand was a plain, unassuming piece of solid metal: A sword hilt not unlike that of a traditional western longsword. It felt good in his hand, with a weight and a balance that allowed him to hold it comfortably. An experimental addition of his left hand showed that he could hold the hilt comfortably in one hand or two, with room for all ten fingers and a comfort-gap between his hands.

His eyes were drawn to the centre of the crossguard where it would normally ident to fit the blade. In place of a socket for one, however, there was the glittering tip of a diamond and tiny silver runes painstakingly inlaid around it on the metal in a perfect circle. Arcturus had rarely seen something as beautiful, and in spite of the simplicity of the hilt compared to the others he’d tried — this new one having no paint or embossments on its bare metal surface — he knew that what he held in his hand was special.

I’ve got nothing. This really is a work of art.

Arcturus felt something stir inside of himself as the voice said its piece. Something primal and powerful, and ancient beyond his understanding roused itself from deep within his core and he felt power suffuse his limbs. Notifications popped into being before his eyes and he minimized them as quickly as they appeared, staring at the hilt in his hands. Power, glorious and terrible, writhed its way from the deepest recesses of his soul and made itself known in a flash of coruscating light and abyssal darkness.

The runes around the diamond and along the hilt in hidden lines burned first with white fire, and then with black — and then the fantastical mix of both. The metal seemed to superheat in his hands, though he felt no pain as the steel reshaped itself. The unwrapped grip elongated and widened to accommodate for his longer fingers, thickening around its circumference to allow for a better handhold.

Next the crossguard shifted and thickened, the two ends that formed the top ends of the ‘T’ morphing into open-mawed dragon heads, frozen in the identical tableaus of a roar. The centre of the crossguard morphed as well, with stylised draconic wings folded across the centre to form a rising formation not unlike a hollow spire rising a few inches above the socket housing the diamond at the centre of the crossguard.

The colour of the blade changed as well, with the material taking on a colour equal parts black and white. Whorls and patterns emerged not unlike the scales of a dragon, with images of just such creatures flying or roaring mixed into otherwise seemingly random designs. At the very bottom of the hilt, a five-taloned claw formed where normally there would be the housing for a gem.

Within the confines of the claw, white and black flames spun and twisted until they resolved into a jewel equal parts jet and diamond — filled with a matching monochrome flame that Arcturus somehow knew would never cease burning.

As the upsurge of energy began to taper, Arcturus guided as much as observed as a final surge of power travelled from the jewel at the pommel to the diamond inlaid where the blade would normally connect — and a paradox erupted into life. A blade of energy equal parts light and void formed the shape of a traditional english longsword, dancing with monochrome flames that licked and crackled as they flared and died by the moment along the length of the weapon.

His Aetherblade both provided illumination and ate it; operating in a constant cycle of give and take — of creation and destruction — with no end.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

“Your father had the same look on his face.” Luthaire grumbled from beside him, the giant man’s eyes looking over the faintly humming blade of energy. “Shock mixed with euphoric pleasure. His hilt didn’t reshape itself, though. Almost none of them do. I suspected an unaspected hilt would work, but nothing like this.”

Arcturus was too busy processing what Luthaire had first said to respond immediately, and it wasn’t until the other man looked at him that he remembered to speak. “You knew my… You know who I am?”

“Gildedhammer, boy. Knew him? I was your pain-in-the-arse father’s personal Aethersmith. I made the armour he wore. I made the blade he wielded.”

Arcturus stared at the giant of a man, and then looked back to his sword in silence.

“You have to name it.” Luthaire said after a few moments.

“Name it?”

“Aetherblades are more than just tools, boy. They’re as alive as Aether is.”

Arcturus considered his sword for a few moments. “A name, huh?’

“Yes. Something with intent, preferably.”

Arcturus nodded thoughtfully, and then smiled as it came to him.

“Perdition.”

Luthaire paused when Arcturus presented the name. “That’s quite the implication.” He said after a few moments’ silence.

“It seemed appropriate for what I have to do.” Arcturus responded resolutely.

“Aye.” Luthaire agreed with a slow nod. “Aye I’d say it does.”

After that Arcturus puzzled for a moment over how to ‘turn off’ the blade, until he identified a tether of aether running from him to the weapon. More specifically, to the newly created gem in its pommel. The moment he severed the flow, the projected blade winked out of existence. Immediately, he received a new notification and was quick to read it over.

STATUS UPDATE

BASIC INFORMATION

Congratulations! You have unlocked Aetherblade Wielding (Passive, Level 1)!

DETAILED INFORMATION

Aetherblade Wielding

(Passive, Level 1)

Aetherblades are the most recognisable weapons on Terra, and are almost completely unique to the Aquilan Empire.

Capoable of cutting through any unenchanted material with ease, each Aetherblade holds an Elemental Attunement which reflects the dominant power, or combination of powers, of its wielder.

With these weapons comes incredible power and prestige. Don't screw it up, Arcturus!

Satisfied, Arcturus dismissed the message, turned to Luthaire and then hesitated.

“What is it?” The Aethersmith questioned.

“I’m supposed to keep my identity a secret.” Arcturus responded warily.

“Some oaths transcend worlds and lifetimes.” Luthaire said matter-of-factly. “I recall swearing an oath of fealty as a member of the Gilded Aegis. I don’t recall that oath ever being released.”

Arcturus turned back to the towering, surly crafter and saw a twinkle of amusement in his dark, stormy eyes.

“Thank you, Luthaire.”

“You were my King the day you were born, boy. All you need to do now is grow into the crown.” He hesitated for a moment. “Just don’t tell Maurice about this next bit, or he’ll be intolerable.”

A sudden rush of heat drew a hiss of discomfort from Arcturus, and he saw Luthaire’s eyes tighten at their corners and his large body lock up in momentary pain.

When the heat vanished, a small notification alerted him that his Oathsworn had risen from 4 / 10 to 5 / 10.

“Luthaire, why—?”

“The day you were born, as I stated.” The forgemaster said matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” Arcturus said honestly, though the words didn’t quite seem to capture what the profession of loyalty actually meant. It was strange, but Luthaire felt… solid. Like an immovable rock in a raging tempest. He had no logical reason to trust him; he’d only barely met the Aethersmith. Something about him, though, called to Arcturus. Perhaps the Aetheric resonance of the forgemaster’s oath to his father, or something else — but whatever it was; instinct and something stronger than instinct told Arcturus he could trust Luthaire in a way he could trust very few others.

There may be something to your theory about Order’s interference. First Maurice, now Luthaire… Something is changing your Fate through those around you. Be careful.

Arcturus accepted the warning in silence. In truth, he’d been thinking the same.

“Now then boy, is there anything else you needed?”

After a moment of consideration, Arcturus glanced over at the enigmatic set of armour resting nearby.

“Well, now that you mention it…”