Chapter 18 – Blades of Destiny
The morning came harsh and early.
No bells. No wake-up call. Just the bark of a grizzled old trainer named Borrin and the snap of a whip beside a training dummy.
"Up! All of you!" he roared, voice like thunder through gravel. "This is Reverb, not a daycare! You want to learn the blade? You bleed for it!"
Kaze, Atlas, Lyra, and dozens of other young warriors were lined up in the stone courtyard. The sun barely crested the ramparts, but sweat already ran down foreheads.
Borrin limped along the line, leaning on a gnarled blackwood cane. His eyes, however, saw everything.
"You!" he snapped at Kaze. "What weapon are you?"
"I use wind magic," Kaze answered.
Borrin spat. "Then fight like a blade of wind. Not a storm without direction."
He moved to Atlas. "Sword boy. What's your stance?"
Atlas held firm. "I study dual wield."
"Then stop moving like you're juggling fruit."
Lyra smirked, only to be jabbed in the ribs with the cane. "And you, girl?"
"Sharp tongue, sharp aim," she muttered.
"We'll see if your blade listens as well as your mouth."
And so it began.
Hours of sparring. Drills until their arms ached. Running the ramparts in full gear. Parrying blunted blades in the pit while Borrin watched with hawk eyes and yelled every time someone flinched.
Kazuki sat on the edge, blindfold still in place, listening with that eerie calm.
"You're letting your left foot lag, Kaze," he said without looking.
Kaze grunted and adjusted. The improvement was instant.
Borrin narrowed his eyes at Kazuki. "Still acting like a damned oracle."
Later that day, they were taken to the Forgehall—a massive, glowing heart of the city. Blacksmiths worked in tandem, sweat pouring off their backs, sparks flying like stars. The scent of smoke and steel filled the air.
King Scar entered, flanked by Reverb's Master Smith, a woman named Korrine. She was old, missing a hand, but her single remaining one worked the forge better than most men with two.
Scar spoke bluntly. "Your blades say more about you than your mouths ever will. You'll forge them with your own hands, under Korrine's guidance. Fail, and you fight with sticks."
Kaze approached first. Korrine eyed him. "Wind mage, huh? Try not to set my forge on fire."
The process was brutal. Hours of heating, folding, hammering. The metal hissed and screamed, fighting their wills.
As Kaze worked, something clicked inside him. The storm he once feared now danced within the blade. With each strike, he shaped it—smooth and curved like the wind, but with a wicked edge.
When it was done, Korrine held it up to the firelight. "It sings."
Kaze ran a hand along the hilt. The guard was shaped like a gust frozen in metal, and the blade itself shimmered faintly, etched with swirling lines.
He whispered its name: StormBringer.
Lyra, meanwhile, had worked silently. Her blade was smaller—a tanto, forged with care and precision. She added a pink cloth wrapping to the handle and engraved a single word into its base:
The ILove.
She glanced at Kaze when she showed it. "It's a… uh, joke. Get it?"
Kaze blinked, then tilted his head. "Yeah. Like… eye love? Some kind of pun?"
Lyra sighed, hiding a small smile. "Never mind."
Atlas's forging took the longest. He dual-wielded, but insisted on forging both at once. Every hammer strike was in rhythm—left, right, left, right. Sweat poured from his brow, but his focus never wavered.
When done, he held two curved blades with deep crimson hilts. They gleamed like blood in firelight.
"Soul Cutter," he said softly. "For those who walk a path of pain."
The trio stood together, blades in hand. For the first time, it felt real. They weren't just wandering survivors anymore. They were warriors—trained, armed, and determined.
Scar watched from above the forge.
"They're not ready," Borrin said beside him.
Scar didn't look away. "No. But they're getting there."
That night, in the training yard beneath the stars, the three of them sparred, steel clashing like music. Kaze's StormBringer danced with speed and grace, wind curling around his swings. Atlas's Soul Cutters struck with clean, precise power. Lyra's tanto struck low and fast, always catching the edge of a mistake.
After an hour, they collapsed on the ground, breathing hard, laughing.
"You're getting better," Atlas said, tapping Kaze's shoulder with a blade.
"Yeah," Kaze nodded, then looked to Lyra. "That name… 'The ILove'… still don't get it."
Lyra covered her face with her arm. "You're hopeless."
Kazuki's voice rang out from the shadows. "Hope is a blade, too. Just takes longer to sharpen."
They lay there, blades beside them, stars overhead.
The wind whispered through Reverb. The storm was gathering again—not one of destruction, but of purpose.
⸻
End of Chapter 18