Ash drifted in darkness so deep it felt liquid. His body lay on cool stone in O'Hara's vault, but his mind stood in a vast hall of starlit pillars. A black‑glass scythe floated before him, its twin blades pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
"Last step," the calm voice said. "Show me the shape of your will."
Ash glanced at the dark markings glowing on his wrists—crescent scythes inked by light. He steadied himself. "My will is knowledge sharpened to protect," he declared.
A wall of seawater slammed into the hall. Ash inhaled with his Pulse Breath, pushed will outward, and the wave split, flowing around him instead of crushing him.
Trial one: passed.
The water vanished. Bookshelves from the Tree of Knowledge burst into fire. A bound silhouette of Robin stood amid the blaze. Ash's chest tightened; this was his nightmare.
He coated his arms with Iron Vein, stepped between the flames and chains, and hurled his will like a shield. Fire guttered out, chains shattered, and the illusion faded.
Trial two: passed.
Three weapon images floated: a long scythe, twin hand scythes, and a staff that could split. Ash chose the flexible option; the images spiralled together into one staff with hidden locks.
Light flared.
Trials complete. Bond sealed.
Ash's eyes snapped open. He knelt inside the real vault, Skeyth—solid, midnight metal—in his hands. Codex text scrolled:
Bond level 1
• forms: single or twin scythes
• passive soul sense (3 m)
• overuse drains body.
At the doorway stood Agent Veyla of CP‑4, sword‑stick raised, two marines quaking behind her.
"What have you done?" she whispered.
Skeyth pulsed in Ash's grip: Threat. Unbonded will. Neutralize or escape.
""There will be no battle here,"" he said. "This is my family's tool. Only I can keep it safe."
Veyla lunged. Skeyth split into twin blades almost by instinct. Sparks crackled as Ash parried, twisted, and disarmed her in three breaths. The weapon's inner voice asked: Kill?
Ash answered: Not tonight.
Robin and Professor Clover arrived just as Veyla drew a pistol. Ash channelled the scythe's ancient killing aura—icy, alien—in a controlled pulse. Lantern flames bent away, and the corridor felt suddenly narrow.
Only Robin and Clover sensed the truth: the pressure came from Skeyth, not Ash. The marines thought otherwise; even Veyla's lips blanched.
"The scythe stays here," Ash stated. "Force me, and people bleed."
Veyla wavered. Alone she doubted she could defeat the boy wielding a legendary weapon, not with scholars ready to swarm her. She lowered the pistol.
"You will regret this defiance," she hissed, backing down the hall.
The moment Veyla vanished up the stairs, the aura slipped away. Clover exhaled shakily. "So—legend confirmed."
Ash collapsed the weapon into twin handles and offered one to Robin. She touched it, felt a flash of cold, and withdrew. "It recognises you," she whispered.
Ash nodded. "Now we protect it together—and keep O'Hara safe as long as we can."
Rain hammered the roof through the night. At dawn the navy sloop weighed anchor. From the quarter‑deck Veyla scribbled a cipher report:
Subject: O'Hara scholars.
Findings: evidence of forbidden weapon research in basement vault; presence of sentient blade wielded by child Spectre D. Ash. Scholars also working to translate ancient stones (poneglyphs).
Threat level: high; recommend immediate senior review.
She sealed the message pigeon‑capsule. As the ship crossed the reef, the bird rose into stormy clouds—south‑east, toward Enies Lobby's cipher relay.
Marines were gone, but tension stayed. Scholars whispered about locked wings and government interest. Clover gathered senior librarians.
"We fortify records," he said. "Hide anything that hints at weapons or the Void Century."
Ash stood beside Robin in the doorway, Skeyth hidden under his cloak. Together they listened as adults planned half measures that would not stop what was coming.
Later, in their quiet corner, Robin asked, "Will they return?"
"Yes," Ash said. "Next time, with a fleet."
She swallowed. "Then we study faster."
He smiled sadly. "Yes. And I train harder." He glanced at the Codex:
WRP slowly regenerating.
Next bond milestone: level 2 requires travel and broader combat experience.
That evening Ash climbed to the library roof, rain finally spent. Stars peeked through torn clouds. He held Skeyth in staff form, letting moonlight paint the blades silver.
The weapon's voice murmured, "Storm passes, but the harvest comes."
Ash flexed sore fingers. "We're staying for now," he told the scythe. "This island still needs us."
He felt—not words—but an impression of acceptance, like steel settling into a forge.
Robin worked late copying glyph rubbings. Ash joined her, rolling scrolls, matching her quiet focus. Neither mentioned departures or danger—only silent promise in shared ink.
Clover walked by, smiling at the sight. "History is safest in hands that care," he murmured.
Ash met his eyes. "And in hands that can fight," he added.
Clover's smile faded but he nodded. "Let's hope we need both."
In a dark chamber atop Mariejois, five tall shadows read Veyla's report projected onto rice paper.
"The scholars meddle yet again," the first Elder said.
"They dabble in weapons now," said the second. "A sentient blade under a child's control."
The third Elder's eyes narrowed. "Spectre line. And a boy bearing the Will of D."
"All factors converge on one small island," the fourth muttered. "We must not permit such a nest of dangerous ideas to take root."
The fifth Elder, silent until now, tapped the parchment. "Summon fleets. Prepare a Buster Call."
No one argued.
Back on O'Hara, Ash finished a final entry before sleep:
Vault open. Skeyth bonded, level 1.
Agent Veyla gone, but threat escalates.
Priority: safeguard scholars, train bond, prepare evacuation routes.
He closed the book. Outside, waves slapped dark cliffs. In his dreams the hall returned, but this time the scythe leaned against his shoulder like an old friend, and distant thunder sounded like drums of war.