The golden towers of Castle Rowen shimmered under the silvery glow of the morning sun. As Captain Zora made his way past the Royal Guards through the massive, dragon-carved doors, the tension in his stride betrayed the weight of the mission on his shoulders. He wasn't just here on military duty. He was here to ask a question even the Grand Magic Knights hesitated to whisper: How do you control a Professional Spirit?
In the heart of the castle, where sunlight spilled like honey through stained glass windows, King Rowen waited in the Spirit Throne Hall. His presence was regal, a mix of quiet wisdom and unmatched magical strength. Dressed in deep emerald robes woven with spirit-thread, the King watched Zora approach with an intensity that made even seasoned warriors kneel.
"Captain Zora," Rowen said, his voice low but commanding. "You've come about the boy."
Zora bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty. Sam Robbin. The boy with the Professional Spirit. Miss Alisa has reported troubling signs. The spirit is untamed. Dangerous."
Rowen leaned back. For a moment, his expression darkened. "I expected this. Professional Spirits… are not like the others. They do not serve. They choose."
Zora stepped forward, voice careful. "Then tell me, my King. How did you learn to control yours? The realm cannot afford another spirit disaster."
There was silence. Then Rowen said, "I did not control it. It allowed me. That is the truth."
Zora's brows furrowed. "What does that mean?"
"I was once like Sam. Young. Wild. My spirit came to me in fire and fury. But one day, it gave me a task. I completed it. Only then did it allow itself to be guided by me. Not commanded. Not controlled. Just... trusted."
Zora blinked. "So the only way for Sam to gain control—"
"—is for his spirit to want to be controlled," Rowen finished. He rose, his aura pulsing with subtle strength. "There is no magic scroll, no ritual, no royal blessing that can forge that bond. Only the spirit decides."
Zora's voice lowered. "And what task did your spirit give you?"
But the King only smiled. "That secret is mine."
With that, the audience was over. Captain Zora left the throne room with more questions than answers.
---
Later that night...
Darkness swallowed the edges of the lower district as Sam and his spirit stood at the edge of the ruins. These were the cursed remains of Old Alberto, where the earth cracked like dry bones and the wind howled like mourning spirits. It was a place avoided even by seasoned Knights. The beasts here were said to devour not only flesh, but sanity.
Siro's eyes glowed like fireflies in the dark. "This is your next test. Two tasks tonight."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Tasks? Here?"
"Find the Stone of Might hidden deep inside. That's Task Two. And complete it in fifteen minutes. Task Three."
Sam clenched his fists. "You expect me to dive into a pit of demons and monsters like it's a casual stroll? What if something stronger finds me? What if I die?"
"Then you fail."
Sam glared. "You're insane."
Siro tilted her head. "You wanted to grow stronger. Stronger than Nobles. Stronger than anyone. Did you think that came without cost?"
Sam's anger began to boil. "You're not training me. You're torturing me!"
"So quit. Walk away. But you'll never become the King you talk about."
Something in Sam cracked. He turned away. "I don't need this. I don't need you."
Siro laughed softly. "You say that, but you still stand here."
"Not for long." Sam marched off. He left the ruins behind. He left Siro behind.
---
Later that night, at home...
The Robbin household was quiet, save for the creaking of the wooden stairs as Sam entered. His father, James Robbin, was polishing an old blade when he noticed the storm of emotion on Sam's face.
"Sam? What happened?"
"Nothing," Sam said curtly, brushing past him.
"Sam... talk to me."
But the door shut behind him.
Inside his room, Sam fell onto the bed, his sword lying beside him. He stared at the ceiling, mind a whirlwind of rage, confusion, and exhaustion.
Then came the voice.
"You think silence will save you?" Siro whispered, appearing in ghostly light by the bed.
Sam sat up slowly, eyes cold. "I want you gone."
Siro chuckled darkly. "Not yet. There's still more pain to feel."
Sam grabbed his sword. Its cold metal glinted under moonlight. He pressed it against his neck. "If you don't kill me, I will. And you go down with me."
Siro's smile vanished.
In an instant, she merged into him, forcing the sword from his hand and throwing it across the room with a roar. "You fool!"
Sam shouted back. "You think you can control me through fear?! I'm not your puppet! I won't be your tool!"
Siro hovered inches from his face, eyes blazing. "Then you don't need power?"
"Not like this," Sam hissed. "If gaining power means losing myself, then I'd rather be weak."
For a moment, only their harsh breathing filled the room.
Then Siro said quietly, "So you would fight the world alone."
Sam replied, voice steady, "Better alone than in chains."
A silence passed between them.
Then Siro said, almost gently, "We'll see how long that lasts."
Sam stared at the spot where she vanished. "We'll see who breaks first."
Outside, thunder rolled across the night sky, as if fate itself was listening.