Kael stared at the system interface in stunned silence, his glowing eye sockets fixed on the ethereal text floating before him. Each word seemed to pulse with a faint, otherworldly light, as if it carried immense significance.

He leaned closer, his skeletal fingers twitching in anticipation as he read aloud, his voice echoing in the dim void surrounding him:

(Name: Kael Crow)

(True Name: Phantom)

“Wait... A true name?” Kael whispered, his jaw dropping slightly, the hinges creaking faintly. “I have a true name!” His voice grew louder, the echo bouncing back to him, filling the emptiness.

In the game '10 Scrolls', true names were not mere labels; they signified greatness. Only promising individuals with powerful and rare abilities were granted 'true name'.

“Does that mean...” Kael began, his bony hand pressing against his sternum as if feeling for something that wasn’t there. “...that I’m strong? And I possess a rare, overwhelming power?”

He glanced down at his skeletal form, his empty ribcage gleaming faintly under the eerie light of the interface. The sight brought a grim realization that made him tilt his skull slightly in exasperation.

“But... I’m just a skeleton,” he muttered, his hollow sockets narrowing as though glaring at the system text. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The system’s unfeeling response came swiftly:

(Race: Skeleton)

Kael groaned, the sound rasping like dry wind through brittle leaves. “So I really am a skeleton... huh,” he said, rubbing the back of his skull in disbelief.

Shaking his head, he continued reading. The next line made him pause.

(Inventory: None)

(Equip: None)

A cold silence hung in the air as he digested the implications. His hands curled into fists, clenching tightly until faint cracks echoed from his fingers. “No weapons... no amour... How am I supposed to survive the Northern Serpent?” he muttered bitterly.

But before despair could take root, his sockets flared with a faint glow as his gaze landed on the next section.

(Abilities/Skills: Scythe Summoning, Scythe Mastery)

Scythe Summoning: user can summon scythe of different shapes and color.

Scythe Mystery: the user possess great experience using a scythe.

A faint chuckle escaped him, a sound both unsettling and oddly triumphant. “Abilities, huh?” he murmured, tilting his head to one side. “I can summon a scythe? And I also have masters level experience, wonderful!!”

Kael couldn’t help but laugh, the sound rattling unnervingly in the silence. “So my powers are useful,” he declared, his bony hands spreading wide as though embracing the realization. “They’ll definitely help me here.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

For a moment, Kael stood there, staring at the system text, his mind racing with possibilities. The void around him felt less suffocating now, the once-frigid air seeming to warm with his renewed confidence.

“Scythe, huh?” he whispered to himself, the name rolling off his tongue like a distant memory. His jaw set with determination, and his skeletal frame seemed to straighten, radiating a sense of purpose.

The faint glow from the system interface dimmed as Kael dismissed it with a thought. His sockets scanned the desolate environment around him. A cold wind howled through the barren landscape, rattling his bones. The desert winds blowing. Sand whipped around him, hissing against the weathered stones

His skeletal fingers curled into fists as he stared at the empty space in front of him.

Kael growled under his breath, the sound a rattling echo of frustration. "I will try and summon it, but I have a feeling this is going to be hard," he muttered. He raised his hand, bony fingers splayed, and called out into the darkness.

“Scythe, I summon you!”

Nothing.

The air was still, the surrounding quiet.

Kael’s shoulders sagged. “Useless,” he muttered. “Maybe I didn't call it well.”

"Scythe!"

Each call was more desperate than the last, but the result was always the same... silence. Kael stomped his skeletal foot against the stone, sending a small cascade of sand skittering down the pyramid.

“Why won’t it work?” he hissed. “I have the power.”

For a moment, he stood still, letting the cold wind wash over him. He thought back to the stories he had read, accounts of warriors and mages summoning their weapons with nothing more than a word or a thought. 'What am I missing?'

He decided to try a different approach. Instead of shouting names, Kael closed his eye sockets, focusing inward. He imagined the feeling of a scythe in his hands the weight, the texture, the power radiating from its core.

“Come,” he whispered this time, his voice barely audible against the wind. “You are mine. I call you to me.”

Again, nothing happened.

Kael sighed and sat down on the cold stone, staring at the horizon. He was losing hope. The stories had made it sound so easy, but reality had proven far more stubborn. Was it because he was a skeleton? An undead being with no soul to tie to a weapon?

As the night deepened, Kael’s frustration turned to anger. He stood abruptly, pacing the summit. “What if I don’t need the name?” he muttered, more to himself than anything else. “What if I need to picture”

He paused, staring into the empty air before him. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand again. This time, he imagined a scythe not its name, not its history, but the weapon itself. He pictured its curved blade gleaming in the moonlight, the shaft wrapped in dark leather, the aura of power it would exude.

Kael focused on every detail, the sharpness of the blade, the weight of the handle. He visualized it so vividly that he could almost feel its cold presence in his hands.

The air around him grew heavy.

Kael’s eye sockets flared as he felt a sudden pull in his chest, a tugging sensation that spread through his entire body. The wind died down, the world around him falling eerily silent.

Then, with a low hum, a dark mist began to gather before him. It swirled and twisted, taking shape. Kael’s bony hands trembled with anticipation. The mist solidified, forming into the weapon he had imagined.

A scythe.

Its blade was jagged, glinting like obsidian under the moonlight. The handle was wrapped in dark material that seemed to pulse with energy. The weapon radiated an aura of menace, as though it had been waiting for someone to claim it.

Kael reached out slowly, his skeletal fingers brushing against the handle. The moment he grasped it, a surge of power rushed through him. It was overwhelming, cold and intoxicating.

A laugh bubbled out of him, hollow and echoing. “Finally,” he whispered.

He swung the scythe experimentally. The blade cut through the air with a satisfying *whistle,* leaving a faint trail of dark energy in its wake. Kael could feel the weapon’s power coursing through him, amplifying his own.

He gazed at the scythe, the faint blue glow of his eyes reflecting off the blade. “So that’s the trick,” he said to himself. “It’s not about the name. It’s about the will to create.”

As he stood there, the scythe resting in his grip.