Chapter 2 : The Gravity of the Soul

The arena was silent except for the sound of his breath.

A vast dome of silver walls swallowed all echoes, broken only by faint ripples of black energy that twisted the air. Dust rose and fell around Vjay as if drawn to him—then repelled. The floor beneath him was scarred from failed experiments: dents where he’d collapsed, cracks where the invisible force had exploded out of control.

For an entire month, this had been his world. No sky. No sound. No one. Only him and the blade that refused to behave like any other.

It floated a few feet away, untouched—its frame sleek and pitch-dark, edges glowing faintly with a distortion that bent light rather than casting it. Whenever he tried to hold it, his mind trembled. Whenever he let go, it hummed like a living thing that missed him.

His father had called it a test.

To Vjay, it felt more like exile.

He tightened his grip on his knees, steadying his breath. “Again,” he whispered. The word echoed weakly.

When he stood, the energy around him began to shift. The air turned heavier, the temperature dropped, and even gravity itself seemed to hesitate. Vjay closed his eyes and reached inward, searching for that thread—the pulse that connected him to the strange entity sealed inside the blade.

A voice met him there. Young. Restless. Almost… playful.

“You’re pulling too hard again, Vjay.”

He froze. “You… you can speak?”

“Not really. You’re just finally listening.”

The tone was childlike, but beneath it, a weight older than any star pressed against his mind.

“What are you?” he asked.

A faint laugh. “You still don’t get it. You and I—we’re the same energy. Split and sealed. You touch me; I answer. You resist; I collapse. It’s simple.”

Pain burned through his chest as if space itself folded inward. He fell to his knees, choking. The voice didn’t sound cruel, but every word tore deeper into him.

“Gravity,” it said softly. “It’s not about control. It’s about acceptance. The universe bends around those who understand their own weight.”

Vjay clenched his fists. Around him, tiny shards of metal began to drift upward. His blood felt heavier. His heart beat slower.

Then, suddenly, everything fell still.

The shards hovered in place—frozen in a calm orbit.

He exhaled, and they moved with him. Not crashing, not scattering—just existing where he willed them to.

A small warmth flickered in his chest, something almost like peace.

And for the first time in years, he smiled.

“Good,” the voice whispered. “You’re learning the first tier.”

“Tier?”

“The gravity that binds. What holds you down can also make you stable. Learn that, and you’ll survive anything.”

He laughed weakly. “You sound like my mother.”

“That’s insulting,” the voice pouted, and went silent again.

Vjay didn’t know how long he trained after that. Days melted into nights, though there was no sun here. He marked time by meals delivered through a small mechanical chute and by the steady rhythm of exhaustion. His body adapted; his mind sharpened.

The once-chaotic waves of gravity began to obey his thoughts. Sometimes he’d levitate an entire training dummy; sometimes, he’d make the air so dense even his breath would hang mid-space.

Each success came with cost—nosebleeds, dizziness, fainting fits—but the strange companionship with the unseen voice made it bearable.

And then, one morning, something different stirred.

He awoke to the soft vibration of the Enerblade—its surface glimmering faintly, as if light were trying to escape but couldn’t.

“What is it?” he asked aloud.

“Outside,” the voice murmured. “Many of them are fighting.”

He frowned. “Fighting?”

“I can feel their blades. So many voices screaming for recognition. It must be the Selection Exam.”

He froze mid-motion. “The exam… today?”

Silence. Then, teasingly, “You forgot?”

He turned toward the sealed gate. For a second, he thought about breaking it open. But then he remembered his father’s words: ‘If you cannot find your own way to grow, you’re not ready to stand among them.’

So he stayed.

He trained harder that day—harder than any before. The thought of others fighting under open skies, blades flashing, dreams burning, pushed him into something near madness. The arena trembled under his gravitational surges.

Far away, on a lush abandoned planet, hundreds of candidates were taking the trials. None of that reached Vjay. But somehow, as he focused, faint impressions flickered across his mind—like memories that weren’t his. A girl with silver hair dueling amid green ruins. Someone shouting orders. The hum of Enerblades clashing. Then nothing.

“Stop chasing echoes,” the voice said quietly. “Your path isn’t theirs.”

He sank to his knees again, breathing hard. “Then what is mine?”

No answer came. Only the low, familiar hum of the weapon.

Time passed. Days folded into one another. His control refined. His understanding deepened. The arena no longer felt like a prison but a cocoon.

Until the thirty-first cycle.

He was meditating in mid-air, body surrounded by a faint gravitational field, when something shifted in the atmosphere. The hum of the Enerblade changed pitch. It wasn’t whispering anymore—it was singing.

Energy surged, wild and unrestrained, pulling everything toward the weapon. Crates collapsed, dust swirled, and even the reinforced walls groaned.

“Enough!” he shouted.

The energy snapped. He fell hard, coughing, but he didn’t stop staring at the blade.

It floated upright before him, as if waiting.

Vjay stood, blood dripping from his nose, and wrapped his fingers around its hilt. For once, it didn’t resist. Instead, warmth spread from the handle up his arm, into his chest.

Memories not his own flashed—stars dying, planets crushed, the sound of a child laughing in the dark. He didn’t understand any of it, but one word echoed through all of it: Light.

He looked at the weapon again. No, it wasn’t light. It was the thing that devoured it.

He raised it high, feeling the pulse merge with his own heartbeat.

“You’re not light,” he said quietly. “You’re… Blacklight.”

The hum deepened, as if the universe itself agreed.

And in his mind, the childish voice giggled, almost relieved.

“Finally. You remembered.”

Before he could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the arena—metal against metal. The sealed gate shuddered once. Twice.

The lights flickered, and the entire chamber trembled under an unseen force.

Blacklight pulsed in his hand.

“That,” the voice whispered, “isn’t supposed to happen.”

The ground cracked beneath him.

Then—silence.