The arena of the Soul Blades was silent but for the sound of steel meeting stone. Each swing of Himmel's sword sang a clean note through the cavern air, his form crisp and precise. The floor beneath him was glass-smooth, polished by centuries of training. The walls pulsed faintly with the city's breath — molten veins glowing like an ember heartbeat.
Kirra watched from the shadows, arms folded. Her expression was neutral, though her eyes tracked every motion. "You have some strange power."
"Well I am a dark orc, that's probably what you're seeing."
Kirra brushed the statement, "No, something far more dangerous. You're like me but, more."
"Uhh, you speak very vaguely, can you just tell me or show me. It's not hard for you to show me how to beat my ass." He smiled, trying to joke the awkward situation out.
She raised her blade to him, with a small moment of silence a shriek of electricity blasted into Himmel. It encompassed him, flowed through him, made him a candle in the arena. When it all ended, Himmel shouted, "The hell was that?!?"
"I was right, did you find a yellow flower that gave sparks of electricity?" Kirra sat down on an obsidian seat.
Himmel approached and sat next to her, "Yeah, we found four, one of each element and everyone got their share. I also found a magical watering can that enhance my flower specifically."
She then scoffed, "You have no idea how lucky you four are, those flowers are mentioned in legends. They hold power so immense that kings and queens would fight wars over even two of them. Now, you're telling me there was four in one room and a magical can that enhanced one of them."
Himmel hadn't seen such a smile on her face for the entire time they've trained, "Well now you're making me feel like a main character in a novel."
"Shit you basically are, but what's interesting is that even though the flower enhanced your affinity and talent in lightning. You shouldn't be this immune to it, which probably means you were already born with a strong affinity." Kirra then grabbed Himmel yellow blade.
Himmel shouted, "woah that's apart of my pair of scissors."
Kirra remained still, "yeah and you'll break it, I feel as if it'll give you more if you break it than if you don't."
Himmel hesitated, it was apart of a magical weapon that's helped him in battle for weeks. Not only is it apart of a pair, he wasn't sure if breaking it would do anything. But even after minutes of contemplating he did it, he shattered the blade on his knee.
The sparks flew around the air, flowing like the wind and absorbed every bit of it. The gold specks in his eyes shined, a new unrefined power shined. And it was time to test it.
Himmel's footwork was steady, his rhythm unbroken. Every strike was measured, deliberate — not raw power, but intent given form.
"Channel that new strength lets see what it can do." Kirra commanded as she prepared herself.
Himmel paused for a moment, the electricity flowed from his chest, through his body and into the blade. Streaks of lightning tattooed the lvl 3 weapon and in the moment of attack, it shattered. Parts of the blade flew randomly like shrapnel.
"Your stance has improved and that new power is terrifying," Kirra said finally, her voice calm but edged. "There's less tension in your shoulders, but now we have something new to overcome."
Himmel straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. "Guess that means I'm getting the hang of your tempo."
"And you're listening better," she said. "That's the first step."
He smiled faintly. "And the next?"
Kirra walked past him, brushing her fingers along the black-glass wall. "Understanding that your sword doesn't move with your muscles. It moves with your will. The body obeys. The blade follows."
She turned sharply. "Again."
Himmel nodded. He picked up a new training blade and the lesson resumed.
Their blades met, sparks flying. Kirra's strikes were clean, merciless. Himmel parried each one, his reactions almost too sharp — a product of countless repetitions burned into his muscles. She pressed harder, faster, her eyes narrowing as she sought a flaw.
There wasn't one. He works hard, these past few days he's put in hours upon hours of work. In the arena and out of it.
For nearly an hour, they exchanged blows in silence, until the hum of the arena began to fade beneath their steady rhythm.
When Kirra finally stepped back, she exhaled slowly. "Enough. Rest."
Himmel lowered his sword, his breath steady but his body trembling faintly from the strain. He sat down against the cool stone and took a deep breath.
Kirra stood nearby, watching him in silence — the faintest trace of respect in her gaze.
When his pulse steadied, Himmel reached into his coat and pulled out something small and metallic — the key. It shimmered faintly in his palm, humming with quiet power.
Kirra raised a brow. "What type of item is that, can it be used like a weapon?"
"Yes and also no," he said, turning it between his fingers. "It's a key that opens a subspace where I can just store items. If used correctly, yeah it can be a powerful weapon."
He twisted it once. The air before him rippled like disturbed water, forming a small, glowing rift. From it, Himmel withdrew a few worn books — each bound in cracked leather, the pages yellowed with time.
Kirra blinked, stepping closer. "You… carry books into battle?"
Himmel smiled faintly. "Always." He set them down gently, brushing dust from the covers. "These are what's left of a bookshelf I found in a dungeon. Some of them are completely torn and unreadable, but most of them are fine. I read them whenever I get the chance."
Kirra crouched beside him, curiosity softening her usually sharp features. "You read now? Between training sessions?"
He nodded. "It's a habit I picked up young. She used to say that strength dies with the body, but knowledge outlives death. Guess it stuck."
He flipped open a page filled with looping, intricate characters — symbols that shimmered faintly in the forge light. "Though if I'm being honest," he added, tracing a line with his finger, "it's not just habit. It's necessity."
Kirra tilted her head. "Necessity?"
"These symbols… I've been studying them for years. They're part of an old and ancient dialect, one that's practically extinct now. I think they were used for enchantments, maybe even soul-forging before Angar's time."
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "You can read this?"
"Some of it." Himmel smiled faintly. "The rest I'm still working out."
Kirra's gaze lingered on the pages — the faint shimmer, the marks of time. "Why go through all that trouble?"
