Reine's vision began to fracture, the edges of the world fraying into a dull, grey blur. He felt his body tilt, the gravity of his exhaustion finally winning the battle. He watched, as if in slow motion, as Morgo's silhouette sprinted toward him, the old man's face twisted in a mask of panic. Reine wanted to reach out, to say he was fine, but his limbs were made of lead.
Before Morgo's hands could touch his shoulders, everything surrendered to the dark.
The Weight of the Mythic
An eye opened violently.
Reine tried to bolt upright, but his nervous system screamed. It felt as though his bones had been replaced with iron bars and his muscles were cinched to the mattress with heavy, rusted chains. He wasn't dead, but he was a prisoner of his own recovery.
"I didn't die this time," Reine wheezed, the air burning in his lungs. "But this body... it's taken a massive toll. Using that junky sword was like pouring lava through a straw."
"Hey, watch your mouth," a voice vibrated inside his skull.
Reine's heart spiked. He was alone in the room, yet the voice was as clear as a bell.
"You simply are not worthy of wielding an artifact like me... but I suppose your determination is... admirable. In a pathetic, mortal sort of way."
Reine didn't respond. He stared at the cracks in the ceiling, his mind drifting.
"HEY! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Then respond, fool! Acknowledge the greatness before you!"
"No thank you," Reine muttered.
"The disrespect! The legendary Aurelian would have had you executed for such a tone in the ages of old!" the sword grunted, its mana signature pulsing with offense.
"Yeah, right. Stop bluffing," Reine countered, his voice flat. "If you're so 'legendary,' what were you doing in the hands of someone like Elena? She was a common soldier."
Aurelian fell silent. The vibration in Reine's mind grew heavy, then faded into a low, mournful hum. "I don't know..."
"What?"
"I don't remember anything before I met her. I just know she wasn't worthy... but at least she wasn't stubborn. She didn't hesitate to give up on wielding me when the pressure became too much. Unlike you."
Reine felt the jab, but before he could retort, the door burst open.
The Confrontation
It was Argol. Reine knew the heavy, uneven gait, though he couldn't even twist his neck to see him.
"Are you awake?"
"I think so... how long have I been a vegetable?"
Argol stepped into Reine's line of sight, counting on his fingers with a distracted air. "Uhh... about a day. But don't worry, the old man said you'd be back on your feet in two or three more days."
"I see... how is the kid? The one from the barrels?"
"She's fine. She's been asking about you. She was really sad when she saw you collapse like that after the fight."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah..." Argol's voice dropped. He didn't sit down. He stood by the foot of the bed, his shoulders hunched. The goofy, cheerful soldier who had joked about snacks in the forest was gone. This Argol looked like he had aged ten years in twenty-four hours.
"What's the matter, Argol?"
"How... how did you do it, Reine?" Argol's voice was a low tremble. "How did you get this strong in a few days? It's only been four days since we fought that Paekl Knight. Four days. Back then, you were just... you. But now? You're a monster."
Argol stepped closer, his eyes wet and searching. "Are you even really Reine anymore? I watched you. I saw you fight those Orcs while I was frozen. I saw you destroy four of them with ease—creatures that would have taken four of me just to scratch. Where did this come from?"
'He's got you cornered, kid,' Aurelian mocked in his head. 'The truth is a heavy thing to hide.'
Reine looked at his friend's pained face and felt a rare surge of guilt. He couldn't keep doing this. He couldn't keep treating Argol like a background character in a story only he understood.
"Argol... I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier," Reine began, his voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't just train. I can regre—"
The Taboo and the Void
The moment the forbidden word crossed his lips, reality buckled.
Reine's vocal cords didn't just fail—they felt as though they had been seized by white-hot pliers and torn out. He choked, a spray of dark blood erupting from his mouth and painting the bedsheets.
Time didn't just stop; it died. The atmosphere turned a bruised, sickly violet, thick with the same otherworldly dread he had felt from the Dark Knight. Argol's face was frozen in a mask of concern, a tear hanging motionless on his cheek.
Everything turned black.
"Shhhhh..."
A whisper traveled through the darkness. It didn't come from a direction; it came from everywhere. It was the sound of a thousand voices exhaling at once.
"The secret is not yours to give..."
The whispers multiplied, crawling over Reine's skin like invisible insects. The pressure in his head built until his eardrums threatened to pop. He was being erased, his very existence being pulled back through a needle's eye.
SNAP.