The morning sun over the Iron Valley was a pale, sickly gold, struggling to pierce through the thick soot that drifted from the Academy's industrial chimneys. For Echo, the air tasted like ozone and anticipation. Today was the day he would finally step out of his brother's shadow and into the halls of the most prestigious—and dangerous—combat school in the kingdom.
"So, brother," Echo said, breaking the silence as they navigated the crowded cobblestone streets. He shifted his satchel, his palms slightly damp. "Which class do you think will suit me better? I've been looking at the roster all morning, and my head is spinning."
Lazarus, walking with the effortless posture of a top-tier student, looked over at his younger brother. A soft, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, little Echo, you've finally grown up enough to join me! I can't decide your fate though, but you've always had a knack for the unexpected. Remember, you're impressive in everything you do—even if you are a bit of a knucklehead." He reached out, playfully ruffling Echo's hair. "Pick the class that calls to you. And don't stress; you can always switch in the first few weeks. Just make this old man proud."
"Old man?" Echo chuckled, dodging another playful swipe. "You're barely two years older than me. Don't start acting like you've got grey hair already. Anyway, I think I'll just do my magic and pick randomly until I feel like I belong somewhere."
They reached the massive obsidian gates of the Academy. The sheer scale of the architecture was meant to make students feel small, a reminder that they were merely raw material to be shaped by the institution.
"Good luck, Echo," Lazarus said, his tone softening as they reached the crossroads of the main courtyard. "I've got to head to my class. Try not to blow anything up on your first day."
"Good luck, brother!" Echo called out, watching Lazarus disappear into the sea of red and black uniforms.
Left alone, Echo felt the weight of the moment. He looked at the directory board. Weapon Class, Elemental Ability Class, War-Robot Piloting, Mind-Controlling Beasts, Ninja Arts... The choices were endless. He felt a pang in his chest. I wish Father was here to advise me, he thought, his gaze lingering on the empty space where a parent should have stood. I can't go to the Elemental wing; I don't have a spark of magic in my veins. But weapons? Fighting with steel... that feels like it's in my blood. I have to make Lazarus proud.
He followed the signs toward the West Wing, where the air grew colder and the sound of ringing metal echoed through the stones. He pushed open the heavy oak doors of Training Hall 4.
The room was vast, but it wasn't crowded. In the center stood a man who looked like he was carved from the very mountain the school sat upon. He had long black hair that fell to his shoulders, framing a face lined with scars and experience. He wore intricate red-and-black armor with a golden chest piece that gleamed under the skylights. Resting casually against his shoulder was a greatsword so massive it looked like it belonged to a giant.
"Oh," the man said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Echo's chest. "You're the only student to ever come to this class today. My name is Kyle, and I am the Master of Weapons."
"Oh... hello, sir," Echo said, bowing deeply and respectfully. "My name is Echo."
Kyle narrowed his eyes, inspecting the boy. "An interesting name. So, why did you choose my class? Most boys your age are off trying to throw fireballs or pilot tin cans."
"I'm interested in weapons, sir," Echo replied, his voice gaining strength. "I want to be strong. I want to be able to defend the people I love."
Kyle let out a short, dry laugh—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What a cute dream. You know, boy, even the strongest men in the world lose the people they love. Strength isn't a shield against grief. But," he leaned forward, his presence overwhelming, "you look interesting. Do you have a weapon in mind?"
Echo's eyes wandered to the weapon racks lining the walls. "I like swords, sir."
"You came to the right place. Go on, pick one. Let's see if you have the hands for it."
Echo walked to the wall, his eyes dancing over masterwork rapiers and enchanted sabers. Then, his gaze snagged on a corner rack. It was a simple, weathered longsword—a Level 1 practice weapon, dull and chipped. "Wow... this one looks cool," Echo whispered, reaching for it.
Kyle's eyes widened. He watched as Echo's fingers closed around the worn hilt. "Why that one? That's the lowest tier in the hall. It's practically garbage."
"I don't know," Echo said, feeling a strange warmth spread from the hilt into his palm. "I just felt like it was... calling me."
"Calling you? I see." Kyle stood upright, hefting his massive blade. "So the weapon chose the boy. Let's begin our match, shall we?"
"Of course" Echo said, his heart racing. "But please... take it easy on me."
Kyle chuckled, a sound of pure predatory delight. "We'll see about that."
