Location: Temple Complex – Outer Courtyard (Ruined Bell Site)
Time: [Cycle 6 : 02:31 – 03:00 Local Drift]
Ren trudged across the cracked tiles, still holding his now-slightly-less-useless sword like it owed him rent.
He turned a corner, heading away from the old bell site, except—
"The fuck?"
He blinked.
He was back at the bell site.
Again.
He stood perfectly still, staring at the familiar space where he'd first drawn the sword. But now?
It wasn't beautiful. It was wrong.
What was once a dreamlike veil of clouds and shimmer now looked like a cosmic crime scene.
Small, pond-sized pools of blood dotted the marble ground — not fresh, not dry. Still pulsing. Still humming.
Floating above them like lazy fireflies were shards of magic — fractured glyphs, broken enchantments, fragments of ruined barriers, drifting through the air like sad confetti from a dead god's birthday party.
No corpses.
Just stains.
And him.
He stepped closer.
There, at the exact point where he had unsheathed the sword days (or was it hours?) ago, was a plaque. Glowing faintly.
He hadn't noticed it before — probably because his life was on fire back then.
Now, he read it:
"To the Bearer of This Blade:
By claiming this sword, you have awakened one of the Last Weapons.
You must name it.
You must bind it.
You must earn it.
Refusal will result in ongoing interference by awakened cognitive fragments.
Side effects may include: insomnia, magical schizophrenia, sword moodiness, inappropriate inner monologues, spontaneous sparring scenarios, and arousal in combat."
THIS IS A CONTRACT. NAME THE BLADE, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.
– The Veinforged Manual, Section 69-A (yes, really)"
Ren blinked.
Then sighed.
And turned away.
"Yeah, I'm just… not doing that yet."
(CORE, distant, snarky):
"How many times do we have to teach you this lesson, boy?"
(SWORD, offended):
"He has trust issues. Possibly erectile hesitation too."
(BLAZE):
"Let him name the damn sword! We could've been Soul Blade McFucksalot by now!"
(FROST, coolly):
"Perhaps he's waiting for something meaningful. Or maybe he's just a dumbass."
Ren rubbed his temples. "Oh my god, are you all still talking? Do you EVER shut up?"
A pause.
Then a chuckle.
(CORE):
"Only when you're unconscious. Or dead. Both are great."
The magic in the air pulsed.
And suddenly Ren asked, "Wait. Can anyone scan this area? I don't see anyone alive but me, and I don't want to step in cursed corpse juice."
Silence.
Then—
(FROST, prim):
"…I can."
(CORE):
"…You what?"
(BLAZE):
"Bitch what do you mean you CAN?!"
(SWORD):
"Excuse me — since when has she had scan mode?"
(FROST):
"Always. I'm an adaptive cognition shard. I simply chose not to bring it up around lesser beings."
(EVERYONE IN UNISON):
"BITCH."
Ren groaned.
And then — the air dropped twenty degrees.
Ice bloomed across the stones, sharp and elegant, and a gust of chill wind blew inward like an entrance cue.
Frost's voice grew louder, and then she appeared — physically — standing in front of him.
A woman sculpted like winter herself.
Hair white as snowfall, long and silky. Eyes of piercing glacial blue. Pale skin with a shimmer of arcane light beneath it. Her outfit was barely more than snow-draped combat gear — part war mage, part seductress, all ice queen.
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
"Scanning," she said flatly. "Because clearly someone around here needs me to do everything."
Ren blinked.
"…Frost?"
(BLAZE, echoing in his brain):
"Why does she get legs and I'm stuck in your ribcage like a fucking chest warmer?"
(CORE):
"Because she's petty. And has better fashion sense."
(SWORD):
"I liked her more when she was a cold voice in the distance judging us silently."
(FROST, not looking at any of them):
"You're all just mad because I have actual presence. And cleavage."
She finished scanning — a delicate swirl of ice magic radiating outwards like snow blooming in reverse.
"…No survivors," she said. "Residual magic indicates a conflict of Guardian-class intensity. Someone unleashed a Vein-tier artifact here — then covered their tracks."
She turned to Ren.
"You should name the sword, by the way. This is all your fault."
Ren looked up at the drifting fragments of light in the air, the glowing blood pools, and the absolutely zero fucks this realm was giving anymore.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "I'm starting to feel that."
