In a vast grassy meadow where birds sang freely and thick snow slowly surrendered to the warmth of spring, a single object dominated the land.

  A blade.

  It rose from the earth like a monument, towering as high as a skyscraper, its surface smooth and flawless, reflecting the sky above with merciless clarity. For centuries, men and women from every corner of the globe had come before it, warriors, kings, prodigies, and fools alike. All had struck it, and all had failed.

  Not a single scratch marred its surface.

  This was no mere weapon. It was a rite of passage.

  To damage it required no overwhelming force. Power meant nothing here. Only **skill**, absolute intent, and perfect understanding could leave even the faintest mark. That was why none had succeeded.

  And yet legends remained.

  A great dragon, the first hero, had once carved its name into one of these blades using nothing but a claw. A hero born after it had done the same. In total, seven such blades existed, colossal pillars of steel scattered across the globe, each reaching toward the heavens.

  This blade, however…

  This one had never been touched.

  Before it, amid grass that swayed gently with the wind, sat a lone boy.

  His eyes were closed. His reflection did not exist in the blade’s surface. Neither did his shadow rest upon the earth.

  Vale wore dark leather armor reinforced with minimal metal plating, leaving only his metallic arm fully exposed. He sat perfectly still, as if the world itself had paused around him.

  Some distance away, beneath a thick and ancient tree, a brilliant white wyvern slept peacefully. Three ravens rested atop its back, their black feathers rising and falling with each slow breath.

  One by one, the beasts stirred.

  Vale opened his eyes.

  They were pale, completely devoid of color.

  As his gaze fixed upon the towering blade, figures began to gather around him.

  A knight clad in white armor, golden hair catching the light, icy eyes calm and unwavering.

  A short, black-haired woman whose presence felt as subtle and dangerous as the shadow beneath her feet.

  A woman with tanned skin and white hair, arms crossed, her impatience barely restrained.

  And an old man with a short beard and piercing eyes that missed nothing.

  Yuki glanced at Rikin and clicked her tongue.

  “What is he waiting for?” she asked sharply.

  Rikin chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving Vale.

  “Give the boy time,” he replied. “Only those who can enter Nirvana have ever damaged these blades. Patience is the price of carving yourself into history.”

  Yuki scoffed but said nothing more.

  Vale finally rose to his feet.

  Callum smiled faintly.

  Evelyn grinned.

  Vale looked down at his open palm, his expression distant.

  “What am I?” he asked quietly.

  As the words left his lips, something stirred beneath his armor.

  A strange, bone-like implant began to glow. It slid outward like living liquid, coiling and hardening into the shape of a blade within his hand. Pale, alien, and unmistakably his.

  He had asked himself that same question four weeks ago.

  And in all that time, he had found no answer.

  He had grown stronger. Learned more. Understood Nirvana better than ever before. Yet Mirage, the great wolf bound to his soul, had not answered him since that first encounter within Artoria’s memories.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Vale let out a faint, humorless chuckle and raised his gaze back to the Blade of God.

  He spread his feet wide, grounding himself.

  Lowered his center of gravity.

  Rested his blade at his side.

  And then, he focused.

  Not on the Atum around him.

  On the Atum everywhere.

  He had learned the truth not long ago.

  Nirvana was not sight.

  It was not awareness.

  It was control.

  To feel Atum as it truly was, not as something external, but as the fundamental fabric of existence itself. To accept it as the only thing that had ever existed… because it was.

  Vale inhaled deeply.

  Closed his eyes.

  And waited.

  A minute passed in complete silence.

  Then,

  In an instant, Vale moved.

  His eyes snapped open as dense, suffocating Atum revealed itself around the blade. He had entered Nirvana.

  And with it came everything.

  He felt every muscle fiber contract and twist.

  Every blood cell racing through his veins.

  Air tearing through his lungs.

  Wind scraping against his skin.

  It was overwhelming, like standing at the center of creation and annihilation simultaneously.

  But Vale stepped forward.

  He swung.

  The single strike felt as if it dragged him through the deepest bowels of hell itself.

  His body screamed. His mind threatened to fracture.

  But he did not falter.

  He knew, if he stopped now, there would be no second chance. Nirvana was not something one entered casually. It was special. Dangerous. Once entered, it demanded everything.

  Then the arc completed.

  Reality snapped back into place.

