The Hall of Arms was older than Blackhollow Keep.
That was what the mentors said, at least. That the keep had been raised around it rather than the other way around, stone by stone, as if the builders had feared disturbing what already waited beneath the mountain.
Kael believed them the moment he stepped inside.
The hall was vast, but not grand. Pillars rose unevenly from the floor, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of touch. Racks lined the walls, holding weapons of every kind—bows, blades, hammers, spears, staffs—each different, each quiet in a way that felt deliberate.
None of them gleamed.
None of them felt eager.
The remaining trainees stood in a loose semicircle near the center of the hall, boots echoing softly against ancient stone. There were far fewer of them now. Twenty had become twelve. Twelve felt like a lie already—too many for what hunters were meant to be.
Nyx stood with her arms folded, gaze drifting constantly, as if measuring exits even here.
Borin stood stiffly, one arm wrapped in a thick bandage, his jaw set against lingering pain.
Elyra's face was pale. She held her staff close to her chest, fingers tight around the wood as though afraid it might leave her.
Kael felt the warmth between his shoulders stir the moment they crossed the threshold.
Not pain.
Recognition.
Captain Maelor waited near the center of the hall. The mentors stood farther back, spread out, watching not the weapons—but the people.
"You've been brought here," Maelor said, her voice carrying easily in the stillness, "because training is finished."
No one reacted.
"You have not passed," she continued. "You have not succeeded. You have not earned anything."
She let that settle.
"You have simply not failed yet."
A few trainees shifted uncomfortably.
"These are awakened weapons," Maelor said, gesturing toward the racks. "They are not forged for you. They are not loyal to you. They are not rewards."
She met their eyes one by one.
"They respond to restraint. Intent. Willingness to endure consequence."
She paused.
"And they reject arrogance."
Serah Vale stepped forward.
"You do not choose," she said bluntly. "You approach. If a weapon responds, you listen. If it does not, you walk away."
Grend crossed his arms. "And if it rejects you—"
"—you leave," Maelor finished. "Immediately."
A murmur rippled through the group.
Nyx tilted her head. "No second chances?"
Hadrik's voice drifted down from the shadows. "Hunters don't get those."
The first name was called.
Not Kael's.
A young man stepped forward—nervous, shoulders squared too tightly, eyes darting from rack to rack. He approached a short spear mounted on a stone plinth, hesitated, then reached out.
The spear did nothing.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Sweat beaded on his brow. He moved to a sword next, then a hammer.
Still nothing.
The silence grew uncomfortable.
Finally, the man laughed weakly. "Maybe I—"
The sword vibrated suddenly.
Hope flared—
Then the vibration stopped.
Maelor spoke without looking at him. "You're done."
The man stared at her. "What?"
"The weapon considered you," she said. "And declined."
His face crumpled. "I trained for months."
Serah didn't soften. "So did the dead."
The man stood frozen for a long moment, then turned and walked out of the hall without another word.
The doors closed behind him with a dull finality.
No one spoke.
Borin was called next.
He approached slowly, visibly bracing himself with each step. He passed several weapons without touching them, his eyes drawn instead to a massive hammer resting low against the far wall. It looked ordinary—stone head, reinforced haft, no visible runes.
Grend straightened slightly.
Borin stopped in front of it.
He hesitated.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," Borin said quietly, not to the mentors—but to the weapon.
The hammer shifted.
Just barely.
A low hum filled the air, felt more than heard. The stone beneath Borin's feet vibrated in response.
Borin swallowed and reached out.
The hammer lifted easily into his hands.
Not lighter—but right.
Grend let out a slow breath. "It chose restraint."
Borin's eyes filled with tears he didn't bother hiding. "I'll listen," he whispered.
The hum settled.
Elyra was next.
She approached the racks with visible tension, the air around her subtly bending as unseen things crowded closer. Candles lining the hall flickered in response to her presence.
Her mentor watched closely.
Elyra stopped before a staff darker than the others, its surface etched with spiraling patterns that seemed to shift when not directly observed.
She hesitated longer than anyone else had.
"What if it takes more?" she asked quietly.
Her mentor answered honestly. "It will."
Elyra closed her eyes.
She reached out.
The staff flared—briefly, sharply—then settled, its patterns glowing faintly before dimming.
Elyra gasped, clutching it as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
"What did it take?" Maelor asked.
Elyra swallowed hard. "My childhood home."
Silence.
Her mentor nodded. "Then it bound properly."
Nyx approached next.
She didn't hesitate.
She didn't browse.
She walked straight to a pair of curved blades mounted crossed against the stone.
They were unremarkable—dark metal, worn grips.
She reached out.
The blades were suddenly in her hands.
No glow. No sound.
They simply refused to be set down.
Nyx frowned, trying to release one.
It didn't move.
Kerris smiled faintly. "You don't disappear from what you carry."
Nyx exhaled slowly. "Figures."
Kael was last.
The hall felt smaller as he stepped forward.
He passed bows without touching them. Passed blades. Passed weapons that felt eager, curious, even impatient.
None of them were right.
The warmth between his shoulders intensified—not painful, but insistent.
Serah frowned. "That's odd."
Kael stopped near the center of the hall.
"I don't know where to go," he said quietly.
Hadrik's voice echoed faintly. "Then stop searching."
Kael did.
The warmth pulsed once.
A bow, mounted high on the far wall, shuddered.
It was old. Plain. Its surface bore faint markings almost worn away entirely.
No one had noticed it before.
Serah inhaled sharply. "That bow hasn't moved in—"
The bow slid free of its mount.
It didn't fall.
It came to him.
Kael caught it instinctively.
The hall went completely silent.
The warmth between his shoulders flared—then settled, as if something had finally aligned.
Serah stared. "That bow predates the registry."
Hadrik descended from the shadows, expression unreadable. "It shouldn't respond anymore."
Maelor's gaze locked on Kael. "What do you feel?"
Kael swallowed. "Recognition."
No one spoke.
Finally, Maelor nodded once. "Then it's decided."
The trainees were dismissed slowly, quietly, each carrying something heavier than steel.
As they left the hall together, Nyx glanced at Kael's bow. "You always do things the complicated way."
Borin smiled faintly. "At least it likes him."
Elyra looked thoughtful. "Or remembers him."
Kael said nothing.
Behind them, the Hall of Arms fell silent again.
But not asleep.
End of Chapter Seven