The remaining three Nobodies stood framed in the center of their own swirling storms of glowing artifacts and parchment scrolls. Each held a unique object or was encircled by light, but the library kept the gates to its true contents firmly locked. The knowledge called to them, bound itself to them, but demanded growth first. Noctua watched approvingly from his ladder, his massive yellow eyes gleaming in the chaotic light. With a theatrical gesture, he reached into his wing and, with a sharp popping sound, plucked out a shiny, asymmetrical feather. He held it tenderly and looked at the group with deep solemnity. Should they ever require his aid, the librarian began in a profound, mysterious voice, they simply needed to break the shaft of the feather, and the Lost Library would respond. He could not even finish his sentence. Silarias, who had given Nicola a swift, meaningful wink, snatched the feather right out of Noctua’s wing and tossed it away in a casual arc like a piece of lint, staring back at the stunned owl with absolute dry comedy as he remarked that it was wonderful and they would see each other soon. While Noctua stood frozen with his beak clicking in utter indignation, the eleven Nobodies turned synchronously on their heels. They walked with firm steps toward King Solomon, who had watched the entire spectacle with raised eyebrows. When the group asked almost in unison if they could go back, still hyped from the reawakened energy, King Solomon shook his head with a quiet smile, raised his hand, and ripped a shimmering portal open at their feet. With a brilliant flash of light, the portal swallowed the entire group and launched them back to the throne room of the Bastion in a fraction of a second.
As the vortex settled and everyone regained their footing, Nyx stepped straight up to Silarias. Placing a hand on her hip, she looked at him with wide eyes and told him that he was a little too cruel, even for a joke, her voice half scolding, half amused. Silarias felt the heat rush to his cheeks, looking at her with a light blush as he admitted he knew, but quickly averted his gaze to scan the room frantically, calling out to Nicola to ask if he could do something with that thing. King Solomon, stepping out from the shadows right behind them, furrowed his brow in deep thought, muttering to himself about the feather and trying to link the legends of the Ogugaki Library to Noctua’s antics. Nicola cut the king off immediately with a wide, triumphant grin. He thrust his hand into the air, revealing the object he had silently snatched from midair with catlike reflexes. He spun the shimmering owl feather between his fingers, his neon blue eyes sparkling with sheer inventor drive as he suggested heading to the next location first to receive the rest of their powers, promising that afterward they would expand the Bastion with all the ideas he had from those blueprints. The moment the word expand left his mouth, Lyn suddenly burst into laughter like an absolute maniac. Her eyes went wide and a wild, insanely enthusiastic laugh echoed through the throne room while she yelled about upgrades. Her pure madness was so contagious that young Ren and Miki immediately joined in, letting pure hype take over as they began jumping around wildly, loudly fantasizing about expanding the Bastion with gigantic candy forests and magical trees where cotton candy grew on the branches. King Solomon watched the chaos of laughing teenagers and maniacal smiths with a dry, amused expression, remarking with a smile that visit two started now before letting his staff hit the stone floor with a heavy thud.
FLASH!
Before the Nobodies could protest or refine their candy plans, the throne room exploded in a blinding white light. The world around them vanished in a breath, and with a second sharp flash, all eleven warriors stood in the center of a massive, serene Shinto Dojo, where the scent of cedarwood and tatami mats immediately rushed over them. The harsh flash dimmed, and the Nobodies blinked as their eyes adjusted to the sudden change of scenery. The bright, chaotic light of the Lost Library was gone. They were now standing in a vast, completely empty dojo. The floor consisted of wide, perfectly polished tatami mats, and the dark cedar walls stretched high up into a quiet ceiling. There was no sound, no movement, only the serene, almost heavy scent of aged wood and incense filling the space. Until, with a loud click, all the lanterns ignited simultaneously. Warm light illuminated the dojo, and from the shadowy high beams above, two figures descended in a spectacular, soundless leap. They landed light as feathers right before the group, their traditional kimonos rustling softly while their gaze radiated a deep, ancient wisdom. It was Izanami and Izanagi.
Without hesitation, Izanagi stepped toward Silarias and bowed deeply with his hands folded respectfully before his chest. He stated that their gratitude was greater than those walls could carry for what Silarias had done for the balance, but as he looked down at his own empty hands with a heavy heart, he admitted that reality was stern, and they could not grant much that was tangible at that moment because their own vaults had bled dry through the ages. Izanami took a step forward, her eyes glistening in the lantern light as she added that what they could offer was the truth behind the weapons that rested there, the legend that the ordinary world tried so desperately to forget. The Nobodies instinctively formed a tight circle around the two beings as Izanami’s voice dropped to a mysterious whisper, turning the atmosphere in the empty dojo as heavy as iron.
