The shrine had no name.
It sat deep in the forest behind Aira's village, half-swallowed by roots and silence. No offerings. No prayers. Even the birds refused to perch on its roof.
Which, of course, made it the perfect place to hide.
Aira crouched behind the cracked stone lantern, holding her breath as village boys ran past on the trail.
"Check near the river!"
"She couldn't have gone far!"
She rolled her eyes.
All this because I beat them with a stick.
To be fair, it had been a very good stick. Balanced. Solid grip. Excellent reach.
Still, boys didn't like losing to a girl—especially not the blacksmith's quiet daughter who barely spoke.
When their voices faded, Aira stepped out and brushed dirt from her skirt. Her gaze drifted toward the shrine doors.
They were open.
They were never open.
A cold breeze slipped out from inside, carrying the smell of old stone… and something metallic.
Curiosity pulled her forward before caution could argue.
Inside, the shrine was smaller than she expected. No statues. No altar.
Only a sword.
It lay embedded in a block of dark stone at the center of the floor.
The blade was black—not polished black, not painted black. It was the kind of black that swallowed light. Its surface looked worn, chipped along the edge like it had fought too many battles and lost none.
No decorations. No jewels. No holy glow.
Just a weapon.
Aira tilted her head.
"…That's it?"
No sacred barrier. No divine aura crushing her lungs like in the hero stories. Just an old sword stuck in a rock like someone forgot to clean up.
She stepped closer.
The air grew heavier.
Not suffocating. Watching.
Her fingers hovered over the hilt.
The wood wrapping was cracked with age, yet untouched by rot. Like it had been waiting.
"For decoration?" she muttered. "Or a trap?"
She'd always had a bad habit of touching things she shouldn't.
Her hand closed around the grip.
Cold.
Not surface-cold. Deep cold. The kind that seeps into bone.
The moment she tried to pull—
The world screamed.
—
The sky above the forest shattered with a sound like breaking glass.
Red lightning tore across the clouds in jagged veins. Wind exploded outward from the shrine, flattening trees in a perfect circle. Birds dropped mid-flight. Animals bolted in blind panic.
In the village below, windows burst.
Aira didn't see any of it.
Because she was falling.
Not physically—her body still stood in the shrine—but her mind plunged into darkness, as if the ground beneath reality had given way.
Memories not her own flashed past.
A battlefield under a black sun.
A sword splitting the horizon.
A girl standing alone as the world cracked.
Pain. Regret. Resolve.
Then—
A voice.
A boy's voice. Quiet. Tired.
"…You're late."
Aira opened her eyes.
She stood in an endless black space, stars flickering faintly beneath her feet like reflections on water.
Before her floated a boy about her age, silver hair drifting as if underwater. His eyes were a dull, stormy gray—the eyes of someone who had watched too much and slept too little.
He looked at her like someone recognizing an old scar.
"…You're not her," he murmured.
"Should I be?" Aira asked.
He blinked.
"…You can talk."
"So can you."
A long pause.
"…This is not how I imagined this going."
She pointed past him. "Am I dead?"
"No."
"Possessed?"
"…Not yet."
"Good."
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He looked down at her hand.
She followed his gaze.
A black sword hilt rested in her grip.
"You pulled it out," he said quietly.
"Was I not supposed to?"
"…No one was."
"Too late."
Another pause.
"…What is your name?" he asked.
"Aira."
He closed his eyes briefly, like bracing himself.
"…Aira. Then listen carefully. From this moment on, the world will try to kill you."
"Why?"
"Because you're holding me."
She lifted the sword slightly. "You have a name?"
A long silence.
"…I did once."
"That helpful, huh."
"…You may call me Noctis."
"Okay, Noctis. Why does holding you make people want me dead?"
His gaze shifted upward, toward an unseen sky.
"Because I am the blade that ended the world."
Aira stared at him.
"…You're going to need to explain that better."
But the starry darkness was already cracking.
Light poured in like shattered glass, and the shrine rushed back into existence.
Aira staggered, now gripping the sword fully freed from the stone.
Outside—
Screams.
Smoke rising beyond the treetops.
Her heart dropped.
"That's my village."
"Yes," Noctis said softly in her mind. "They felt the awakening."
"Felt what?"
"You."
Steel rang in the distance. Horses. Shouting voices armored with authority.
Aira ran outside.
Knights in silver-and-gold armor were flooding into the village streets below, their capes marked with the crest of the Royal Blade Order.
One pointed toward the forest.
"FORBIDDEN SIGNAL CONFIRMED! SOURCE THERE!"
Another knight raised a glowing sword.
"ELIMINATE THE WIELDER BEFORE THE SPIRIT FULLY SYNCS!"
Aira looked down at the black blade in her hand.
"…Oh."
"Yes," Noctis said. "That reaction is appropriate."
Her grip tightened.
"I just touched a sword."
"You awakened a calamity."
"Same thing."
Arrows whistled past, slamming into trees around her.
Knights were already charging up the forest path.
Aira took one steadying breath.
"…How do I use you?"
A quiet answer echoed in her mind.
"The same way you breathe."
The first knight burst through the trees, sword blazing with holy light.
"For the safety of the kingdom—!"
Aira moved.
No thought. No plan.
Her body stepped forward, blade rising in a smooth arc that felt older than memory.
Black steel met glowing magic.
There was no clash.
The knight's sword split cleanly in half.
So did the spell.
So did the air behind him.
Silence fell.
The other knights froze.
Aira stared at the broken weapon on the ground.
"…I didn't swing that hard."
"No," Noctis said.
His voice carried something almost like sorrow.
"You just cut something that was never meant to be cut."
More knights were coming.
Behind her, smoke curled into the sky from her home.
Aira swallowed.
"…So. World-ending sword, huh?"
"Yes."
She adjusted her grip.
"…Guess I should learn how to use it properly."