They moved to the sparring circle. Echo was the first to strike. He lunged forward, his feet finding purchase on the smooth stone. He swung with everything he had, aiming for Kyle's chest. Kyle didn't move an inch until the very last millisecond, catching Echo's blade on the flat of his own with a casual clang.
Echo didn't stop. He pivoted, slashing at Kyle's flank, then overhand, then a low sweep. Kyle blocked every single move with a bored efficiency, his greatsword moving like a feather in his hand.
"Come on!" Kyle roared, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. "This can't be all you've got! You need more than a 'calling' just to enter my class!"
Suddenly, Kyle shifted. He charged forward, his golden chest piece a blur of light. He swung his massive blade downward, aiming for Echo's legs. Echo managed to bring his Level 1 sword down to block, but the impact was like being hit by a falling house.
A sickening crack echoed through the hall, followed by a scream. Echo didn't feel the sword break—because it didn't—but he felt a deep, agonizing pain in his thigh. His muscles gave out, and he collapsed into the dirt, his vision swimming.
What the...? Kyle thought, staring at the weapon in the boy's hand. My sword is a Level 5. I should have snapped that practice blade like a twig. But there isn't even a dent on it. Very interesting.
Kyle sheathed his weapon and hoisted the unconscious Echo onto his shoulder. As he walked toward the school infirmary, students fled from his path as if he were a plague-bearer. A red-haired boy named Nate watched from the shadows, his face pale. "Did you see that?" Nate whispered to a friend. "It's only the first day and Kyle already broke him. We have to warn that boy... before he becomes like the last student Kyle taught."
Moments later, Echo's eyes fluttered open. The ceiling of the infirmary was white and sterile.
"Thank God you're awake," a voice said, thick with emotion. Echo turned to see Lazarus sitting by the bed, wiping away tears. "You idiot! You made me so worried!"
"Brother... what happened? Why am I here?" Echo's voice was barely a whisper.
"Don't worry, Doctor Elsa has an impressive healing ability. She patched you up," Lazarus said, his relief turning into a hard, protective edge. "But tell me... did Kyle do this to you?"
"How did you know?" Echo asked, shocked.
Lazarus stood up, pacing the small room. "Listen to me, Echo. I won't criticize your choices, but don't believe everyone you meet. Promise me you'll learn to be fine on your own."
"On my own? Why are you talking like I'll never see you again?"
"I won't be there to babysit you every time," Lazarus said firmly. "You chose this path. I want you to face the consequences. Make it so I don't have to worry."
"I see... thanks, brother." Echo tried to stand, his leg still tender but functional. "I guess I'll just head back to class, then."
As Echo walked back through the halls, he was intercepted by the red-haired boy, Nate. "Are you okay? I saw you on Kyle's shoulder earlier."
"I'm fine," Echo said.
"My name is Nate," the boy said, stretching out his hand. "I need to tell you something important about Kyle. But not here. Meet me after class at the coffeeshop. Don't bring any weapons."
Echo shook his hand, his mind spinning. What is there to talk about? He pushed the thought aside and returned to the training hall.
Kyle was waiting with a huge grin. "Welcome, Echo! Ready for round two? I have an idea. Let's try something new. Block as many blows as you can. I'll put more strength into each strike."
"Deal," Echo said, his grip tightening on the Level 1 sword.
Kyle lunged. The first strike to the stomach was a hammer blow, but Echo held firm. The second strike was aimed at the head. Echo raised his sword to parry.
CRACK.
Echo's arm shattered. He fell to the floor, gasping.
"Echo, let go of the sword," Kyle commanded.
Echo slumped back, releasing his grip. The moment the sword hit the floor, Kyle swung his own blade down on it. The Level 1 weapon—the one that had survived a Master's strike moments ago—shattered into a hundred useless pieces.
"Now you see," Kyle said, his smile widening. "When you said the weapon 'called' you, I thought you were crazy. But the proof is in the shards. There is only one explanation: you have an ability, Echo. That sword was unbreakable as long as you held it... but your bones were too weak to pay the price."
Echo stared at the broken metal, stunned.
"It's a rare, dangerous gift," Kyle continued. "And I'm the only one who can help you overcome that weakness."
Echo looked up at the man everyone feared, a new spark of determination in his eyes. He nodded. "Please, sir... help me become strong. Just like you."
"Hahaha! You've got a long way to go, boy!"