"I lived through something i still don't fully understand"
"Good job,both of you"Draven praised them.
"Now, who are you and what are you doing inside the lattice?"Draven asked the man.
"My name is Caldus Von,I am an Engraved - Grade Collector, I was passing by when I sensed this luminox and came in to collect it"the man replied.
"If you're an Engraved - Grade Collector,then you shouldn't even have entered an Astryx - Grade portal, Don't you know how dangerous it is?
You could have easily lost your life here."Draven said furiously.
"I'm sorry. I thought if i could collect a Astryx - Grade Luminox i could have my grade increased and get more powerful."the man said, his voice cracking with regret.
"What's an Engraved - Grade Collector?"Viritius asked.
"Like how Luminox have grades, Collector's also have grades -
Initiate - Grade - the lowest
Engraved - Grade
Axis - Grade
Myriad - Grade
Sovereign - Grade - the highest
The grade of every collector is given to them by The Echelon."Draven answered.
"So what Grade are you?"Viritius asked him.
Draven ignoring the question"We have been in the lattice long enough i think its time to collect the Luminox".
Saying that he went in front of the door of the building, put his hand on the door and opened it.
Seeing what was inside he smiled and said " I knew the challenges were too easy for an Astryx - Grade, So you are the real challenge, huh?"
Arynx who was right behind Draven looked past him and what he saw behind the doors was mesmerizing.
A hall with a circular arena carved into the floor, its edges traced with faint, dormant sigil-lines, reputing into geometric spirals that felt planned.
The ceiling soared impossibly high, ribbed by lattice-shaped stone arches — not broken or damaged, but engineered for symmetry, curated precision. From above, countless glass-like stones hovered in slow suspension, drifting like frozen sparks waiting for permission to ignite.
Massive pillars, smooth and uncracked, stood around the arena like spectators who never blink. Vine-patterns weren't creeping over them — they were carved into the stone intentionally, as if nature had been invited rather than invading.
And in the middle of it all stood a statue.
A towering knight statue carved from deep black obsidian, standing in the center of the hall like a silent monument to an empire long gone.
It was massive — easily 12–15 feet tall, yet not bulky. Its armor was sculpted with breathtaking detail:
layered plates,
engraved edges,
intricate grooves like hand-drawn constellations trapped in stone.
The helmet fully covered the face, shaped like a noble knight from old legends — a closed visor, smooth and dignified, not spiked or demonic, giving it a proud, disciplined silence.
The sword it held wasn't raised to strike — it pointed gently toward the floor.
Thin fractures webbed across the statue's body — not violent cracks from damage, but natural lines in the obsidian, like fragile beauty preserved too long. They made it look ancient, emotional, almost tragic, rather than shattered or ruined.
"It's so beautiful"thought Arynx.
But as soon as Draven took his first step into the hall, the atmosphere changed.
The arena floor — a huge circle of old glowing runes — lights up instantly, forming shapes and patterns, like a system switching on after being asleep for ages.
The massive black knight statue in the center glows brighter in purple, the runes on its armor shining stronger now, like it recognized someone stepped into its territory.
The obsidian begins to shake gently, not like it's angry, but like something inside it is waking up, like an egg cracking because it's time, not because it broke.
Then,The knight statue shatters
The stone armor breaks into hundreds of floating shards, but instead of falling — they freeze in the air, suspended like meteor fragments.
Out of the floating obsidian shards emerged a tall, humanoid demon, with a body that looked carved from black smoke and starless void, shimmering faintly at the edges like heat rising from falling meteors.
His face was sharp but eerily beautiful, with calm, aristocratic features . Two backward-curving horns rose from his head which were made out of purple flames, not monstrous spikes, giving him the elegance of fallen royalty rather than terror.
And from his back unfolded two vast wings, not of bone or feather, but of living violet fire. The flames were purple and silent, burning without smoke or sound, flickering like stars dissolving into light. They didn't roar — they flowed, curling outward like a calm supernova frozen in wind.
At a flick of his finger, the broken knight fragments reshaped around his body, attaching like armor pieces forged in orbit — a breastplate from a cracked chest, gauntlets from shattered arms, greaves from fractured legs. The armor was huge, jet black, but instead of looking cruel, it looked ceremonial, heavy with legend, beautiful in ruin.
Arynx was both terrified and amazed by how he looked.
"You three i want you to stay back"Draven yelled.There was now a scary smile on his face.The smile of a hunter who had finally met the thing worth hunting.
He took a few steps forward and threw off the black cloak he had been wearing all this time.
His clothing was a custom duelist's garb designed by someone who valued speed, style, and survival equally.
The tunic was midnight black at the core, absorbing light rather than reflecting it, but the seams and structural edges were lined with cold electric-blue accents.
The blue wasn't loud — it was precise, cutting along his shoulders, waist, and spine like guided circuitry woven into fabric.
His sleeveless tunic rose into a knife-sharp high collar, edged in cobalt blue, giving him a look that said fighter, not soldier. The chest carried hidden reinforcement beneath the cloth, hinted only by geometric blue stitching patterns, arranged like intentional design, not armor bulk.
Beneath, the undershirt was a dark breathable weave, black mixed with subtle navy, built for flexibility.
His tapered tactical pants were jet black, with deep-blue hard-padding stitched into the outer thighs and knees, shaped into angular cuts that enhanced his silhouette rather than weighing it down.
His boots climbed up to his knees — obsidian black, reinforced by thin metallic blue fasteners, glowing subtly like quiet lightning resting before motion.
He looked like night trained by storm, calm tutored by blade.
On his left forearm lay a tattoo , sleek and silent.
The tattoo was a thin curved saber formed in deep indigo ink, fading into mist at the tip, but the wind-trails left behind it were bright neon-blue, streaking outward like a blade swinging fast enough to become nothing but memory and momentum.
"That tattoo....I recognise it"said Caldus his whole face in shock.His hand pointing at Draven's forearm.
"There is no mistake.... You're him"
His voice swelled with awe, louder than the silent hall deserved… yet the hall let him speak.
"The strongest Sovereign-Grade Collector of today," the man proclaimed.
"The legend with no equal. The only Collector alive today who achieved what others only whisper about —
the one who collected a Dominion-Grade Luminox."
"A man who didn't just climb the ranks of The Echelon —
he redefined what rank even meant."
His voice dropped, but only so it could rise even stronger:
"A Collector feared by monsters and honored by the people."
"The Collector who walked out of impossible portals without hesitation and didn't just survive tests… he retired them."
"They say the hallways always remember his footsteps…because he is not just powerful....
He is the benchmark."
He bowed his head slightly, voice hushed like legends hearing their own echo, final proclamation forged in admiration rather than sound:
"The strongest Sovereign-Grade, the wielder of the Silent Blade,
the undefeated champion of the Imperium....."
He inhaled, slow, almost crying from awe, and yelled:
"The one and only…"
"Saber Ghost."