The wind carried the scent of cypress and smoke through the hills of Thalorion, whispering between the rows of armored men standing in silence. Banners hung limp in mourning, silver threads stitched with the lion-sun crest of House Vaelion. At the center of the courtyard, draped in black and bound with chains of mana-steel, lay the casket of Sir Kaelen Vaelion—the Lion of Thalorion, Champion of the Border Marches, slayer of beasts.
And father to a boy who could barely keep his knees from shaking.
Aelric Vaelion stood alone beneath the pyre platform, barely fifteen, his ceremonial blade sheathed at his side, his silver-trimmed mourning cloak too heavy for his shoulders. He did not cry. Not because he wasn't broken—but because his father had once said, "A knight's tears must fall into his sword, not onto the ground."
So Aelric swallowed every drop.
Behind him, the nobles whispered. "Too young." "Such a waste." "A beast, they say—some new evolution." "The Empire should have sent reinforcements."
But the boy didn't hear them. His eyes were locked on the white-gold hilt that jutted from the casket's side. His father's blade: Brightmourne, etched with runes that no longer glowed. The weapon had returned. The man who wielded it had not.
"You left me nothing but your name," Aelric thought bitterly. "How do I avenge you with that?"
A voice spoke, soft and sad. "Are you ready, my lord?"
It was Master Elgren, the High Warden of the House and Aelric's old sword tutor. His face was lined with grief, but his hands were steady as he passed Aelric the firewand—a crystal rod carved with funeral script. One touch, and the mana-weave would ignite the pyre.
Aelric took it with trembling fingers. "No," he whispered. "But I will be."
He stepped forward. The wind rose, catching the edge of his cloak like wings. He placed the firewand at the base of the pyre and activated the rune.
With a soft hum, light crawled across the wood and silk, then erupted into flame.
The sky turned orange with firelight. Sparks climbed into the air like stars, carrying the ashes of Sir Kaelen upward—toward the Veil of the Afterlight, where warriors were said to feast among the gods.
As the flames roared, a strange pulse flickered in Aelric's chest.
He gasped. The world blurred. A bell rang in his skull—not sound, but sensation. Like something ancient had just woken up and was looking at him.
> [SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
Aelric staggered, grabbing the hilt of his practice blade.
> [User detected: Aelric Vaelion]
[Bloodline Match: 97%]
[Legacy Protocol Active]
[Welcome, Heir of the Fallen Blade]
"What…?" he whispered.
> [System Online]
[Mana Absorption Function: Locked]
[Cultivation Path: Inherited – Bladeborn Path: Level 0]
[First Quest: "Ashes to Iron" – Absorb Residual Mana from the Pyre]
And suddenly, he understood. The flames, fed by mana-rich oils and the life essence woven into his father's burial rites, were not just a farewell.
They were fuel.
Aelric's eyes gleamed.
He stepped closer to the pyre. His hand trembled—then steadied—as he reached out, not with flesh, but with will.
The System responded.
> [Absorbing Ambient Mana…]
[+7 Points Acquired]
[Cultivation Grade: 1st] → [1st, 9%]
[New Ability Unlocked: Mana Sight (Passive)]
A wave of heat struck him—not from the fire, but from within. Mana rushed into his limbs like lightning. His heart thundered. His veins glowed faint blue.
He saw, for the first time, the shimmering threads of energy that danced in the air. The invisible world beneath the world.
This… this is power, he thought. And I will use it.
Behind him, the nobles still whispered.
But Aelric Vaelion no longer listened.
He turned from the flames. In his eyes, something new had taken root—resolve, ancient and unbreakable. The System pulsed softly in his mind.
> [Quest Complete: "Ashes to Iron"]
[Reward: Bladeborn Technique – Tier I Unlocked]
Heir of the Fallen Blade had awakened.
And Arkaen would never be the same.