CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

The air in the subterranean armory was heavy with the cold, ancient scent of oiled steel and damp stone. Outside the reinforced iron doors, the entire Vel’drin clan chamber echoed with the muffled, rhythmic beat of war drums.

It was the eve of Caius’s sixteenth birthday. Tomorrow at dawn, he would enter the sunken arena to face an elite Nyx’ari Shadowblade in the Trial of Fate.

Caius stood in the center of the vault, tightening the leather vambraces over his forearms. He slipped his trusted longsword, Nightdancer, off his belt and channeled a pulse of spatial mana into his silver ring. With a soft ripple of light, the longsword vanished into his dimensional storage space.

He was taller now, his frame lean and wiry, carrying the quiet, deadly composure of a predator accustomed to the dark. His pale eyes were entirely calm, untroubled by the impending duel that would dictate whether he lived or died under the Dual Sovereigns’ gaze.

The heavy door creaked open, and Old Bones stepped inside, his cloak dripping with the cold, static-charged mist of the estate courtyard. He carried a broad, cloth-wrapped bundle tucked under his arm.

”The drums are loud tonight,” Old Bones grunted, setting the bundle down on a heavy oak workbench. ”The Patriarch’s inner guard is fully mobilized. The Sun and Moon envoys have already taken their seats in the high gallery above the arena.”

”Let them watch,” Caius said smoothly, flexing his gloved fingers.

Old Bones chuckled, a dry, raspy sound, though his sharp eyes held a rare weight. He tapped the broad canvas bundle on the table.

”I told you a year ago I had another present for you,” the old assassin said, his tone turning serious. ”Something to be handed over right before you step into that ring.”

Caius stepped up to the bench. ”Another gift, Master Old Bones?”

”Consider it my official sign-off as your instructor,” Old Bones replied. With a swift flick of his wrist, he unrolled the heavy dark canvas wrapping.

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Resting on the velvet lining were two magnificent dual short swords. Their slightly curved blades were forged directly from the massive, ivory-white fangs of the Sabre Lightning Tiger Caius had refined a year prior. The ivory steel was etched with glowing, deep-purple lightning runes that flickered with static energy, while the hilts were wrapped in non-slip dragon-hide bound with dark silk thread.

”The Sabre-Twin Fangs,” Old Bones said softly, his voice carrying a trace of pride. ”Forged from the very tiger whose core you devoured. I had House Vel’drin’s grand blacksmith bind the natural lightning affinity of the beast’s bones directly into the blades.”

Caius reached out, his fingers wrapping around the twin hilts. The moment his skin touched the grips, a violent, resonant crackle of electricity surged up his arms, seamlessly harmonizing with the dark purple lightning pillar in his Crown Core.

”Draw them,” Old Bones urged.

Caius drew both short swords in a single, fluid motion.

A sharp, electric hum filled the armory as dark purple arcs of lightning danced along the ivory-white edges. But what made Caius’s eyes flare with liquid-obsidian light was their terrifying conductivity—the short swords didn’t just channel elemental lightning, they acted as perfect conductors for his spatial threads, allowing him to extend lightning-sheathed spatial blades right off the tips.

”They have built-in lightning attributes, perfect balance for dual-wielding, and zero mana lag,” Old Bones explained, a proud smirk touching his scarred lips. ”Your Nightdancer longsword is too distinct—everyone knows you use it. Hiding it in your ring and stepping into the arena with these will catch that arrogant Shadowblade completely off guard.”

Caius executed a rapid, blinding cross-slash through the air. The twin short swords left trails of dark purple lightning and microscopic spatial tears in their wake before settling smoothly into twin scabbards strapped across his back.

He looked up at the old assassin, adjusting the cloak over his new weapons.

”Thank you, Master,” Caius said, his voice quiet with genuine respect.

Old Bones waved his hand dismissively, though he couldn’t hide the warmth in his eyes. ”Save the thanks for after you slice that Shadowblade’s throat. That bastard you’re fighting tomorrow was trained by the Moon Palace’s elite executioners. He won’t give you room to breathe.”

Old Bones stepped forward, clapping a heavy, calloused hand onto Caius’s shoulder.

”Show them what a human ward taught by House Vel’drin can do, kid,” Old Bones said softly. ”Happy sixteenth birthday.”

Caius adjusted his cloak over the Sabre-Twin Fangs, his eyes flashing with cold, murderous resolve. ”I won’t disappoint you.”