The clang of steel echoed in the air like a heartbeat, rhythmic and unforgiving.
Thalen staggered back, sweat slick across his brow, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. His opponent stood tall and calm, Kern, his longtime friend and now his better in every way. Kern's aura shimmered visibly around him, a warm gold that danced like sunlight on the edge of his twin daggers. It pulsed with confidence.
"Again?" Kern asked, not mockingly, but not gently either.
Thalen nodded, though his arms trembled. His sword a simple, mass-forged thing barely attuned to his aura felt heavier with each swing. The Blade Aura coursed within him, but it was raw, faint, dull. No sharp edges, no burning crescents of power like the others. Just a flicker. A whisper.
They were five in their group. Friends since the earliest days of training at the Ironbranch School. But only Thalen remained weak. Lira had awakened the Storm Aura. She could leap and twist with the wind. Vonn carried the brute Stone Aura, his every strike like a hammer. Kern Golden Edge Aura, graceful and fast. Nara, distant but brilliant, possessed the rare Mirage Aura, a spectral force that blurred vision and tricked minds.
And then there was Thalen, born with Blade Aura, perhaps the most common and underwhelming of them all.
"You're too rigid," Kern said, stepping back and sheathing his daggers. "Blade Aura needs fluidity. Grace. You're fighting like you're dragging chains."
"I know," Thalen muttered, gripping the hilt of his chipped sword. "I'm trying."
"Try less. Feel more."
Kern walked off to join the others by the training circle's edge. Lira tossed him a water flask. Nara said something that made them laugh. Vonn stretched his arms with a yawn and sat down.
Thalen stood alone in the center of the circle, the dirt beneath him churned with footprints, his most of all.
He lowered his sword and stared at its edge. Blunt in places, the metal dulled and cracked. It reflected nothing. Like him.
He remembered something their old master used to say: "Aura is born, but power is built."
Then why did it feel like no amount of building could fix what he lacked?
The sun dipped behind the horizon, and the world cooled. At dusk, the Ironbranch instructors let the students roam freely before lights-out. Thalen sat beneath the same tree he always did a crooked, leafless thing growing sideways from a rocky outcrop. The others avoided it, saying it was cursed. Thalen found comfort in its stubbornness.
Nara approached quietly, her steps soft, almost silent.
"You shouldn't overtrain," she said, her voice a calm hum. "You won't grow faster by breaking yourself."
"Maybe I'm already broken."
She didn't argue. Instead, she sat beside him, folding her legs beneath her. The air smelled of sweat, cold iron, and the faint scent of cherry leaves from the nearby shrine.
"Do you know the story of the First Tyrant?" she asked.
Thalen frowned. "The one who burned five kingdoms and vanished? It's just a myth."
"Most myths are truths buried in fear," Nara whispered. "He wielded the Tyrant Spirit, the highest form of aura. His presence alone crushed armies."
Thalen chuckled bitterly. "Well, I can't even win a friendly spar. I'm no tyrant."
"Not yet."
He turned to look at her. "What does that mean?"
But she was already standing, brushing dust from her robes. "You'll see. Just... don't give up before the world sees who you are."
That night, Thalen lay awake staring at the rafters above his bunk. He could hear Kern snoring nearby, the soft rustle of wind against the old window slats, and the quiet throb of something else.
His aura.
It was faint, but it was there a steady pulse at the edge of his awareness. He closed his eyes and focused on it. The instructors said aura could be shaped like breath, like movement, like thought.
Why are you so weak? he asked the Blade within him.
No answer. Just that same steady pulse.
Then he felt something shift. A vision, or perhaps a dream.
A field of swords. Thousands of them, broken and rusted, half-buried in ash. And in the center, a single blade stood upright, unblemished, its surface blacker than shadow and brighter than flame. Its hilt hummed with power. Its presence crushed the air.
He reached for it and woke in cold sweat, gasping.
The next morning, everything changed.
The five of them gathered near the edge of the campus where an official envoy had set up a large black banner bearing the symbol of the realm: a crimson circle around nine silver stars.
A Tyrant Spirit Examiner.
None had appeared in two decades.
Rumors spread like wildfire. Students whispered of the Tyrant Spirit Exam a forbidden, harrowing test that no one had passed since the last SSS Hero emerged. Of the thousands who had tried, only nine had succeeded in awakening the Tyrant Spirit. Nine heroes who now shaped the world with unimaginable power.
And now, for the first time in twenty years, the exam was open again.
Thalen's heart hammered in his chest. His friends looked just as stunned.
"We're taking it," Kern said immediately, his gold aura flaring at the edges.
Lira raised an eyebrow. "Are you insane? No one survives that thing. Not even prodigies."
"But what if we pass?" Kern grinned. "Think about it Tyrant Aura. That's real legacy."
One by one, the others nodded. Even Nara.
Thalen hesitated.
He didn't think he could win. He didn't think he was strong enough. But what had Nara said?
Not yet.
That evening, the five of them stood before the examiner cold-eyed woman dressed in obsidian robes. Her presence alone silenced the training yard.
"You will enter the Hall of Will," she said. "There, your aura will be tested not just its strength, but its nature. If you fail, you may lose the ability to channel aura ever again. If you pass…"
Her eyes glinted. "You will become something the world hasn't seen in twenty years."
No one spoke.
She led them to a hidden chamber beneath the citadel. Five doors. Five separate trials. No audience. No interference.
Thalen gripped his sword tightly. It felt heavier than ever.
He stepped through his door and the world changed.
He stood in a black void. There was no sound, no sky, no breath. Just stillness.
Before him stood... himself.
But stronger. Taller. With a sword that pulsed with impossible power. His aura flared like a living flame half silver, half violet. His gaze was cold. Absolute.
"Why do you seek power?" the reflection asked.
"To protect," Thalen whispered.
The reflection raised its blade. "Then protect yourself."
They fought. The duel was brutal, surreal. His reflection knew every move before he made it. His own aura barely sparked. He bled. He screamed. He crawled.
And still he rose.
His broken sword shattered completely. He reached out with bare hands.
"I won't give up," he rasped. "Even if I break. I'll forge myself again."
The void trembled.
From somewhere deep within him, something stirred.
Not a flame. Not a roar.
But a whisper.
Rise, Tyrant.
And everything went white.
Thalen collapsed outside the chamber hours later. His clothes torn, body scarred, sword gone. He could feel... more. His Blade Aura pulsed violently within him but twisted now, stronger, deeper. And below it, something darker and unfamiliar.
The examiner looked down at him, eyes narrowed.
"Well," she said. "Looks like we have our tenth."