Six Months
It was enough time to forget a name.
Enough time to kill the boy who once laughed beneath a willow tree.
Enough time to forge something else in his place.
Something sharp. Something silent.
Something necessary.
---
The chamber was cold, lit only by the violet flame suspended above the ritual floor — a ring of shadowglass etched with ancient sigils, each one pulsing faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He knelt at its center, body still, breath even.
Every muscle honed. Every emotion buried beneath purpose.
> "Name?"
The voice came from the darkness — emotionless, ritualistic.
The boy opened his eyes.
He did not hesitate.
> "Zero."
Not Aisu. Not anymore.
---
The mentors of the Noctis Sanctum stood above him, cloaked in dusk-colored robes. Each one a phantom of past wars, branded by betrayal and tempered by vengeance.
And among them, the leader stepped forward.
Codename: Veil.
A man of no recorded name, his aura a quiet storm of death and calm. His mask was porcelain-black, his voice low and firm.
> "You have trained under flame, silence, steel, and shadow.
You have endured what would break lesser men.
Now you carry a name not bound by birth — but forged by fire."
He did not hand him a dagger.
Instead, from a black cloth beside the altar, Veil drew a weapon.
It was a sword, straight and slightly curved at the tip, forged from obsidian alloy and veined with shimmering auric lines. The edge hummed faintly with dormant power, pulsing with the energy of its new master.
> "This is Umbrawyrm," Veil said. "Forged in the dark. Binds to the will of its wielder.
Now it's yours."
He offered the black blade to Zero — who stood, silent, and gripped the hilt.
In that moment, the sword reacted — a faint aura crackling down the edge, responding to Zero's resonance. Not light. Not flame.
Something colder.
---
Six months ago, Aisu Erlic could barely control his aura. He could barely block a strike, barely run ten strides without stumbling.
Now…
He vanished from the sigil circle in a blur.
Speed. Silence. Precision.
Zero moved like a ghost between the pillars, landing soundlessly beside the exit as if he'd always been there. His sword was already sheathed across his back, perfectly positioned.
The others didn't speak, but he saw the flicker of approval in Veil's nod.
---
In the silent tunnels of the Sanctum, Zero walked beside Serei Valtor, one of the few members who treated him with something close to warmth. And trailing a few steps behind was a new face — a quiet girl with dark emerald eyes and gloves stitched with runic thread.
> "Riven," Serei introduced. "She'll be observing your mission. She's new."
Riven bowed her head slightly. "I've heard about you."
Zero said nothing.
Riven didn't seem offended. She merely watched him with a quiet sort of attention — not admiration, not awe. Just focus.
---
The mission was simple.
A small outpost run by suspected Arbiters had gone dark. Too clean. Too quiet. Sanctum scouts found nothing, but the last vision orb recorded faint traces of dark mana — the kind that should only exist beyond the Rift.
Zero was to infiltrate. Alone. Confirm. Extract any data. Kill only if necessary.
Serei placed a hand on his shoulder before he left.
> "You were once a boy who smiled too much.
You don't have to be heartless now… but you can't be soft."
He didn't nod. He didn't reply.
He simply turned and walked into the night, sword strapped to his back, aura thrumming like silent thunder.
---
They watched him go — the prodigy born in silence, raised in the ruins of justice.
> "Do you think he's ready?" Riven asked.
Serei folded her arms. "No."
"Then why send him?"
"Because he won't become what he needs to be… until he faces what he's afraid of."
---
In the forest, Zero sprinted like a wraith across the canopy. His body cut through branches, flipped over stone, weaved between trees without sound. His aura — now refined into thin filaments wrapped around his limbs — enhanced every movement, every thought, every strike.
He landed before the outpost in the dead of night.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Zero's eyes narrowed.
He unsheathed Umbrawyrm, the black blade hissing faintly as it left the scabbard. Not for the kill.
For the truth.