Aric's eyes fluttered open slowly, his consciousness returning in fits and starts. He found himself lying in his own bed, tucked in snugly as if nothing had happened. Confusion clouded his thoughts as he tried to recall the events that had transpired on the rooftop. Memories flooded back — the fight with Laric, the fall from the rooftop, the strange power he had unleashed. He glanced down at his hands, expecting to see the gruesome aftermath of his sacrifice, but they were whole and unblemished, save for a faint trace of dried blood.

Laughter bubbled up from deep within him, unexpected and uncontrollable. Aric rolled over onto the floor, clutching his sides as he laughed until tears streamed down his face. It was a mixture of relief, disbelief, and exhilaration. He couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of it all — surviving a fall that should have been fatal, awakening powers he didn't know he possessed.

Eventually, the laughter subsided into breathless chuckles, leaving Aric gasping for air. He wiped the tears from his eyes and sat up slowly, still processing the enormity of what had happened. The dark aura, the sensation of power surging through him — they hadn't been a dream.

As he sat there, contemplating his newfound abilities, Aric felt a strange sensation spreading through his body. It started as a tingling warmth in his chest, then expanded outward like tendrils of shadow reaching through him. The darkness enveloped his arms, swirling around them with an ethereal glow of dark fire. Soon, his entire body was covered in this eerie aura, pulsating with power. Aric closed his eyes and focused, feeling the invisibility cloak him like a second skin. He became acutely aware of his surroundings, sensing the world around him in a way he never had before. It was as if he could blend into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness itself. He felt lighter, as if the very air around him responded to his will. The broken streets outside his window seemed sharper, more vivid, beckoning him to explore the depths of his newfound powers.

As he looked out the window, rain pattered against the glass, casting a soothing rhythm that matched the cadence of his thoughts. Curiosity nagged at him. Who had brought him back home? He racked his brain, trying to recall any hints or clues, but his memory of returning home remained blank. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened —. Rising from the floor, Aric decided to search his entire house, inspecting every room and corner. Despite his thorough examination, he found no trace of anything out of place or moved. It was as if he had simply appeared back in his bed, untouched and undisturbed.

Feeling emboldened, Aric turned his attention to his blade. With focused intent, he directed the dark energy towards it, watching as the shadows coiled around the weapon. The blade began to glow with a mesmerizing red-black light, the dark fire dancing along its edge. As he held the infused blade in his hands, Aric could sense the raw potential coursing through it. It felt alive, resonating with the same dark energy that now flowed within him.

He could do this with any weapon.

Turning his attention to the umbrella, Aric unfurled it with a fluid motion. Etched on its handle was a delicate pink heart, an unexpected contrast to the dark energy he wielded. Touching the heart lightly, he channeled the shadows into the umbrella. Instantly, the fabric shimmered with a faint, ethereal glow. With his sword at the ready, Aric stepped out of his house, raindrops mingling with the dark aura swirling around him.

He wondered if he could extend his newfound abilities to objects, making them invisible as well. Concentrating hard, he willed the shadows to cloak himself, the umbrella, and the sword.

For a moment, they vanished from sight, hidden within the folds of darkness. But almost immediately, a searing pain shot through Aric’s skull, a splitting headache that brought him to his knees. The agony was overwhelming, a stark reminder that his power had limits and he had nearly depleted his reserves.

Gasping for breath, Aric struggled to his feet, the pain ebbing but leaving him drained. He deactivated the invisibility spell, ensuring no one had seen him. The storm began to rage, the weather matching his turbulent emotions as he made his way to the Tenko Swords.

The journey through the storm was brutal, the wind and rain battering him from all sides. By the time he reached the gates of the Tenko Swords, he was shivering, body exhausted. Aric pounded on the gate.

After a tense moment, the gate creaked open, and a figure peered out at him. “Why have you come in such a horrible storm?” the person asked, concern evident in their voice.

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Aric, breathless, replied, “When I first stepped out, it was just a normal rain.”

The gatekeeper nodded, stepping aside to let him in. Aric stumbled inside, the warmth of the stronghold contrasting the raging storm outside. He didn’t waste any time, his desperation driving him forward. Spotting a familiar face among the crowd, he rushed over and grabbed them by the shoulders, shaking them slightly. “Where is Soren?” he demanded, his voice edged with urgency.