Ren was about to ask Frost what exactly "Vein-tier conflict" meant when his sword twitched.
Not metaphorically.
Physically.
In his hand.
"Heads up," the sword murmured. "She's back. The spicy one with the thread kink."
Ren turned.
A figure stepped from between two broken pillars — slowly, cautiously. The masked-thread-girl.
Same half-mask. Same silver-thread weapon coiled around her hip like a pet snake. But this time?
She wasn't stalking.
She looked… lost.
She glanced around at the blood ponds, the fragments, the floating glyphs, and frowned.
"…Again?" she muttered. "This fucking place loops?"
She spotted Ren.
Paused.
Then walked over like she wasn't sure whether to fight him, flirt with him, or ask for directions.
"Okay," she said, stopping a few feet from him, "before you start swinging that sword like it's a cosplay prop, I come in peace. Sort of."
Ren narrowed his eyes.
"And you're not stalking me again why, exactly?"
She sighed, adjusted the strap on her thigh-blade.
"Same reason as you, apparently. I left the outer perimeter to scout… and ended up right back here. Either this courtyard's enchanted or the Vein is messing with navigation logic again."
(FROST, arms folded):
"It's both. But sure. Blame the terrain like an amateur."
Masked-girl glanced at Frost, blinked.
"You brought an aspect construct into physical space?"
Ren: "She brought herself."
(BLAZE, in his skull):
"Jealous already. I like her."
The girl looked at the blood pools again.
"…This isn't casual," she said. "These stains? They're from a class-two arcane rupture. Someone tried to destroy evidence here."
She looked at him.
"And that sword's not ordinary. You've probably figured that out."
Ren: "Oh, you mean the snarky one that won't shut up in my head? Yeah. Super ordinary."
She took a deep breath. Then — she dropped the formal Guardian posture and actually relaxed.
"…Let's make a deal," she said.
Ren raised an eyebrow. "You want something from me?"
"Yeah," she replied. "Answers. I'll give you mine. You give me yours."
He folded his arms, still cautious. "Like what?"
She looked directly at him now. Voice lower.
"I want to know what the fuck happened here… and why Guardians are hunting you."
Pause.
Then softer — more carefully:
"I'm also… looking for someone. A girl. Quiet. Carries a crystal orb in her right hand. All the time. Like it's part of her body."
Ren didn't flinch.
But his soul screamed internally.
(CORE, muttering):
"...fuck."
(SWORD):
"How awkward. You're both hunting the same woman, and only one of you's probably kissed her."
(FROST, quietly):
"Temporal-class. Definitely."
(BLAZE):
"Should we tell her he's sleeping 30 feet from that girl? Or let the drama marinate?"
Ren, forcing neutrality, asked: "Why are you looking for her?"
The girl hesitated. Her voice went softer. Almost… pained.
"She disappeared. Vanished off our logs three cycles ago. No Drift signature. No trace. And someone's been scrubbing records."
She looked up.
"She's dangerous. Powerful. Resonant-class. Some say she defected. Some say she's dead. But I don't buy it."
She stepped closer.
"If you know anything… tell me."
Ren met her gaze.
"I will. If you tell me who you are."
She nodded.
Then removed her mask.
Underneath: a young woman with sun-warmed skin, an old scar near her right eyebrow, and tired, hardened eyes that had seen too much for someone her age.
"My name's Riven," she said. "Riven Cael'Varn. Guardian 4th Class. Assigned to the Solmerea Retrieval Directive."
She looked at him, eyes sharp.
"I'm looking for her. The girl with the crystal orb."
Ren's heart pounded.
And Frost, for once, stayed quiet.
Because now?
The stakes just got intimate.
He was standing between Riven, a loyal Guardian on a hunt for the truth…
…and Lira, the Temporal Warden-Class Resonant — the fucking HEAD of Guardian Command — currently sleeping like an amnesiac exile 30 meters away.
Ren scratched the back of his neck.
"Okay. Look. Uh… funny thing about that."
He took a deep breath.
Then immediately fucked it all up.
"So… you know how, like, she maybe got cursed or time-nuked or cosmic-flushed or whatever?" Ren started, flailing his arms vaguely. "She crash-landed here. Drifted in without clearance — kind of like doing cosmic hitchhiking blindfolded through traffic."
