The sound of dripping water echoed in the dark.
A slow, rhythmic tap — the heartbeat of a place where time itself had stopped breathing.
Each droplet fell upon cold steel, rippling across a floor blanketed in dust and silence.
Then, from beneath the mountain of swords, a faint shimmer pulsed. The light was weak at first, like the flicker of a dying ember. But as another droplet struck the steel, the light grew — spreading across the cavern until it kissed the outline of a man long forgotten by history.
A hand twitched. Fingers, once rigid as stone, trembled and curled around a hilt buried deep in the earth.
The ancient seal began to fracture.
The cavern rumbled, dust raining down as the air filled with a faint, metallic hum — not of magic, but of something older. The resonance of a blade that had tasted gods.
Kael Ardent's eyes snapped open.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the darkness. The faint glow of his sword illuminated his face — pale, gaunt, and marked by faint runes that pulsed under his skin. His golden hair, dulled by centuries, shimmered faintly in the light.
He took a slow breath, and the entire chamber seemed to inhale with him.
> "A thousand years…" His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. Then he chuckled softly. "Dragons really don't know when to quit."
The chains of light around his body cracked, splintered, and shattered with a sound like breaking glass.
The glow faded. The silence returned.
Kael rose slowly, his muscles protesting after a millennium of stillness. He grasped his sword — Eclipser — and drew it from the stone. The blade gleamed, unmarred by time, reflecting faint traces of stars from cracks in the ceiling above.
> "Still sharp," he murmured, running his thumb along the flat of the blade. "Good girl."
He glanced around the cavern. Dozens — no, hundreds — of swords lay scattered across the floor. Some rusted beyond recognition, others perfectly preserved by ancient enchantments. They were the offerings of those who sought to follow his path, who had come seeking the title of Sword God and never returned.
Kael bowed his head slightly. "Rest easy, old friends. The world still needs cutting, it seems."
He stepped forward. The ground trembled. The seal that had bound him for a thousand years finally broke and the mountain roared like a beast freed from its chains.
Above Ground – Valenreach Valley
The villagers had long whispered about the mountain.
They said it was cursed, that the gods buried a demon beneath it long ago. None dared climb it. None dared dig too deep.
So when the earth shook that morning, and a pillar of light erupted into the clouds, every soul in Valenreach froze. The shepherds dropped their crooks. The merchants clutched their charms. And far away, in the elven archives and dwarven forges, old runes began to hum once more.
The mountain had awakened.
Kael stepped into sunlight for the first time in a thousand years.
He winced, squinting as golden rays flooded his vision. The wind whipped through his hair, carrying the scent of fresh grass and blooming fields — a scent he hadn't known since before the War of Ascension.
He inhaled deeply. It felt strange. Softer. Lighter. The world had changed.
No dragon shadows loomed overhead. No magic storms raged across the horizon. The air was calm, almost… peaceful.
"Did I win?" he muttered, scanning the valley below. "Or did everyone just forget who their enemy was?"
He walked barefoot down the slope, his sword slung across his back. The grass bent beneath his feet as though bowing to something ancient — or maybe it just recognized what he was.
The valley stretched wide and green. Villages dotted the landscape, small and unfortified no walls, no watchtowers. In his time, even a farmer's hut had wards etched into its foundation. Now, there was only stillness and sunlight.
Kael tilted his head, half in wonder, half in amusement.
"The dragons are gone… the wars are gone… and here I am, a relic in a world that looks bored of fighting."
He smiled faintly. "Good for them."
As he reached the base of the hill, a voice startled him.
Mister?"
Kael turned.
A young girl stood by a dirt path, clutching a basket of herbs. She couldn't have been older than ten. Her brown hair was tied messily behind her, and her wide green eyes stared at him with both fear and curiosity.
"You… came out of the mountain," she said cautiously. "Are you a spirit?"
Kael blinked. Then, to her surprise, he laughed a warm, human laugh that echoed softly in the quiet valley.
"Something like that," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Though I'd say I'm more tired than spiritual."
The girl tilted her head. "You talk funny."
Kael grinned. "A side effect of napping too long."
She studied him for a moment, then frowned. "You shouldn't be near the mountain. Mama says it's cursed."
Kael sheathed his sword and crouched slightly, his eyes meeting hers. "Your mama's a wise woman. But tell her not to worry — the curse just woke up, stretched its legs, and plans to find breakfast."
The girl blinked. Then, hesitantly, she giggled. "You're weird."
Kael smiled. "So I've been told."
She led him toward the village, still giggling, though she kept stealing glances at the sword on his back. The villagers stopped what they were doing as he passed — farmers, merchants, even children all staring at the stranger who seemed to glow faintly beneath the sun.
He noticed their clothes simple linen, no armor, no sigils. Their eyes soft, untrained. The air no hint of mana saturation. Even the soil was calm.
No magic, he thought, surprised. The cycles have faded this much?
He felt both awe and sadness. The age of blades and spells was gone. The world had moved on.
But deep inside him, beneath the calm, something stirred. A quiet whisper. The faint pulse of his sword.
"You feel it too, don't you?" he muttered under his breath.
The blade hummed softly in reply — the same sound it made before battle.
Something ancient was still awake.
---
At the edge of the village, the girl pointed toward a small tavern. "That's my mama's inn. You can rest there if you want."
Kael nodded. "Thank you…?"
"Lira," she said proudly.
He smiled. "Lira. You have a kind heart."
She beamed, then ran ahead to call for her mother.
Kael watched her go, then turned his gaze toward the mountains again. The light that had erupted from his awakening was fading, but in the farthest reaches of the sky, dark clouds gathered — faint outlines of wings hidden within them.
He narrowed his eyes. "So… they're still watching."
He rested his hand on his sword, feeling the old fire return to his veins.
> "A thousand years, and you still fear the cut," he murmured. "Don't worry, Azhareth… I haven't forgotten how to swing."
The wind carried his words across the valley like a promise — or a warning.
For now, Kael Ardent was just a wandering swordsman in a peaceful world.
But soon, the world would remember what it meant to challenge the Sword God.