The person looked startled but quickly composed themselves. “Soren is in the training hall,” they said, pointing towards a large building at the center of the stronghold.

Aric furled the umbrella, stashing it in his shirt like he always did, and ran with his sword all the way to the training hall. The corridors blurred as he sprinted, his mind racing with thoughts of the power he had unleashed and the answers he sought.

Bursting into the training hall, he paused to catch his breath, scanning the room for Soren. The hall was filled with the sounds of clashing swords and grunts of exertion, warriors honing their skills. At the far end, Aric spotted Soren, engaged in a fierce duel.

“Soren!” Aric called out, his voice cutting through the din.

Soren turned, a look of surprise crossing his face. He parried his opponent’s strike and called for a halt to the training session. “Aric?” he said, walking towards him. “You never show up on training days.”

“I understand that today is a tournament day…” He said, A few moments later, Aric’s eyes opened wide, feeling the power flowing within him, mirroring his turbulent emotions. He looked at Soren with fierce determination. “I’m going to duel you and win, right now.”

Soren took a step back, puzzled. “What brought this on?”

Aric smiled, a confident and almost reckless glint in his eyes. “I want to use the smithy.”

Soren chuckled, though his expression quickly hardened. He drew his sword, his charismatic demeanor replaced by a serious, battle-ready stance. Aric balled his hands into fists, feeling the dark energy pulsate through him. He focused on the emptiness, calming himself as he met Soren’s gaze.

“Very well,” Soren said, positioning himself for combat. “Let’s see what you’ve got.

Aric remembered that even though his swordsmanship had improved, the Guild Master had superior experience. He whispered about emptiness, and the whole world faded except for Soren in front of him. His focus sharpened, and he looked impassively at his opponent. As Soren launched a lightning-fast jump, Aric moved instinctively, blocking the attack with power.

The clash of their swords echoed through the hall, and the spectators watched in awe as the duel unfolded. Aric’s dark aura flared around him. Despite Soren’s experience, Aric held his ground, matching him strike for strike. Their movements were a blur of speed and precision, each attack met with an equally powerful defense.

After a few more intense clashes, Aric began to realize that he and Soren were equally matched. The realization spurred him to think strategically. As their blades met again, Aric felt the power of his sword style. He decided to take a risk.

Using the momentum of their next clash, Aric started to pull Soren closer, leveraging their locked blades. With a swift and fluid motion, he released his grip on his sword with one hand and reached out. His bare hand, grasped Soren's wrist, and with a precise twist, he misdirected Soren’s sword.

The sudden maneuver threw Soren off balance, and Aric seized the opportunity. With a final, decisive move, he disarmed Soren, sending his sword clattering to the ground. The hall fell silent, the onlookers stunned by the outcome.

Aric stood over Soren, his breathing heavy but triumphant. The dark aura around him slowly faded, leaving him feeling both exhausted and exhilarated.

Soren looked up at him, surprise in his eyes. “Mhm,” he said, getting to his feet. “You’ve earned your right to talk to Mylene.”

Aric, still catching his breath, furrowed his brow. “Who’s Mylene?”

Soren smirked, brushing off the dust from his fall. “She’s our master blacksmith. The first guy who beat me never got a single piece of weaponry from her because she’s very picky about her clients. Earning the right to talk to her is no small feat.”

Aric's curiosity piqued, and he asked, “Where can I find her?”

Soren nodded, gesturing for Aric to follow. “I’ll take you to her. Everyone, I’ll be back soon,” he announced to the onlookers.

Aric followed Soren through the winding corridors of the stronghold. As they walked, the sounds of the storm outside seemed distant, replaced by the hum of activity within the stronghold. Warriors practiced, strategized, and honed their skills, but Aric’s thoughts were focused on what lay ahead.

Finally, they reached a heavy wooden door at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Soren knocked, and a voice from within beckoned them inside.

The room they entered was filled with the scent of molten metal and the rhythmic clang of a hammer on an anvil. At the center stood a woman, her muscles taut and her eyes sharp, inspecting a blade she had just finished forging.

“Mylene,” Soren called, and the woman looked up, setting the blade aside.

“This is Oni. He’s earned the right to speak with you,” Soren said, stepping aside to let Aric approach.