  Vale gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently. The strike had lasted less than a second, yet it had drained him completely.

  His legs trembled.

  Then gave out.

  Before Vale could hit the ground, an arm slid firmly beneath his own and stopped his fall.

  His body sagged, but he did not collapse.

  Through blurred vision, Vale turned his head slightly. White armor filled his view, clean and radiant even under the open sky, and beside it faint strands of golden hair caught the light. The familiar presence steadied him more than the arm ever could.

  Vale let out a faint breath, almost a laugh, and allowed himself a moment of silence. The world felt distant, muffled, as if wrapped in cotton.

  Then he spoke.

  “…Did I do it?”

  Callum did not answer immediately.

  Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the Blade of God.

  At first glance, it looked unchanged, towering, flawless, eternal. But then his eyes narrowed, and his grin slowly spread.

  There, at the very center of the colossal blade, was a crack.

  It was small. Insignificant compared to the weapon’s immeasurable size.

  And yet it was undeniable.

  The first blemish in centuries.

  The first wound in the third of the seven heavenly blades.

  Callum’s breath caught.

  “Yes,” he said, awe filling his voice as his eyes gleamed. “You did.”

  Vale’s expression went still.

  For a heartbeat, it was unreadable, caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion. Then, slowly, a smile formed. Not forced. Not restrained.

  Bright and genuine.

  Satisfied.

  And then his strength finally gave out.

  Nirvana’s backlash claimed him, and Vale slipped into unconsciousness.

  It was only natural.

  The human mind was never meant to experience such totality, every sensation, every movement, every thread of existence all at once. Most would have died outright.

  But Vale was not normal.

  Not that he knew anyone who truly was.

  Then the others approached at last.

  Yuki stepped closer to the Blade of God, her confident stride faltering as she leaned in, eyes widening. She studied the crack carefully, tracing its length without touching it. Then she straightened abruptly and took several steps back, disbelief written plainly across her face.

  That disbelief twisted into exhilaration.

  “So,” she said sharply, unable to suppress her grin, “he’ll be designated X-Class as well?”

  Rikin approached more slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He examined the crack with quiet intensity before nodding.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “He will be the fourth in his class.”

  He stroked his short beard thoughtfully.

  “This year’s students are extraordinary. The Rosemary Academy will have its hands full.”

  Evelyn glanced at him and shrugged, her tone casual.

  “I suppose.”

  She turned her eyes back to the blade, lingering for a moment longer before shifting her gaze to Vale’s unconscious form.

  “…Still,” she added, softer now, “I never thought I’d live to see the third blade marked.”

  A small smile touched her lips.

  “But I’m glad I did.”

  She stepped closer to Callum. He raised an eyebrow just in time before Evelyn leaned in and kissed him, her hand resting gently against his cheek while he supported Vale’s weight with ease.

  Pulling back, she spoke again.

  “Get him ready for the gala. We have about four hours before we’re expected.” Her eyes gleamed. “Arriving with news like this will be a pleasant surprise for everyone.”

  Callum chuckled.

  “Of course, dear.”

  He glanced down at Vale, his expression shifting into something protective.

  “We’ll need to keep him well-guarded from now on.”

  Evelyn nodded in agreement and began walking back toward Sector Zero. After a few steps, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.

  “I bought a new dress for the gala,” she said casually. “So you’ll have something to look forward to.”

  Callum blinked.

  Then blushed.

  A moment later, he laughed softly.

  “I’ll be looking forward to that, love.”

  Evelyn vanished into the shadows.

  Callum turned to Yuki and Rikin.

  “You two getting ready as well?”

  Rikin sighed.

  “I suppose we have to. Nearly all the leaders of the United Nations will be attending.”

  Yuki crossed her arms and scoffed.

  “I’ll come. But I’m not wearing a dress. Those things are wildly impractical.”

  Rikin narrowed his eyes.

  “You will wear a dress. This is a formal gala welcoming Tharion’s return. You are not exempt from decorum.”

  He paused pointedly.

  “Even my son and Alexandria will be returning in formal attire.”

  Yuki huffed but did not respond.

  Callum laughed quietly, waved them off, and began preparing Vale for transport.

  As he walked away, the brilliant white wyvern followed at his side, three dark ravens taking to the air above them, silent sentinels circling their fallen prodigy.