The morning light in the Upper Chamber looked different than anything Aaren had seen before ,they came to the upper chamber and in the upper chamber. The sun didn't rise — it hovered, painted like a golden rune in the sky, suspended as if time itself had paused to admire its glow. The land was a sprawling canvas of misty cliffs, floating forests, and pale sapphire rivers flowing against gravity.
But Aaren had no time to admire it.
A single shout snapped him back to reality.
> "Raise your sword like your soul's behind it!" Levitine bellowed.
Aaren stumbled forward, trying to match the rhythm of his movements to Levitine's instructions. The Descent Sword of the King gleamed in his hand, heavier than before, as if it now expected something more from him. Every swing trembled with raw effort, every step was a study in imbalance.
Beside him stood Withered Flame, arms crossed, his red-scaled tail twitching impatiently.
> "You're thinking too much," Flame said, voice calm but sharp. "You're not dancing with the blade. You're arguing with it."
Aaren wiped the sweat from his brow. "I didn't know swords needed... conversations."
Withered Flame's eye twitched, amused. "All powerful blades speak. Yours just hasn't decided you're worthy yet."
Lenara, seated lazily on a hovering rock nearby, burst into laughter. "Ohoho, that's rich! Imagine talking to a sword and it ghosting you. Maybe you should give it flowers, Aaren!"
He glanced at her, surprised by her tone. She was different today — light-hearted, relaxed, even teasing. Her long silver hair shimmered in the wind, and for once, the usual weight behind her violet eyes had softened.
> "You seem... different," Aaren said during a brief break.
She gave him a sly smile. "What, can't a girl have moods?"
"No, I mean... you're usually more serious. Quiet."
Lenara scoffed, throwing a dried fruit into her mouth. "I'm just tired of brooding. Plus, it's fun watching you flop around like a baby wyvern learning to fly."
Aaren chuckled, sitting down beside her. "You never talk about your past. Where you're from... why you're really here."
A moment passed.
Then another.
She flicked her gaze toward the sky.
> "That's because it's boring," she said with a smirk. "Full of heartbreak and heroic nonsense. No one wants to hear about that."
Aaren raised an eyebrow, sensing the deflection but respecting it. "Alright. Someday I'll trade my story for yours."
She nodded. "Deal."
There was a calm between them — brief, but real.
Suddenly, the training ground trembled. Levitine approached with slow, regal steps, his cloak fluttering like fire itself.
> "You've improved, Aaren," he said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "But power without control is destruction. You must understand who you're training to become."
Aaren looked up. "You mean... like you?"
The ancient sword spirit's eyes flickered with something ancient — not pride, not sadness, but memory.
> "There was once a kingdom," Levitine said, voice low. "Where kings walked as gods and swords ruled the fate of time itself. I was their sword — King Levitine. Not just a weapon. A protector, a tyrant, a savior. Until I chose silence. Until I chose to be sealed."
Aaren's breath caught. "You were a king?"
"With a heart forged from war and regret," Levitine murmured. "And Flame..."
Withered Flame stepped forward, his voice lowering.
> "I am the son of Dragoroyale Boss III, the ruler of the Crimson Depths. I walked with armies in my youth. But I abandoned my father's conquest. I followed Levitine because his silence spoke louder than our war cries."
Aaren blinked, trying to process it all. These weren't just teachers — they were living legends with sins and scars deeper than anything he'd imagined.
Levitine knelt beside him.
> "This world is broken into three chambers for a reason, Aaren. Each one holds truths you're not ready to hear. But your will... your pain... that makes you a rare kind of flame."
Lenara chimed in with a grin. "And I'm just here because the other options were boring."
Everyone laughed — even Withered Flame, who let a rare smile crack his face.
But beneath that moment of peace, Aaren felt it — a storm building far beyond the cliffs. Something ancient was shifting. Something that knew he was no longer the same boy who survived a nuclear fire.
He was becoming something more.