Finde searched for Gladyo in every corner of the Company,
until he spotted him walking beneath a portico with Teremus.

He barely had time to reach them before the two said goodbye.
“Gladyo! I finally found you!
I’ve thought carefully about the Cemetery of Legendary Weapons and....”

He stopped.
Gladyo’s expression was dark.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something strange happened to Nitra of the Second Platoon.
She’s been hospitalized at the Tower.
The scientists are still trying to understand what happened.”

“Is it serious?”

Gladyo shook his head.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Then he smiled.
“You were saying?”

Finde took a deep breath.
“Yes. I’ve decided.
I’m going to the Cemetery of Legendary Weapons.”

Gladyo looked at him for a moment.
Then nodded.
A faint smile crossed his face.

“Let's go then!”

The planet Erevos lay in Galaxy H8, Quadrant Z989, Sector W99.

As soon as Finde opened his eyes after synchronization,
he understood why it was called ethereal.

He and Gladyo were immersed in a perpetual twilight.

The sky churned with bluish clouds, dark and dense like liquid smoke.
Around them, a thick mist flowed like a river, the same color as the sky.

It felt like walking on vapor.
The air was heavy, saturated with electricity and mystery.

“What kind of place is this?”
Finde asked, looking around.

“A planet of the Celestials,” Gladyo replied.
“All their domains are like this—dreamlike, spiritual…
with that touch of gloom that sends chills down your spine.”

They followed a barely visible path beneath the veils of fog.
Around them, only rocks and mist.
No sound.
No sign of life.

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yes. Be patient a little longer…
and you’ll see.”

When it appeared, the mountain rose suddenly before them,
wrapped in a cascade of mist that flowed slowly like liquid silk.

“How tall do you think it is?”
Finde murmured.

“One hundred meters, maybe. Hard to tell with all this fog.
But if you want, we could ask the elemental living inside…”

Finde didn’t have time to reply.
Before them, an arched entrance opened in the rock, four meters high.

No doors.
No hinges.
Only a black mouth swallowing the light.

“We have to go in there?”

Gladyo smiled.
“Having second thoughts?”

“Of course not.”

Finde took the first step into the darkness.

Inside, it felt like a forgotten cathedral.

Rows of gigantic columns—fifteen meters in diameter—rose toward a ceiling lost in shadow.
The only light came from blue flames dancing ten meters above the ground.

The entire space was submerged in a dull, cold, spectral blue.

Finde was about to speak when a whisper brushed his ear.

He spun around.

The mist rippled as if struck by an invisible wind.

“Who’s there?!”
he shouted.

Only the echo of his voice answered.

Then again, a voice.
“Who invokes the presence of Artmoth,
son of Gultoth, millennial priest of the Ancients?”

Finde felt an icy breath on the back of his neck.

Gladyo stopped him at once.
“Don’t turn around.
Just answer.”

“I am Finde, son of Jeremi, and I am here to learn my destiny!”

A whisper replied, like a chorus of distant winds.
“Destiny does not belong to mortals.
It is an illusion they use to give meaning to their inadequacy.
Return to where you came from…
or you will find here things far worse than destiny.”

The voice seemed to come from the columns, the floor, the air itself.

Gladyo spoke in a respectful tone:
“Supreme ancestral spirit, we are not here to profane,
but to claim a legendary weapon from the cemetery you guard.”

Silence.

Then a shape moved in the darkness.
A specter emerged, floating, wrapped in a tattered robe.

From beneath the dark hood, a skeletal face appeared, eroded by time.
“Who dares to claim the spirit of the great fallen warriors?”

Finde whispered.
“What is it talking about?”

“The legendary weapons,” Gladyo explained,
“are fused to the soul of their wielder.
To the ancestral spirit, you are not asking for a weapon…
but for a spirit.”

“What happens to the owner of the weapon that chooses a new master?”

Gladyo lowered his voice.
“The place is called a cemetery because the masters of these legendary weapons… are dead.
The weapons no longer have an owner.
They choose, on their own, the next one worthy to wield them.”

The whisper returned, closer now.
“Who dares to claim the spirit of the great fallen warriors?”

Finde stepped forward.
“I do! I, Finde son of Jeremi....
claim the spirit of a great fallen warrior!”

The specter materialized before him.
Its face a hand’s breadth from his own.
Through that translucent visage, Finde could see
the colonnade behind it—blurred, distant.

A damp, ancient smell filled his nostrils.
The smell of tombs, he thought.

The voice entered his mind.
“Speak the words:
In exchange for life, I accept the spiritual judgment...
Then enter the light as a penitent.”

With that, it vanished.

Finde looked at Gladyo, confused.
“What am I supposed to do?”

“I think it means you have to say those words…
and then enter the light.
But don’t ask me more...
I’ve never seen this with my own eyes.”

“Wonderful,” Finde muttered.
“I thought you knew how this worked.”

Gladyo smiled nervously.
“It’s not like I come here every day to chat with the Ancients!”

Finde raised his voice.
“In exchange for life, I accept the spiritual judgment!”

The echo vanished among the columns.

Suddenly, at the center of the nave, a circle of blue light appeared...
a celestial rose window projected from nothing.

“Enter the light as a penitent…”
Finde murmured.
“And what does a penitent do?”

“Kneels?”
Gladyo suggested.

Finde nodded.
“Right… kneels.”

He stepped toward the luminous circle on the floor.

He entered the light and knelt.

Warmth enveloped him.

Then everything changed.

Darkness.

When the light returned, he stood on a grassy hill beneath the rain.
Before him were two figures: one in a black cloak, the other…
his father!

“Dad!”
he cried, running toward them.

But Jeremi didn’t see him.
He was younger, without glasses.
Hair short and disheveled.

The hooded figure carried a long bundle on its back.

A sword.

“Farewell, Parsil.
Take care of yourself,” the figure said.

Parsil? Finde thought.
That’s not my father… and yet it is.

Jeremi spoke.
“Don’t go. We need you.”

Darkness exploded.

“Dad!”
Finde screamed.

Everything went black.

Before him appeared the Singularity of Gommhon.
Immense.
Alive.

It was so close that the tip of his nose
was almost touching the boiling black of its surface.

A whisper seeped into his mind, in an unknown language.
His body began to move on its own.
He took a step…
and fell inside.

The scream tore his throat apart.
Darkness churned around him.

Two spheres of light, one green and one red,
ignited at the edges of his vision.

A flash.

Then calm.

Before him appeared red characters,
written in a dark and unknown language.

I’ve seen that script before, he thought, trembling.

The voices inside his head screamed louder and louder.
He covered his ears.
Useless.

He screamed, until he was out of breath.

“Finde! Finde! Damn it, wake up!”
The voice came from far away.

A point of light drew closer.

“FINDE!”

He opened his eyes.
He was lying on the ground, in the cathedral.

Gladyo was holding him.
“You scared me to death!
You collapsed, then you started shaking and screaming!
You wouldn’t wake up!”

Finde took a deep breath.
“I’m fine… I think I dreamed.”

Gladyo studied him.
“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

“And that?”
Gladyo asked, pointing behind him.

Finde turned.

On the floor lay a dark bundle.
He approached.
He recognized it.

He picked it up, untied the knot.
Inside, a glossy black scabbard.

The hilt was long, wrapped in crimson leather.
He drew the blade.

It was black.

Thin and curved, a single edge pulsing with violet light.
On the metal, an ancient engraving, alive like a freshly closed wound.

Finde stared at it, feeling its energy flow through him.
Slowly, he sheathed it.

Gladyo smiled.
“You did it, boy....
A legendary sword has chosen you.”