Himmel paused, considering his words. "Because… information was the one thing in this continent that I have trouble really finding, that and a good nights sleep. Then my father taught me how to fight. My mother taught me how to think. Between the two, I learned which one keeps you alive longer."
A quiet smile touched her lips. "And which one is that?"
He looked up at her. "Thinking. Every single time. Preparing a strategy before battle, finding flaws and a weakness in my enemy, oh the countless wonders that's done."
They sat there for a while, the arena quiet except for the distant hum of molten rivers. Kirra watched as he turned the pages, each flicker of his fingers revealing a different script — runes, diagrams, notes scribbled in faded ink.
"You keep records," she said softly.
"I try to," Himmel replied. "Every dungeon we've entered, every creature we've fought, I write it down later. Patterns, weaknesses, behaviors. It helps, maybe we'll fight or find something similar."
Kirra rested her chin on her knee. "So that's why your moves are so deliberate. You don't fight from instinct — you fight from memory."
He shrugged lightly. "Instinct fails when you meet something new. Logic doesn't."
Her gaze softened. "Most warriors I've trained never thought that way. They trust power. Speed. Reaction. You're different."
"Maybe," Himmel said, smiling faintly. "Or maybe I'm just cautious, scared, but who knows."
She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "No. You're aware. That's rarer than strength. You know how weak you can be and what your limits are, even then it seems you're not afraid to step over those same limits and weaknesses."
He glanced up from his book. "You study people too much, Kirra."
Her lips curved slightly. "I have to. I train them."
"Fair enough." He flipped another page, then stopped. "What about you? You said you've buried better. You talk like someone who's seen too many graves."
Kirra's expression shifted, the faint warmth fading into memory. "I was raised to be a weapon. When I was sixteen, I thought dying with honor was the highest goal. But then… when we went deep into the caverns to explore, my master died saving me."
She looked away. "I decided I'd rather live for others than die for nothing."
Himmel nodded quietly. "That's… a lesson worth keeping. I've lost lost ones as well, my master Kimpa, she teleported me away from death. My first friend Riaz, she died for me as well. Too many people have sacrificed themselves for me. It won't happen again."
"We're alike," she said. "Someone had to sacrifice themselves just for us to live another day."
Their eyes met. For a moment, the glow of the molten rivers reflected between them — red on steel, warmth on frost.
Kirra shifted, sitting closer beside him. The edge of her shoulder brushed his, but she didn't move away. "You said you record every battle," she murmured. "Then what about yourself? Do you ever write about your fears?"
Himmel smiled faintly, closing the book. "Sometimes. But the problem with writing them down is that it makes them real."
"And what are they?" she asked.
He exhaled slowly. "Losing everything again."
Kirra didn't answer immediately. She reached forward and touched one of the books, her fingers brushing the inked runes. "You hold on to things so tightly," she said. "Maybe that's why you're so good at keeping others alive."
He looked at her, curious. "And what about you?"
"I let go too easily," she admitted.
A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft crackle of the molten river outside the arena.
Then, gently, Kirra reached out and turned one of his pages. "Show me this one."
Himmel smiled, opening it for her. "That's the first piece of parchment that helped me study everything. If it weren't for this all of these books would be worthless."
She leaned closer, eyes scanning the text. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "It's beautiful."
He nodded. "It's dangerous as well. Some of the passages describe binding rituals — how emotion shapes energy. How love, fear, and rage can fuel enchantments."
Kirra's lips twitched faintly. "So, emotions have power."
"They always did, the strongest emotions push you past limits you didn't know you had," Himmel said quietly.
She looked at him then — not as a student studying a master, nor a warrior appraising another's strength, but as someone seeing a person for the first time. The faint light caught his features, the uneven tusks he hated, the sharp intelligence in his eyes.
"You think too much," she said softly.
He smiled. "You fight too much."
"Maybe we're both bad at resting."
"Or maybe," Himmel said, leaning slightly toward her, "we just found someone who makes resting harder."
Kirra didn't reply, but her gaze lingered. A faint warmth rose between them — unspoken, fragile, but real.
For the first time since she'd begun training him, her voice softened fully. "You're a strange one, Himmel."
He chuckled. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not." She stood, stretching her arms. "Come on, scholar. Enough words. Let's see if you can think while I'm trying to cut you."
He stood, sliding his sword from its sheath. "You'll have to swing fast then."
Kirra smirked. "I always do."
They returned to the center of the arena. The air shimmered between them — not just from heat, but from tension of another kind.
When their blades met again, it wasn't just steel against steel. It was conversation — the rhythm of two minds testing each other, learning each other. Kirra's strikes were cleaner, sharper, but Himmel anticipated each one. He wasn't reacting — he was reading her, studying her rhythm, countering her flow.
For the first time, Kirra smiled mid-fight. "You're learning me."
"I study everything," he said, parrying a strike. "You're no exception."
Their dance continued — sweat, breath, movement. When it ended, both were smiling despite their exhaustion.
Kirra sheathed her sword first. "You're dangerous when you stop thinking," she said.
Himmel wiped his brow. "You're terrifying when you start."
The laugh that left her surprised them both. "You'll make a fine swordsman," she said quietly. "But maybe an even finer teacher someday."
He raised a brow. "You think so?"
"I know so."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back. "Keep reading, Himmel. The more you know, the more dangerous you'll become."
He smiled softly. "And if I ever stop?"
Kirra's eyes softened. "Then I'll remind you why you started."
That night, when Himmel returned to his quarters, the books still smelled faintly of iron and lavender — the scent that lingered on Kirra's hands.
He set them beside his bed, staring at the pages before closing them gently.
For the first time in a long while, the world didn't feel so heavy. The blade in his heart felt sharper — but lighter too.