The morning after the encounter with the foreign adventurers, I woke before the sun. The mountain air was drier than I was used to, but it no longer bothered me. There was something about this harsh climate that matched the moment I was living.
The stone was integrated into my sword.
Nothing had changed externally.
But I knew I could not measure it by appearance alone.
I decided to climb to one of the open training areas on the slopes, where the Cyclopes practiced individually. It was not a formal field, just an extension of rock leveled by constant use. The wind blew strong up there.
Elara walked silently by my side. Vespera followed closely, alert as always. Liriel maintained her usual serenity. Rai'kanna seemed comfortable in that stone-and-height environment. Lyannis carried small notebooks, a habit she did not abandon even outside libraries.
When we reached the top, some Cyclopes were already training. Repeated movements, calculated strikes, controlled breathing. No shouts or exaggerated displays of strength. Only discipline.
I chose an open space.
I drew my sword.
The blade reflected the pale morning light.
No new glow.
No vibration.
I took a deep breath.
I started with basic movements. Diagonal cuts, horizontal swings, simple advances. I adjusted posture, center of gravity, breathing. I was not seeking maximum strength. I was seeking perception.
Elara observed my feet.
"Your axis is more stable today."
I nodded.
I felt it too. It was not only physical. It was mental.
I continued.
I gradually increased speed. Introduced wider rotations. Tested combinations I would use against an enemy with high regeneration. Sequential strikes, angle variations, abrupt changes in rhythm.
Nothing.
The sword remained normal.
I paused for a moment.
Closed my eyes.
Tried to sense something beyond the cold metal.
Silence.
Vespera approached.
"Are you waiting for it to react on its own?"
"I am waiting to understand how to react along with it."
Rai'kanna crossed her arms.
"Weapons do not awaken through anxiety."
She was right.
I restarted.
This time, I imagined the Fourth General in front of me. Not his exact form, but his main characteristic. Immortality. Continuous resistance. An enemy who does not retreat from fatigue.
I attacked as if each strike needed precise intention. Not brute force. Intention.
Vertical cut.
Side step.
Short thrust.
Minimal recoil.
Nothing different.
But something changed within me.
I was not frustrated.
I was attentive.
Lyannis approached.
"May I try a magical flow reading?"
I nodded.
She positioned her hands near the blade without touching it. Murmured simple analytical words. A subtle glow traveled along her fingers.
"There is energy there. But it is not active. It seems… dormant."
Liriel approached.
Her light magic was not suitable for any type of activation, but her spiritual perception was superior to ours.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds.
"It is not inertia. It is waiting."
The word echoed in me.
Waiting.
Perhaps I was trying to awaken something that would only appear in the presence of a real threat.
I continued training, now focusing on my own mind.
I visualized possible failures.
What if the stone didn't work?
What if the Fourth General had multiple bindings sustaining his immortality?
What if we were betting on something incomplete?
These thoughts were not fear. They were analysis.
I trained until sweat ran down my face and hands. Even so, I maintained control of my breathing. The discipline of the Cyclopes around influenced the rhythm of the environment.
No one there trained to show strength.
They trained to maintain consistency.
After some time, an older Cyclops approached. His posture was firm, but not aggressive.
"You seek a reaction from the weapon."
It was not a question.
"Yes."
He observed the blade for a few seconds.
"Ancient relics do not respond to demonstrations. They respond to purpose."
He did not explain further.
He simply returned to his own training.
Elara tilted her head slightly.
"Purpose is not the same as momentary intention."
I knew.
Purpose was something continuous.
I sheathed the sword for a few minutes. Sat on the edge of the stone platform. The wind hit my face.
I observed the distant mountains.
Thought about the war.
The kingdoms beginning to move.
The responsibility falling on me not because I wanted it, but because I could act.
Perhaps the spirit inside the stone, if it existed, would not awaken to prove something.
Perhaps it would awaken when it was necessary to protect something real.
I stood again.
This time, I did not visualize the Fourth General.
I visualized my companions.
Elara focused on casting with precision.
Vespera protecting our flanks.
Liriel raising her light against demons.
Rai'kanna advancing without hesitation.
Lyannis sustaining our magical balance.
I grasped the sword.
Executed a single strike.
Direct.
Simple.
With conviction.
For a moment, I felt something different.
It was not a glow.
It was not a sound.
It was a subtle internal resistance, as if the blade had found a point of alignment.
It lasted less than a second.
But I felt it.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Nothing visible had changed.
Still, something was firmer inside me.
Vespera noticed.
"You felt it."
"Yes."
"Did it respond?"
"Not exactly."
Elara approached.
"What was it then?"
I thought for a moment before answering.
"It was not a response. It was recognition."
No one commented, but all understood that this was enough for now.
I sheathed the sword definitively.
That day's training did not grant me new power.
It did not give me guarantees.
But it gave me clarity.
I did not need to force the awakening.
I needed to be ready when it happened.
As we descended the slope, I again observed the Cyclopes training silently.
Daily discipline.
Constant purpose.
No rush.
No despair.
When we returned to the palace wing, the sun was already high.
Tomorrow we would formally bid farewell to the king.
After that, we would return to Vaillo.
The bet had already been made.
The stone was integrated.
The spirit, if it truly existed, was waiting.
And so was I.
I closed the door behind us.
Touched the hilt of the sword one last time before placing it beside the bed.
"Awaken when the time is right."
There was no response.
But this time, the silence did not feel empty.
It felt attentive.
And that was enough for me.