She spoke of the rumors circulating in the deepest corners of the eastern empires, where ordinary mortals only knew that the sky was vast, unaware of the foreign godarches far across the oceans enforcing their own cruel laws. No one knew the true origin of the Grey Smiths who lived deep beneath the burning volcanic caverns of the misty mountain ranges. They were not ordinary craftsmen, looking as though they had risen directly from the ashes of a foreign world. They were not tall, but their bodies were so unnaturally broad and solid that they resembled walking stone formations, covered in dark, leathery skin scorched by constant fire and marked with strange, angular scars that radiated an unknown authority. Under the wide brims of their straw hats, their eyes burned like glowing embers, and they spoke in a low, rumbling tongue that sounded like heavy stones grinding together, serving a different, distant godarche. When a desperate warrior entered their cavern to beg for a weapon, they bore witness to a process that defied natural law. The Grey Smiths combined their own heavy, otherworldly metal with the local iron sand through three sacred, gruesome steps: the Thousandfold Fold, where the smiths raised hammers no normal man could lift, striking the dark metal into the local steel thousands of times until the glowing metal grew so dense it drew the shadows out of the cavern and swallowed the light whole; the Hammering of Will, where the smiths chanted a heavy, monotone incantation that thickened the air, driving a living hunger and an active will into the core of the blade until the steel pulsed like a trapped beast; and the Glacial Quench, where the white hot blade was plunged into a trough of pure glacial ice chopped from unreachable mountain peaks, creating a thermal shock that made the entire mountain tremble and filled the cavern with electric blue steam.
At the mere mention of smithing and metal, Lyn’s ears perked up in absolute excitement, her eyes speaking volumes as the smith within her was already thinking a hundred steps ahead. Izanagi noticed this and offered her a mild smile before telling the group to look around the dojo to see what they might learn. They did not need to tell the youngest ones twice. Miki, who was eleven, and Ren, who was twelve, flashed across the room instantly, leaving their respective red and teal sparks behind on the tatami mats as they explored the corners of the vast space like energetic pups, while the rest of the Nobodies scattered to examine the training weapons and hidden alcoves.
Near the back of the dojo, Miki and Ren came across a set of massive, steaming wax tubs where a man was sitting right in the middle of them, surrounded by pots of shiny polish and buffing cloths. It was Sergio Waxelton, who leaped out of the wax tub with an exaggerated splash, seemingly completely unharmed by the heat, and immediately began playing with Miki and Ren as if they were little kids. He swung Ren onto his shoulders, spun Miki around, and began spouting the most absurd, drunk stories in a heavy, slurred voice about how he had once defeated an entire fleet using nothing but a polishing cloth and a block of beeswax. A few meters away, Izanagi stood watching the scene, a single tear gliding down his cheek as he saw how genuinely happy Sergio was making loud memories with the children, fully aware of what had to come next.
Izanagi composed himself, stood tall, and called out for Aurelius in a powerful voice. With a fluid motion, Izanagi drew his own sword and tapped the tip of the blade firmly against the floor, creating a sound that resonated through the entire dojo. Instantly, every present student and monk understood the signal, dropping to their knees as one in a ceremonial bow. Izanagi looked Aurelius straight in the eye, presenting the beautifully polished yet ominously dark blade horizontally with both hands, declaring that Aurelius had been his finest student and bestowing upon him the Dáinsleif Blade. He explained with deep gravity that it was one of the nineteen legendary forged swords that had withstood the test of time, but warned that it was cursed. The steel thrived on bloodlust and conflict, inflicting wounds that never healed and bled continuously until the victim fell, demanding a price whenever drawn. Aurelius took the sword with a solemn expression, feeling the immense weight of the weapon instantly sink into his arms.
Izanagi continued, his voice cracking ever so slightly, asking Aurelius to please take Sergio with them because he was a genuinely good soul who had been like a brother to him. The focus of the entire hall shifted back to the rear, where Sergio Waxelton was stumbling completely half drunk over a stack of tatami mats with a polishing cloth tied around his neck like a cape, loudly bellowing his own name and giving Ren a high five that landed just a bit too hard. Izanagi swallowed the lump in his throat, raised his hand, and beckoned Sergio and the rest of the Nobodies closer. As Sergio staggered over, Izanagi placed both hands firmly on the man’s shoulders and began saying a heartfelt farewell, thanking him for centuries of loyalty and for bringing laughter to dark days. Sergio looked back at him with a glazed, goofy expression, clearly not fully grasping the heavy, serious nature of the goodbye due to the alcohol, but he saw the tear in Izanagi’s eye, clapped him hard on the chest, laughed his loud laugh, and agreed that the Bastion could use some extra shine anyway.