Velren's gaze was remained fixed on the weapon—its presence was tugging at him, urging him closer. He reached out, brushing his fingertips against the cool surface of the scabbard.
The katana rested against the wall with an understated grace, starkly different from the more conspicuous weapons surrounding it. Its scabbard was a deep matte black, subtle streaks of silver veins were tracing along its length like rivers beneath still waters.
The hilt, wrapped in dark gray cord, seemed worn yet well-cared for—functional rather than decorative. A simple, circular guard sat between the blade and its handle, etched with a faint, weathered pattern that looked almost like intersecting waves. There was no excessive ornamentation, no gems or engravings to boast of grandeur. Just simplicity—quiet and unyielding.
Velren gently slid his fingers along the scabbard's length. Cold at first... but beneath the chill, a hum vibrated against his skin, subtle but undeniable. Like a heartbeat not his own. His Ka stirred in response—uneasy, yet drawn in. There was a familiarity to it.
'There's no mistaking it... it has to be this one.'
A gruff voice interrupted the quiet room.
"The katana, huh?"
Velren turned to see Harven emerging from the backroom with a tiny box in his hand. The blacksmith's bulk seemed to fill the doorway as he strode over. Setting the box on the counter, Harven glanced at the weapon with something between reverence and curiosity.
"That blade... It ain't from these lands, that's for sure. Came across the blueprints from an old friend of mine, and scraps o' history in my younger days—foreign stuff from far beyond the continent. Took years of study, but I forged this based on what little I gathered. Said to be a weapon of precision,grace, and discipline. Not just somethin' to swing around—but to master. Its curve ain't for show—it's meant for swift, decisive strikes. No wasted movement. Every draw, and every swing was meant to be deliberate. Purposeful."
Velren listened, absorbing each of his word—but as the blacksmith spoke, an ironic chuckle slipped from his lips. It sounded hollow. Almost bitter.
Precision... grace... discipline. All things Harven described stood in stark contrast to what simmered beneath Velren's skin. He somewhat felt that his Ka was anything but controlled—volatile and wild, like a storm barely held at bay. His Vital Crest embodied disruption—tearing, fracturing, and overwhelming. No refinement. Just raw, unrelenting force.
And yet... here he was. Drawn to a weapon whose very nature seemed to oppose his own.
'Everything in this world has its opposite, huh?'
Gramps glanced at Velren's unreadable expression, let out a sigh, and stepped toward the counter.
"We'll take the katana," he said gruffly.
His gaze shifted to the small box in Harven's hand.
"And that too, if you don't mind."
With a practiced motion, Gramps dropped a pouch onto the counter. The satisfying clink of coins rattling inside echoed through the shop. It wasn't light.
Harven accepted it with a nod, stretching his weathered face into a faint smile.
"Always a pleasure doin' business with you."
***
Outside, the cool air greeted them as they stepped out onto the worn street. The sky was painted in hues of amber and deep blue, twilight settling in. Velren held the sheathed katana in his hand, the weight was solid yet oddly balanced. Holding it felt... foreign, yet familiar at the same time. Hard to explain—but the sensation settled somewhere between comfort and uncertainty.
Gramps walked ahead, thudding his boots against the dirt road. Velren lingered for a moment before calling out:
"Hey... Gramps."
The old man glanced back just as Velren bowed his upper body.
"Thank you."
Gramps snorted, but there was a glint in his eye.
"Looks like you still got manners after all," he muttered.
Turning on his heel, he waved over his shoulder.
"Shall we get movin', then?"
"We're headin' home?" Velren asked, falling into step beside him.
Gramps shot him a look like he'd asked something stupid.
"You insane? Course not. Not before I grab this week's booze supply."
'Figures...'
They walked on, eventually leaving the sketchy part of town behind. The narrow, grimy alleys gave way to the broader main road, where lanterns glowed softly and the air smelled faintly of roasted meats and fresh bread from nearby stalls. But something else caught Velren's attention—the crowd.
A large number of people had gathered on either side of the road, forming neat lines and leaving the center completely clear. Excited murmurs buzzed through the crowd, punctuated by occasional cheers and applause.
Velren slowed.
"What's going on?"
Gramps craned his neck, peering over the crowd.
"Hmph. Probably means the king's returned."
Velren blinked.
"The king? As in... the king of Elyndra?"
Before Gramps could answer, the sound of hoofbeats echoed along the empty street. A procession of horses and knights appeared at the far end, armor gleaming under the lantern light. The knights rode in disciplined formation, banners fluttering with the royal crest—an emblem of a soaring hawk against a crescent moon.
But it was the figure near the center that drew Velren's gaze.
A man rode a midnight-black horse, his posture was regal yet relaxed.
His armor was a masterful blend of functionality and elegance—dark steel inlaid with silver patterns that resembled swirling wind currents. A deep blue cloak billowed behind him, fastened at his shoulder with a brooch shaped like a hawk's talon. His hair, a dark shade of ash, was slicked back, revealing a face marked with faint scars and sharp, observant eyes that scanned the crowd without breaking composure.
That's... gotta be the king... right?
Velren watched the man pass, drifting his thoughts briefly.
Speaking of royalty...
He wondered how Solenne, that little girl he saved, was doing. She was a princess, after all, wasn't she? So that man up there—
'That must be her father, huh?'
Gramps nudged Velren with an elbow.
"C'mon, let's get movin' before it gets dark. We ain't standin' around gawkin' all night."
"Yeah... sure," Velren muttered, casting a final glance at the convoy.
When suddenly—
BZZZT.
Velren flinched. His Codex flickered to life unprompted, and the holographic interface was sparking with glitching symbols. Lines of text twisted and scrambled before settling into a distorted message:
[Warn1ng: Data Br3ach Det3cted. Acc3ss t0 User informat1on—Unauth0rized Vi3wing 1n Pr0gress!!//]