Riven raised an eyebrow.
"…Cosmic hitchhiking?"
"Yeah, and then she tried to hide — she really tried, like, fake name, fake vibe, fake everything — but something went off. Her power signature leaked or the resonance spiked or she burped in chrono-code or whatever and boom! Enforcers picked up the scent."
(CORE, dry):
"I want to die again just listening to this."
(BLAZE):
"He's talking like a toddler who saw a murder and wants to explain it using crayons."
(FROST, sighing):
"So help me, I will freeze this conversation if he says 'chrono-burp' again."
(SWORD):
"It's like watching someone try to explain a forbidden interstellar conspiracy with a finger puppet show."
Ren continued, oblivious to the heckle-storm in his skull.
"So then I show up and — bam — she's in trouble, right? Like full-on magical cuffs, Enforcers talking about 'unauthorized chrono presence' and 'arrest the anomaly.' And I'm like: No thanks, nerds, and I help her escape."
He held up a finger like he just won something.
"Which is why now they think I cursed her! Or corrupted her! Or — I don't know, emotionally entangled her with my mortal stupidity or whatever."
(CORE):
"He just called himself emotionally contagious."
(BLAZE):
"That tracks."
(FROST):
"...It does explain why we're all stuck with him."
Riven blinked, taking all that in.
"…So the enforcers want her. The Guardians think you compromised her. And meanwhile she's hiding like a fugitive chronomancer under a temple."
Ren shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah."
"And you've just… been vibing with her in secret?"
"…I mean, vibing is a strong word. We've had tea. Some trauma bonding. One intense forehead touch."
(BLAZE, groaning):
"He makes it sound like a Tinder date between wanted war criminals."
(SWORD):
"Oh gods. He is the curse."
Ren held up both hands. "Anyway! You wanna meet her? I can take you to her. She's… she's recovering. Not at full power yet. But if you wanna talk, I'll let you."
(CORE):
"Did he just say 'let' her meet the head of her own fucking command structure?"
(FROST):
"He did. I felt a blood vessel rupture in my elegance."
(BLAZE):
"Let me introduce you to your literal boss and suspected demigod — it'll be fine."
Riven stared at him, clearly weighing a dozen responses, but all she said was:
"…You're brave. Or stupid."
Ren grinned. "Por qué no los dos?"
That's when Frost's eyes flared icy blue.
She turned toward the ruined bell, then knelt — her hand pressing to a crack in the stone floor.
"…There's a path," she whispered. "Old. Folded. Residual Vein. Hidden beneath a cloaking fracture."
She stood slowly, frost blooming outward beneath her boots.
"Exit route confirmed. May require spatial threading and moderate dimensional squeeze."
Ren blinked. "Dimensional what?"
(FROST, smug):
"You'll be fine. Your skull is empty — less resistance."
The stone beneath the ruined bell shifted, then opened.
A narrow slit appeared, revealing ancient stairs sloping downward, pulsing with residual magic and faint Veinlight.
Riven squinted. "This feels… illegal."
Frost smirked. "It is. Let's go."
Ren swallowed, shouldered the sword, and took the first step in.
"Cool. Great. Totally not about to crawl into a star-broken hellhole while being hunted by both sides of the galaxy."
Riven followed close behind, tightening her gloves.
Frost walked ahead like she owned the realm itself.
And somewhere, deep in Ren's skull…
(SWORD):
"Still waiting for my name, dumbass."
Location: Temple Complex – Lira's Room
Time: [Cycle 6 : 05:00 – 05:50 Local Drift]
The Veinpath sealed behind them, the residual magic sizzling into the air like the final sigh of a forgotten god.
They made it back.
Riven was silent the whole way. Frost kept her thoughts to herself. Blaze flirted with every wall they passed, but even she was more subdued.
Ren opened the door to Lira's room.
And stopped.
She was still there.
Lira.
Pale, quiet, radiant even in stillness. Her breath shallow but steady. The crystal orb — as always — resting beside her hand like it was part of her body.
She opened her eyes.
And froze.
Riven stood at the doorway, frozen as well.
"…General," she whispered.
Then she dropped to one knee.
