Aoki is the first to approach the throne-like structure, her footsteps soundless on the dust-covered stone. Her fingers press against a crumbled wall, tracing old blood smears. They lead to a crumpled shape, half-fused into the barklike roots.
A body.
Burnt. Deformed. Armor split open like a shattered egg.
Aoki kneels. She then activates her Aetherplate.
The necklace flares once. A phoenix spiral—Kiran's squad marker.
[Kiran: Deceased]
Aoki lowers her eyes. "She's gone."
I freeze, although I have never met her, she's a first year student just like me, and now she is dead.
"She didn't fall in battle," Aoki adds. "Her Aetherplate wasn't ruptured. The damage came after she died. Internally."
"Someone ripped her soul out," Abdul says grimly. "That's not a battle. That's execution."
Another unknown term for me, soul.
Jennifer's body remains still, but the twisted throne behind her begins to throb. The rootwork tightens. Something inside shifts, not fully visible—just a silhouette hunched in the core, watching from behind the gnarled veil of wood and bone.
Zach murmurs, "Raffkare."
The name hangs heavy.
A whisper of Aether curls through the air. Jennifer raises her hand, and the temperature plummets.
Then she moves.
Faster than before. No warning. She vanishes into a blur of afterimages, reappearing above Zach mid-air with a blade of condensed violet Aether aimed at his throat.
He blocks it, but she doesn't stop. The strikes come too fast—more erratic than trained. Like someone puppeteering muscle memory from a distance.
"Hold her back!" Zach roars. "She's not fully herself!"
Abdul throws two smoke mines, disrupting her movement, while Aoki bends space around the field, trying to suppress Jennifer's Aether surges. It's working—but barely.
I watch the roots behind her. Still pulsing. Still watching.
Raffkare is inside that thing. Close. Feeding power through her.
All we're fighting is a voice, not the source.
Jennifer screams suddenly, lashing out in every direction. Aoki's field cracks. Abdul is thrown back. Zach grits his teeth, but she's too fast.
Then I feel it.
In my pocket.
A heartbeat.
No—pulsing.
I reach in. The Arc-Ink Core is glowing. Silver lines pulse inside its marble-black shell. It's reacting. To me. To this moment.
I don't know what this means, but I know what I am.
The Paragon.
I pull it out, feel the electric sting across my palm, and slam it into my canvases that I pulled out from my Aetherplate.
"Come on," I whisper. "Creation is not art. It is a risk. Belief. Sacrifice."
The Core sinks in—and detonates.
Not outward—but inward.
The ink on the page warps, solidifies. My sketchbook glows. And from it, the weapon emerges, phasing through dimensions in a spiral of black and silver light.
A sword that Zach gave me forms in my hand, except, it looks a bit different.
It hums with potential. With fusion.
[Forged Artifact: Ink-Edge]Type: Bound Construct (Class-Exclusive: Forger)
Core: Arc-Ink Core (Catalytic, Volatile, Evolvable)
Origin: Forged through the fusion of Arc-Ink Core and the attached sword — a treasured blade infused with legacy, trust, and loss.Status: Awakened (1/5 Traits Unlocked)
Appearance: A long, ink-black blade with a silvery edge that flickers like it's dipped in starlight. Etched patterns ripple across its surface like flowing ink, constantly shifting as if alive. A faint blue thread — a remnant of Zach's Aether — is sealed within the hilt.
Effect:
Allows User to instantly resummon any previously Forged weapon, construct, or creature at negligible mana cost, provided it remains bonded to user's Aetherprint.
Resummons are instantaneous and appear in perfect condition.Limited to 3 active re-summons per engagement to prevent Aether overload.Constructs retain personality, memory, and battle conditioning from prior summoning.Must have been intentionally Forged (not spontaneous sketches or emotional flickers).
Note: "Ink remembers. You don't re-create — you reawaken."
I step forward. The world sharpens.
"Jennifer," I say softly. "You're still in there."
She turns—eyes flickering. For just a second, she hesitates.
I charge.
I don't realize the blade is changing until it hums.
The sword Zach gave me pulses in my grip, and the Arc-Ink Core embedded in its guard spins with a soft, unnatural whir. Swirls of silver and black ripple across the length of the blade, transforming it into something alien, alive, dangerous. My fingertips burn—not from pain, but from recognition.
The ink knows me. It remembers what I've created, what I've lost.
Jennifer—battle-hardened, feral, and radiating fury—charges without hesitation. Aether cracks around her fists like thunder.
I don't move.
With one swing, I slash the air.
A black-and-silver wave erupts from Ink-Edge, screeching as it splits the earth between us. It doesn't hit her—physically. But the energy explodes just ahead of her path, sending up a plume of force that flings her backward like a ragdoll.
Someone gasps. Maybe Chris. Or Abdul.
I step forward, calm.
She leaps up again, a snarl on her lips, and drives an Aether punch into the ground. The shockwave tears toward me.
Another slash.
This one curves, arcing like a whip of raw pressure. It meets her Aether force midair—then cuts through it. The resulting blast flattens trees behind her and caves in part of the ravine wall.
My blade doesn't even touch her, and yet she staggers, blood dribbling from her mouth.
"Are you… seeing this?" Abdul mutters from somewhere behind me. No one answers.
I reach into my coat. I don't even need to draw. Ink-Edge pulses, resonating.
"Resonant Imprint." The whisper leaves my lips unconsciously. My hand twists, sketching nothing in the air.
Two flashes of light. Black ink twists into form.
They rise beside me like memories returned to life.
The Assassin, cloaked in shadows, daggers dripping ethereal poison. The Elf, longbow already nocked, eyes gleaming with cold precision. Both constructs I've summoned before—against the demon. They stand now without hesitation, their presence permanent, alive.
Jennifer blinks in disbelief as the Assassin blurs forward, reappearing behind her. She spins too late—he strikes her shoulder with a precise blade of darkness. The Elf loses a volley of light-burst arrows that explode at her feet, shattering her stance.
I moved last. Ink-Edge gleams.
Three slashes. Horizontal. Vertical. Diagonal. None hit her directly—yet all three detonate into shockwaves that rain down on her like falling guillotines.
Her defenses crack. She drops to her knees, eyes wide.
One more wave. One more step.
I'm in front of her before she can scream. I tap the flat of Ink-Edge against her forehead.
She falls, unconscious.
Silence.
No one else moves.
My constructs fade beside me—returning to wherever they wait when not summoned. The weight of Ink-Edge hums low, satisfied.
Aoki is the first to speak.
"That's…" Her voice shakes slightly, not with fear, but awe. "That wasn't normal. Not for a first-year student, really."
She steps forward, placing a hand to her own chest as if trying to ground herself.
"In our system, Aetherkind are ranked from H to SSS. Most first-years, even gifted ones, land around H. People like me—at my peak—I'm around G+. That's already considered elite for our year, and I am a 3rd year."
She points at me, or more accurately, at the space I've carved into the forest with a few casual slashes.
"Julius is showing the power of someone at H+. That's… absurd. That's the threshold where special ops start taking interest. The kind of power people fear. And respect."
I stand there, still breathing steadily. I don't feel drained—not the way I used to. Ink-Edge vibrates softly in my hand, like it's purring.
Jennifer lies at my feet, unconscious, broken but alive.
I don't even hate her. I'm just tired of being as weak as I was.