The aftermath of the demon attack left the training center in an uneasy calm. Though the physical damage was minimal—only a section of the western wall breached—its emotional and psychological toll ran deep. For the first time in decades, a demon had breached a boundary meant to be impenetrable. To the recruits, it was no longer just training. It was real. And it was coming.
Rumors spread like wildfire through the dormitories. Some said it had been a test by the Demon Hunter Association. Others whispered it was a warning, a sign that demons were regaining strength.
Mistress Elira offered no public explanation. Her silence only deepened the mystery.
Keith sat with Ethan in the mess hall the following morning, pushing a piece of bread around a plate of thick broth. Neither of them spoke much. Around them, conversations buzzed nervously.
It wasn't until Instructor Harwin's voice echoed across the mess hall that anyone truly lifted their heads.
"All unawakened recruits, report to the bonding hall in thirty minutes."
Ethan blinked. "Bonding hall? What's that?"
Keith shook his head. "Never heard of it."
Thirty minutes later, they stood among nearly two dozen other unawakened recruits inside a long, vaulted stone chamber. Unlike the sparring courts or training arenas, this room held an air of reverence. Blue lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting flickering light across ten weapon stands arranged in a half-circle at the center of the chamber. Each stand bore a weapon—swords, spears, a bow, even a pair of ornate silver gauntlets.
They weren't ordinary weapons. Each one pulsed faintly, as if breathing.
Instructor Harwin and Mistress Elira stood at the front.
"These," Elira began, her voice firm and composed, "are Bonded Weapons—dormant Spirit-Forged arms awaiting a compatible wielder."
Murmurs rippled through the recruits.
Harwin stepped forward. "They are not yet rank three weapons, but they are made of materials that can grow. They are alive, in a way. They will respond to ether, to will, to destiny. Today, you will approach them. If one calls to you, you may attempt to form a connection."
"However," Elira added, her eyes narrowing, "do not attempt to force a bond. You must allow it to happen naturally. Failure to do so could lead to injury… or worse."
The recruits swallowed nervously.
Names were called one by one. Each recruit would approach the weapon stands, trying to sense something—anything. Most left disappointed. A few weapons flickered briefly with light, then dimmed again. Nothing bonded.
When Ethan's name was called, he hesitated. Then he stepped toward the longbow. As his fingers brushed the bowstring, a faint green light radiated from its core.
Gasps followed.
Harwin's expression tightened. "Interesting…"
The light faded, but not entirely. The bow had responded—not a full bond, but acknowledgment.
Then it was Keith's turn.
He walked slowly to the weapon circle, every step echoing in the silent hall. He didn't expect anything. He hadn't awakened. He had no ether. He wasn't special.
Yet the moment he stepped near the pedestal, a reaction occurred.
A dagger—small, elegant, silver-edged with a black-wrapped hilt—began to vibrate.
The recruits gasped. Even Harwin took a step forward.
The dagger didn't glow like the others. It shook. As if it were alive.
Keith stopped in front of it, frozen.
"Go on," Elira urged, her voice strangely calm.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt, the world vanished.
He stood in a void, surrounded by shadow and whispers. It wasn't cold. It wasn't warm. It simply was.
Then a voice, soft and ancient, echoed in the silence.
"You're late."
It was like a whisper from his soul.
Then—he was back.
The dagger had stopped vibrating. But now, across its blade, a faint crimson line—like a scar—glowed for a moment before fading.
Harwin moved cautiously. "That wasn't a bond… not fully."
"But it recognized him," Elira finished, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
The room erupted in whispers.
Keith stared at the dagger, his fingers tingling. Something had happened. Not power—no strength surged through him. But a connection. Something ancient. Something buried.
Later that night, back in the boys' dormitory, Ethan leaned against the bunk's wooden frame. "Keith… that dagger… it reacted to you. Just like that demon did."
Keith lay back, staring at the ceiling.
He didn't respond. Because he didn't understand it either. All he knew was that something inside him had stirred—something echoing from within the dagger and deep in his chest.
It wasn't awakening. Not yet.
But it was coming.
And when it did, the world might not be ready.