I looked down at my sword, admiring the pure dark blade as it drank in the light of the flame Sare had coaxed to life. The steel reflected nothing—only absence.
Its hilt, though, was the opposite.
Brilliant white, etched with fine gold engravings that caught the firelight and held it. Beautiful. Deliberate. So completely at odds with the blade it crowned that the contrast felt intentional.
Light and darkness bound together.
Not balanced—but locked in quiet opposition.
It felt perfect.
As if the weapon itself was undecided which side it belonged to.
I reached inward, into my core, and found Midnight waiting there—silent, patient.
Thanks to Professor Scare, I had begun to understand the language of this world. Not fluently. Not even confidently. But enough to recognize when something was speaking to me, even if I couldn't yet grasp the full meaning.
Still… understanding and mastery were not the same.
"Description," I asked the Voice.
The word left me hesitant.
Careful.
Almost afraid of the answer.
Blade of Choosing.
That was the description.
Nothing more.
The words settled into me slowly, their meaning just out of reach, and a chill ran up my spine. It felt deliberate—like the system was withholding something on purpose.
I swallowed and focused again.
Special Effect.
My eyebrows lifted slightly as I read on, curiosity pushing aside the unease.
This blade drinks. Never ending. Never satisfied. Yet what it seeks is not clear—vengeance… or peace.
I stared at the words, my grip tightening around the hilt.
That wasn't an explanation.
It was a question.
And I wasn't sure whether the blade would answer it for me—or demand that I answer it myself.
After a while, Sare spoke, her voice cutting gently through the fog of my thoughts.
"How do you and Trace know each other?"
The question pulled me fully back into the cavern. The fire crackled nearby. Water roared faintly beyond the stone. I studied Sare for a moment longer than necessary, unease crawling up my spine before I answered.
"We were partners," I said finally. "Combat class."
She nodded, as if that explained more than I'd said.
Silence stretched again, heavy but not uncomfortable. The kind that makes you aware of your own breathing.
"Can I ask you something?" I said, the words coming slower now. "You don't have to answer."
She hesitated. I could hear it in the way she drew a breath, in the subtle shift of her posture. "Okay," she said. Cautious. Guarded.
"How can you see life force," I asked quietly, "if you're blind?"
For a heartbeat, she said nothing.
Then she let out a small, surprised sound. "Oh."
Her head dipped, chin lowering toward her chest as if the answer carried weight she didn't enjoy holding.
"It's… both my restriction and my power," she said.
I waited, the firelight painting soft shadows across her face.
"The blindness is the restriction," she continued. "In return, my ability lets me see weaknesses. In people. In monsters. In anything that lives."
My stomach tightened.
"That's how I knew you were injured," she said. "Normally, life force isn't even. It thins in places—old scars, joints, organs under strain. Everyone has weak points. Even the strongest beasts."
Her head slowly turned toward me.
"But you…" she paused, the word hanging between us.
"You're different."
I swallowed.
"Yours doesn't thin," she said softly. "It doesn't flicker or shift. It doesn't fade where it should."
The fire popped, sending a brief shower of sparks into the air.
"It's black," she said. "And it's constant."
The words settled into me like cold water.
Black.
Constant.
Not injured. Not healing. Not weakening.
Just… there.
For the first time since the Solstice, I felt truly seen—not watched, not hunted, but known. And the feeling terrified me more than any beast I'd faced.
The silence lingered, thick and uncomfortable.
Then Trace stood abruptly.
"I'm going to shower," she said, already turning toward the waterfall.
The words hit me a second late.
"You're—what?" I blurted.
She glanced back. "I'm filthy. I'm not sleeping like this."
Heat rushed to my face.
"I—wait," I said quickly. "That might not be a good idea. I can see in the dark, so—"
She froze.
Slowly, Trace turned toward me.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then, reflexively, she crossed her arms over her chest.
I stared, confused.
She was still fully clothed.
Her armor hadn't changed—not yet.
Realization slammed into me.
"I didn't mean like that," I said fast. "Your armor's an Ancient. I know it returns to your soul. I just meant the light. Or… lack of it. And the shadows."
