Tharen woke up in a very spacious room. The scent of soft flowers mixed with fresh air hit his face. He turned around and saw Seraphine sitting relaxed on the sofa, drinking something from a silver cup.
His body felt heavy. When he looked down, he found his body wrapped in a white cloth that covered his wounds. With a limp, he walked slowly towards Seraphine and sat down on the chair across from her.
"You're awake. Eat first. I've prepared something for you," Seraphine said, pointing to the table.
Without saying much, Tharen stared at the food in front of him, then began to devour it quickly.
"While you eat, I'll explain about this world… and the war we're about to face."
"Alright," Tharen replied, continuing to chew.
"This world is called Elarion. There are five main kingdoms: Velmora, Draventhyr, Kaelgrun, Sylwenar, and Azharad. Each has its own specialties and cultures."
Tharen listened silently, though his mind was filled with questions. Seeing his confused expression, Seraphine continued.
"Twenty years ago, the five kingdoms created the thirty most powerful weapons in the world. By agreement, each kingdom was to receive six. But in time, greed grew… and each kingdom began to seek the other weapons."
"Those six weapons… what weapons will we use to fight?" Tharen asked.
"Yes. Each hero will be chosen by one of the weapons. But… it is not us who choose. The weapons have their own souls. They will choose their masters."
Tharen's eyes began to light up, a lust for revenge burning in his chest. If he was strong enough… he could avenge the destruction of his clan.
"After this war… will we be able to return to our world?" he asked.
Seraphine's face suddenly grew grimmer. "For now… no. But perhaps, if we manage to gather all the weapons and use their power, we can open a portal to your home world."
Tharen fell silent. Instantly, the air in the room became heavy. A dark, ominous aura began to emanate from his body. Seraphine narrowed her eyes and smiled faintly—she liked that aura. The aura of a strong person. But now was not the time.
"Are you calm?" she asked softly as she finished her drink.
"I am. I don't even have an appetite anymore."
"Then come with me. We will meet the King… and you will receive your weapon."
Without waiting for an answer, Seraphine stood up and walked towards the door. Tharen followed her.
They walked down the majestic royal hall. The knights stood at attention, and the servants were busy doing their duties. Tharen took a moment to look out the window—the buildings, the gardens, and the citizens looked peaceful.
"Calm, aren't you?" Seraphine said without turning around.
"Calm belongs only to the strong. The rest… is just an illusion."
Seraphine smiled—she agreed completely.
Soon, they arrived in front of a large, heavily guarded door. The door to the royal hall.
"We have arrived. Are you ready?"
"I was born to be ready."
Seraphine pushed open the grand doors. Golden light greeted them. Inside, a man sat on a throne, surrounded by soldiers. He was King Velmora.
Tharen looked around. The hall was magnificent and majestic.
"Amazing, isn't it? This is Velmora's pride," Seraphine said.
"Nothing special," Tharen replied flatly.
They walked before the King. Seraphine bowed politely.
"Your faithful servant has arrived, My Lord."
The King stared at Tharen. The guards glanced at him in surprise—Tharen showed no sign of respect. Brave… or foolish?
"You are the first hero to arrive. What is your name?"
"Tharen Valorwind."
"Valorwind? Are you from a noble family?"
"No. That is the name of my clan. But now… only I remain."
"…Excuse my question. Have you explained your situation to Seraphine?"
"Yes. About this world. War. And the possibility of returning home."
The king nodded in satisfaction.
"Then let's continue. Seraphine will take you to the weapons vault. You will enter alone… and the weapon's soul will choose you."
"Can I only choose one?"
"Yes. Because the weapon will bind your soul. If your soul is weak, then the weapon will consume you."
"Very well."
"Seraphine, take him."
Seraphine rose and walked out of the hall. Tharen followed her until they reached an ancient iron door.
Behind the door, a terrifying aura emanated—the stench of blood and a menacing, savage power.
"From here on… you will be alone," Seraphine said.
Tharen stared at the room. Something inside him—something dark and bloodthirsty—rose and laughed in delight. He stepped inside.
The room was dark, but in the center stood six legendary objects:
A black ring with jagged carvings.
A single-edged, throbbing headdress.
A wolf-fang earring.
A long sword wrapped in dark energy.
Six orbs shining like stars.
And a giant pair of blood-red scissors.
The aura of each weapon was so strong that it squeezed his breath. But one of them—the sword—called his name.
Suddenly, a blinding light filled the room. Tharen closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he stood in an infinite space. Before him, a faceless figure floated.
"I am Valkrion," the creature said—its voice echoing into his soul.
"Val...kr—"
But before he could utter the name, the world faded. And Tharen lost consciousness.