A Guardian's bow — perfect form, hand to chest, one fist on the floor.
Tears shimmered down her cheeks, but her voice was steady.
"I failed to find you, my lady. I failed… and I thought you were gone."
Lira blinked slowly.
Then, with aching grace, she sat up.
She reached toward Riven, her fingers trembling — not from weakness, but from everything unspoken between them.
She touched her shoulder. Gently.
Then smiled.
"…And yet here you are, soldier. Alive. And still loyal."
Riven bowed her head again, this time pressing her forehead into Lira's hand.
Ren quietly stepped aside, heart heavy, throat tight.
Lira looked up at him.
She nodded.
"Tell her, Ren."
He blinked. "You sure?"
She smiled — sad, tired, beautiful.
"She deserves to know. You deserve to hear it too."
And so Lira told the story.
She had been the highest-ranked Chrono-Guardian in the Verge Ring.
Temporal Warden-Class Resonant — the only one in three generations.
She didn't just bend time. She sang with it. She was feared, revered, and watched constantly.
She'd broken one law.
One.
She had tried to stop a forbidden war between two of Solmerea's ruling empires — the Crimson Petal Dynasty and House Aurelix.
The moment she interfered, she became a threat to both.
The priest who cursed her?
Grand Seer Voromex, spiritual hammer of House Aurelix.
A man who wielded dimensional decay like a scalpel and believed time manipulation was heresy — even if sanctioned.
He shattered her link to the timeline, compressed her power into fragments, and exiled her through an unstable Drift.
Her sentence?
Eternal memory erosion. No anchor. No return.
Lira's voice cracked just slightly.
"Ren found me. No memory. No power. Nothing but a name."
She looked up at Riven.
"He saved me before I even remembered who I was."
Riven nodded, fists clenched, face streaked with tears.
"…Then we owe him more than I can ever repay."
Lira looked at Ren again.
"And the curse? It can only be broken with dimensional core fragments. Rare. Dangerous. Kept only by ancient systems — or… what's left of Yxtrielle."
Ren went pale. "You mean the silent planet? The 'ships-vanish-there' one?"
Lira just nodded.
Riven stared at the orb in Lira's hand. "And you're still using your resonance?"
Lira smiled faintly.
"Barely. Enough to stay awake. But not enough to fight."
Ren swallowed the knot in his throat.
"…I'll let you two talk."
And he slipped out, leaving them in peace.
📍 Outer Temple Steps – 05:57 Local Drift
He sat on the old stone steps, sword across his lap, staring at the rising Veinlight. Frost stood nearby. Blaze lounged on a broken column like a swimsuit model with pyromania.
And of course — the internal group chat was alive and roasting.
(SWORD, suspicious):
"So. Are you… finally going to name me? Or are we prolonging this toxic relationship?"
(CORE, sighing):
"Do not let him name you. This is the man who once called a soul crystal 'glowy peanut'."
(BLAZE):
"Name it Thrust Daddy. It's what I'd want if I were a weapon."
(FROST, disgusted):
"You're not even subtle anymore."
(BLAZE):
"I was born of flame and impulse, darling. I have no brakes."
(SWORD):
"Name me something worthy. Something ancient. Something powerful."
(REN, muttering):
"…What about 'Choppy McTimeslicer'?"
(EVERYONE, IN UNISON):
"NO."
(CORE):
"He should never be allowed to name things."
(FROST):
"At this point, I'd settle for something halfway serious. Just don't call it 'Stabby.'"
(BLAZE):
"I like 'Firegasm.'"
(SWORD):
"If you name me 'Firegasm,' I will unbind myself from reality and haunt your bloodline."
Ren groaned, gripping the hilt.
"Alright! Alright. Something serious. Something… earned."
He looked down at the blade.
"…You've been through hell with me. You've saved my ass. Argued with me. Mocked me. But you never left."
He breathed in deep.
"How about…"
"Vey'stryx."
Silence.
The name echoed.
The sword pulsed.
(SWORD, softly):
"…That will do."
Blaze pouted.
"Ugh. No thrust jokes?"
Frost sighed.
Ren smiled, finally… connected.
And inside the temple, two warriors embraced again — reunited by time, fate, and one stubborn idiot with a half-broken heart and a newly named sword.