The next morning, the village of Velden was alive with sunlight and birdsong — but Auron felt none of its warmth.
He couldn't stop thinking about the sword hilt. The lightning it had given him was still faintly buzzing through his hand, even now beneath his sleeve. That pulse… it had felt alive. Like it had recognized him.
He told no one.
Not his mother, whose eyes always seemed to see too deeply.
Not his father, who had raised him with rough hands and a kind heart.
This was something he needed to understand on his own.
A Visit to the Forge
That afternoon, Auron walked into the forge as he had every day since childhood. His father was hammering out a curved dagger for one of the town's hunters. The rhythmic clang–clang–clang echoed against the stone walls.
"Hand me the oil cloth," Garron said, not looking up.
Auron passed it over, then hesitated.
"Can you reforge something if it's… old? Ancient?"
Garron paused, finally glancing at his son.
"Depends. If the metal remembers its shape… maybe."
Auron slowly pulled the wrapped hilt from his cloak and placed it on the workbench. Garron unwrapped it.
The air grew still.
Garron stared at the relic — dark steel twisted by heat, etched with marks that looked burned in by lightning. Faint runes lined the handle, glowing just slightly under the forge's firelight.
He touched it carefully, as if it might shatter.
"Where did you find this?"
Auron's voice was quiet.
"In the forest. Near the blackened tree."
Garron's brow furrowed. "That place… was burned years ago by a freak storm. No one goes near it."
He turned back to the hilt, tapping it with a small hammer. The metal let out a soft, echoing ring — not like steel, but something older. Deeper.
"This isn't just any blade," Garron whispered. "It's forged with soulfire."
Auron tilted his head. "Soulfire?"
"Magic and steel, fused together. The secret's been lost for generations. Only the Ancients could do it."
Garron stepped back, eyes sharp.
"You're not telling me everything."
Auron looked into the flames of the forge.
He didn't need to tell the whole truth. Just enough.
"It's mine. Somehow… it was once mine. I think it's calling me to fix it."
The Reforging
For three days and nights, they worked.
Garron let Auron lead — letting him decide the balance, the flow, the design. It was as if his hands already knew what to do.
They shaped the hilt, reinforced the core with a rare ore his mother had once gifted them — a shard of Sky Iron, fallen from the stars.
The core blade was gone, destroyed in that final battle, but Auron didn't need it. He was reforging something new.
Each night, lightning storms brewed far beyond the hills — as if the skies sensed what was happening in the forge.
And on the fourth morning, the blade was done.
It wasn't full-sized — not yet. It was a short sword, still growing with him. But it shimmered faintly with energy. Its name was still hidden, but its soul had returned.
The Spark Awakens
When Auron touched the blade with his bare hand, a current surged through him. Not painful — just truth.
Images filled his mind.
Battles. Screams. The old Kael, kneeling in front of the dying king, swearing to protect the realm. The black wings of the Demon Boss rising over a burning city.
And then… something new.
A shadowy figure in a cloak, standing atop a cliff, holding a twisted staff. A voice like ash and wind whispered:
"The seal weakens. The Light has returned. It must be extinguished."
Auron dropped the blade, breathing hard.
This wasn't over.
Whatever he had done in the past, it hadn't been enough. The darkness was returning.
The Road Calls
Later that evening, Auron stood outside the forge, staring at the sky. The stars above were hidden by gathering clouds. He tightened the strap on the sheath now tied across his back.
His mother came to stand beside him.
"You're not just our son, are you?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
She smiled anyway. "Then go. Whatever you were before, whoever you're meant to be again — we'll still love you."
His father emerged from the shadows and handed him a travel pack.
"I put food, coin, and maps inside. Just don't lose the sword."
Auron blinked away the tears. "Thank you."
He looked back at the village — the fields, the forge, the hills. Then forward, toward the unknown.
And with a deep breath, he walked into the night.
Far away, in a fortress carved from obsidian and bone, the Demon stirred.
He opened his eyes for the first time in twelve years.
And smiled.