Shadows of the Sword

 We made our way back to the academy, but my mind was somewhere else—back in that dungeon, with the sword still pulsing in my hand, and the battlefield that had stretched endlessly before me. The others didn’t know what I had seen. How could they? No one else had felt it.

No one else had witnessed that war.

Rash kept glancing at me as we walked, his face twisted in a mixture of confusion and frustration. Elysia, Alexia, and Lessie were talking amongst themselves, their voices distant. The usual camaraderie felt strained, though I couldn’t blame them. After what had just happened in that dungeon, the energy around us was different—darker.

But they didn’t know. Only I knew what was off.

“Are you okay, Flame?” Rash asked,

stepping closer as we crossed through the academy gates. His voice was low, cautious, as though he was afraid of the answer.

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go. I couldn’t tell him about the vision, not yet. Hell, I didn’t even understand it myself. The others would just think I’d lost it, or worse, that I wasn’t ready to lead them anymore. No—this was something I needed to figure out on my own.

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Back at the Academy

We split up once we reached the academy grounds, the towering spires of DIRS casting long shadows under the setting sun. It was supposed to be a place of knowledge, a sanctuary for those of us who were chosen to study the arcane. But tonight, it felt more like a cage, keeping something sinister hidden within.

The others wandered off to unwind after the dungeon mission, their faces still bruised from the monsters we had fought. I stayed behind, lingering by the entrance, watching them disappear into the maze of hallways.

“Flame.”

Elysia’s voice broke through the quiet, soft but firm.

I turned to see her standing a few feet away, her silver-cyan hair catching the last rays of sunlight. She was watching me with that same look she always had when something was bothering her—a mix of concern and trust. Elysia was sharp; she could sense things others couldn’t, especially when it came to me.

“You haven’t been yourself since the dungeon,”

she said.

“What happened?”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I looked away, trying to find the words that wouldn’t come. How could I explain what I didn’t fully understand?

“It’s nothing,” I finally said,

but even I could hear the lie in my voice.

Elysia frowned but didn’t push. She trusted me, and that trust weighed heavily on my chest. I didn’t want to keep secrets from her—or the others—but this... this was different. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the sword had shown me something important, something I wasn’t ready to face yet.

Back in my room, I placed the sword on the desk, the same spot where I normally kept my own weapon. But this sword was different. I could feel it, even now. It was like it was watching me, or worse—waiting for me.

The vision kept replaying in my mind. The battlefield. The swordsman who didn’t attack. The way the sword seemed to pulse with energy, as if it was alive. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at it, the room silent except for the faint sound of wind outside my window.

What was that vision? Was it a warning? A prophecy?

My hand twitched as if it wanted to reach for the sword again, but I resisted. I wasn’t sure I could handle another glimpse into whatever future the sword had shown me.

The others had no idea what was going on, and I didn’t know how long I could keep it that way.

It was late. The academy halls had gone quiet, and the only light in my room came from the moon outside. I should’ve been asleep, but the unease gnawing at my mind wouldn’t let me rest.

Then, I heard it.

At first, it was just a faint sound, like the creaking of old wood. But it grew louder, turning into a low, eerie whisper that seemed to come from all around me. I shot up from the bed, my eyes scanning the room.

The sound wasn’t normal. It was too... unnatural.

Slowly, I realized where it was coming from. The corners of the room. Dark, empty spaces where the light didn’t reach. My heart pounded as I stared into those shadows, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

And then, they appeared.

Dark, twisted figures, barely more than shadows themselves, began to emerge from the corners. Their bodies were like smoke, writhing and shifting as they moved, but their eyes—cold and empty—were fixated on one thing.

The sword.

They floated toward it, slowly at first, like they were being drawn by some unseen force. The closer they got, the louder the whispers became, filling the room with an ancient, guttural language I couldn’t understand.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched them. There was something deeply wrong about these spirits—something that sent a chill down my spine.

I stood frozen for a moment, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The cursed spirits drifted closer to the sword, their forms growing darker and more menacing with every step.

The sound grew louder.

It wasn’t just whispers anymore. It was a low, constant hum, vibrating through the walls of my room, echoing inside my head. My hand instinctively moved toward the sword, but I hesitated.

What would happen if I touched it again?

The spirits kept coming, their presence filling the room with a thick, suffocating energy. I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me, and my instincts screamed at me to run, to get away from the sword.

But I couldn’t. I had to see this through.

The cursed spirits reached the sword. They hovered over it for a moment, as if worshipping it, their cold, dead eyes gleaming in the moonlight. And then, one of them turned toward me, its mouth moving as if it was trying to speak.

I heard the sound again—clearer this time.

A name.

Before I could react, the figure disappeared, swallowed by the darkness.