"Sir! The army of dragons is descending upon us estimated numbers around ten thousand!"
The soldier's voice cracked under the weight of his fear.
His armor rattled as he saluted.
The general didn't react. He just stood, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on the distant horizon. The air around him felt heavy too still.
"So," he said softly, almost amused. "He's making his move."
He lifted a hand toward the clouds.
"Come to me, Eclipsion."
The world shuddered.
Something screamed through the sky a streak of black and white flame cutting through clouds and steel. It hit the ground like a meteor, tearing through stone and glass, then stopped neatly in his grasp.
The blade pulsed. "You always call. Can't do anything on your own, huh?"
"Good to see you too," the general muttered.
"At your service, sir," the sword replied, dripping arrogance.
The young soldier stared, pale and shaking. "S-Sir… the blade spoke?"
The general didn't even look at him. "It complains more than it should."
They said Eclipsion was forged from two opposite forces yin and yang, light and dark twisted into one impossible weapon. Seeing it up close, the rumor didn't seem like a rumor anymore.
The general stepped out onto the deck. Wind screamed past, carrying the scent of ash. The sky ahead glowed red. Ten thousand dragons moved like a storm.
"Alright," he whispered. "Let's cut the sky."
He swung.
The air cracked apart.
The black-and-white blade roared and from its edge, a thousand phantom weapons erupted, streaking upward in arcs of light. They tore through the heavens, exploding on impact. Fire spread like veins across the clouds.
It was… beautiful.
And horrifying.
A god's massacre.
But this isn't where the story begins.
It begins far away, on a morning too quiet
5:30 a.m.
The alarm screamed.
Tori Reglard opened his eyes, groaning. The ceiling greeted him with silence. Across the room, his brother, Sunless, was still out cold.
He got up, splashed water on his face, and climbed out the window without a sound. The air outside was cool, biting.
The Reglard family training yard was empty his favorite kind of quiet.
He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and picked up the wooden blade resting against the fence.
Four hundred swings. Every morning. No excuses.
His father had been a soldier and an adventurer. His mother, an adventurer and a mage like fighter who relied soley on her abilities of healing. Both believed discipline was the only thing stronger than talent. Tori agreed.
He started swinging.
Each strike hit the post with a sharp, rhythmic thwack.
One. Two. Three. Four hundred a blur of motion and sweat.
By the three-hundredth, his shoulders burned. By the three-hundred-fiftieth, his lungs begged for air.
He didn't stop.
Mana crawled along the blade, flickering gold. His mother's trick control mana until it felt like part of his heartbeat.
Then it happened.
A faint shimmer appeared before his eyes words forming from nothing.
[The Primordial Observer That Loves to Train is watching your Fable.]
He froze mid-swing.
"What the…?"
He wiped his forehead. The message didn't vanish.
[They are thrilled by your persistence.]
A laugh escaped him dry and unsure. "You've got to be kidding me."
Observers were supposed to watch heroes. Monsters and those who did great things in their lives promised to become observers themselves and people who changed the world. Not some kid hitting a wooden post before sunrise.
Still, he smiled. Someone something was watching.
[Primordial Observer Who Loves to Train is smiling at you.]
"Weird" he muttered, and went back to swinging. Harder this time.
Inside, Sunless Reglard was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, breathing steady.
Mana pulsed inside him calm, measured, dangerous.
His Authority was Stockpile.
He could copy the powers of others and store them ten at a time. Everyone thought it was broken. They didn't know the price though.
The moment he awakened, the Primordial Observer of Malice had branded him with a curse. Misfortune followed like a shadow. His Fable had appeared the same day.
The Unluckiest Mortal.
He hated it. But he trained anyway.
Outside, Tori's blade thudded again and again. The sound drilled through the house.
Beatrice, a small mana beast curled on Sunless's desk, opened one eye. "He's at it again," she said telepathically, her tone half-asleep, half-mocking.
Sunless exhaled. "He never stops."
She yawned. "Neither should you."
He cracked one eye open. "You're one to talk."
She pointed at the clock with her paw.
7:22.
His heart dropped.
"Ah, crap! I'm gonna be late again!"
Beatrice smirked. "Told you."
Outside, the first light of morning spread across the training yard, catching the sweat on Tori's face.
Somewhere, high above the clouds, something vast and unseen watched him through the veil of worlds.
[The Primordial Observer That Loves to Train is intrigued.]
[Your Fable begins to stir.]
And for a moment, the air around Tori seemed to move like it was breathing with him.