She squinted at me for a long second.
"…You can see in the dark?" she asked.
"Yes," I said immediately. "Unfortunately. Very clearly."
Her arms dropped.
"Oh."
A beat passed.
Then she turned away again, muttering, "Next time, say that before you make it sound like you're watching me."
"I wasn't!" I protested. "I just—never mind."
From the fire, Sare made a soft sound that might have been a laugh.
Trace stepped through the curtain of falling water a moment later. As she did, the silver plates of her armor dissolved into faint motes of light and vanished—drawn back into her soul as the roar of the waterfall swallowed the rest of the moment.
The cavern felt lighter after that.
I rubbed my face with both hands. "I am never speaking again."
Sare tilted her head toward me. "That would be a shame."
"I'll risk it."
Time passed quietly after that, marked only by the crackle of the fire and the distant roar of the waterfall. The earlier awkwardness faded, settling into something calmer. Almost fragile.
Eventually, I broke the silence.
"Why didn't you join combat class?" I asked. "With your ability… it would've been really helpful."
Sare exhaled slowly, like the question let something loosen in her chest.
"I already know how to fight," she said.
I blinked. "You do?"
She nodded. "I grew up in a family where it wasn't optional." Her voice stayed even, but there was weight beneath it. "Technique. Awareness. How to move without sight. I learned all of that long before the Solstice."
That surprised me more than I expected.
"So combat class wasn't—"
"Necessary," she finished. "Not for me."
She shifted slightly, fingers resting against her knee.
"I took ability learning instead," she continued. "I needed time to adjust—to understand my restriction and this new way of seeing. Fighting didn't matter if I couldn't trust what I was perceiving."
She gestured vaguely toward the blindfold.
"That makes sense," I said quietly. And I meant it.
She was silent for a moment, then tilted her head toward me.
"She was your partner, right?" Sare asked. "Trace."
"Yeah."
"How was it?" she asked carefully. "She talked about someone she met in class. Said he was interesting. But she never said who."
I straightened a little. "Really?"
Sare nodded. "She said he was a natural. That he picked things up just by watching. That even when he lost, he learned faster than anyone else."
I let out a short breath, half disbelieving. "I lost a lot of those fights."
"I know," Sare said simply.
I looked at her.
"Seeing you now, though," she continued, turning her face fully toward me, "it makes sense."
"How?"
"You're interesting," she said. "Unnatural, maybe—but not in a bad way."
The word settled between us.
Unnatural.
Not a judgment. Not praise. Just an observation.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't try.
The fire crackled softly, shadows shifting along the cavern walls. And for the first time since the Solstice, I didn't feel like I was being measured against something I couldn't see.
When Trace returned, her hair damp and armor once again settled against her soul, she didn't hesitate.
"Alright," she said, rolling her shoulders. "I'll take first watch."
"No need," I said immediately.
She stopped mid-step and looked at me. "What?"
Before she could argue, I reached down and called to my shadow.
He rose smoothly from the cavern floor, darkness pulling itself into shape. I rested a hand on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"He can watch," I said. "He doesn't sleep."
Trace stared at him.
Then she stared at me.
Then back at him.
"…You're joking," she said.
The shadow turned toward me, eyes widening slightly—offended. Or maybe just confused.
"Oh, calm down," I said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "It won't hurt. You'll wake us if anything happens."
I was mocking him a little. I knew it.
He looked at me in disbelief.
Trace stepped closer, curiosity overriding caution. Slowly, she reached out and tried to touch him.
Her hand passed straight through his arm.
She froze.
"…That's unsettling," she muttered, pulling her hand back.
Sare, on the other hand, hadn't moved at all. She was just watching him—head tilted, expression unreadable. Not afraid. Not curious in the normal way.
Awed.
After a moment, Trace exhaled and shook her head. "Fine. Shadow sentinel it is."
No one argued.
The fire crackled softly. The waterfall roared beyond the stone.
And for the first time since the Solstice, we rested—guarded by something the forest could not touch.