Corym reacted on pure instinct, a galvanic jolt of fear and defiance shooting through him. His hand snapped back from the Egg as he slammed the ironwood lid shut. The heavy wood met the chest frame with a solid thud, and the runic bands flared momentarily, locking tight with a series of sharp, decisive clicks that echoed in the sudden, thick silence of the room. He spun around, heart hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs, finding himself breathing heavily, staring at the intruder.

  The swordsman leaned casually against the doorframe, rainwater still dripping from the hem of his dark coat onto the floorboards. A small, infuriatingly calm smile played on his lips.

  "Bit jumpy, aren't we?" he observed, his voice a low murmur that barely carried over the relentless drumming of the storm outside. "Must be precious, whatever you've got tucked away in grandma's old chest."

  "Get out of my house!" Corym choked out, the words ragged, fueled by adrenaline and outrage. "Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?"

  The smile didn't vanish, but the man pushed himself upright, taking a step further into the room, his movements fluid and economical. "Apologies for the intrusion. The door wasn't exactly fortified." He spread his hands slightly, palms outward, a gesture that might have been placating if not for the keen, assessing glint in his eyes.

  "My name is Vantis. And as for what I am... let's just say my associates and I take a keen interest in certain... historical artifacts." His gaze flicked pointedly towards the ironwood chest. "That object, for instance. Kept safe here on Agon-Tor for nearly twenty standard years, hasn't it?"

  Corym felt like he'd been doused in ice water. Twenty years? How could this stranger possibly know that? He took an involuntary step back, bumping against the sturdy wooden table. "I... I don't know what you're talking about. That's just an old family... thing."

  "Don't insult my intelligence," Vantis replied, his voice losing its light edge, becoming sharper, more focused. "We know what it is, and we know it's been guarded here since Renmyr's party passed through this system after the Siege of Sqraax Prime. Roughly twenty years ago." He paused, letting the name hang in the air. Renmyr. A legendary name whispered in spacer bars and fragmented historical texts, one of the famed companions of Arewyth Geal-Lydin, the last Herald. "The point is," Vantis continued, "circumstances have become... urgent. We need to retrieve it."

  "Retrieve it?" Corym echoed, disbelief warring with a rising tide of anger. This man waltzed into his home, uninvited, spouting cryptic references to legendary figures and demanding… the Egg? "You barge in here, spook me half to death, and think you can just take something that's been with my family for years? Who are you people?"

  Vantis sighed, a sound of faint impatience. "Alright. The direct approach it is. My associates and I... we work against the current regime. Against Bazduk. We're trying to pick up the pieces left behind after the Herald and her companions fell." He met Corym’s gaze directly. "That 'family thing' you're guarding is tied to them. It's important, potentially crucial, if anyone's ever going to stand a chance of challenging the Dynasty's stranglehold. We need it."

  Renegades? Fighting Bazduk? It sounded like the sort of wild tales spun on the illicit vox-casts he sometimes listened to. Heroes and rebels fighting impossible odds. But this man, Vantis, didn't look like a starry-eyed hero. He looked sharp, calculating, and dangerous. And Corym had nothing but his word.

  "You expect me to just believe that? Hand over something my grandfather entrusted me with – something I don't even understand – just because you walk in here saying you're fighting the good fight? What happens if I give it to you? What trouble does that bring down on my family?" His voice rose, fueled by fear and frustration. "You need to leave. Now. Before I call the constabulary – never mind how useless they usually are."

  Vantis's expression hardened almost imperceptibly. "Calling the local watch would be... unwise. For both of us. Look," he took another slow step forward, closing the distance slightly, "I appreciate your caution. Loyalty is commendable. But we don't have time for lengthy explanations or earning your trust, respectfully. The Dynasty has patrols sweeping this sector more frequently now. Our arrival might have already triggered alerts. We need to move." He stopped, his hand resting lightly on the worn leather hilt of the sword protruding over his shoulder. "And unfortunately for you, I can't leave without it. I can, and will, take it by force if necessary."

  The threat hung in the air, cold and absolute. Every protective instinct Corym possessed surged to the forefront. This wasn't just about the mysterious Egg anymore; it was about defending his home, his family's legacy, however unknown. He didn't know much, but he knew he couldn't let this arrogant stranger win. Panic warred with a strange, fierce energy coiling deep within him. He backed away another step, his hand instinctively going to the emitter still clipped to his belt.

  He could feel the latent power within the device, usually dormant, reserved for simple tasks. But he also felt something else – a deeper wellspring within himself, a resonance of mana he'd only ever brushed against in secret moments of concentration. He focused on it now, drawing it up, channeling it through the emitter, forcing the device beyond its mundane programming.

  The emitter whined, a high-pitched sound cutting through the storm's roar. The blue crystal eye flared, no longer a soft pulse but a blinding golden intensity. The light mirrored itself in Corym’s own eyes, his sunset irises suddenly blazing with the same ferocious light. Raw mana, smelling faintly of ozone and summer lightning, flooded the emitter’s core.

  In front of him, coalescing from the overcharged lens, was a blade – translucent, humming, shaped like a longsword but formed entirely of crackling, barely contained golden energy. It wasn't a standard function, not something programmed into the device's blueprints. This was him, forcing it, hacking its potential with raw, untamed magical will. He gripped the intangible hilt, the energy surprisingly solid, thrumming against his palm like a living thing. He felt the emitter grow hot against his hip.

  He vaguely knew sword forms, stances practiced late at night through sparring sessions on the Net. He fell into a defensive posture now, the glowing blade held unsteadily before him, his knuckles white.

  Vantis stopped dead, his eyes widening slightly. The calm, dismissive smile vanished, replaced by a look of genuine, startled appraisal. Then, unbelievably, he started to laugh. Not a mocking laugh, but one of sharp, surprised pleasure.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Well, well," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. "A sensitive? Out here? Didn't see that coming." He straightened up, his own posture shifting subtly, becoming looser, more balanced. "Okay, brother," he said, the word dropping casually, almost intimately, into the charged space between them. "Didn't expect that."

  Brother? What did he mean by that? Confusion warred with Corym's defensive anger, but he didn't lower the crackling energy sword. "Stay back," he warned, his voice trembling slightly despite his resolve.

  Vantis held up a hand, his gaze flicking around the cozy, fire-lit room. "Easy. Wouldn't want to damage the rustic charm, would we?" The mocking edge was back, sharp and irritating. "This feels like a conversation best had with a bit more elbow room, don't you think? Take it outside? Let's see what you've really got, farm boy."

  Corym hesitated. Vantis was goading him, clearly, but he was also right. Swinging swords inside his grandparents' home felt profoundly wrong. And maybe, just maybe, outside he'd have a better chance. Or at least room to run. "Fine," he spat, gesturing towards the door with the tip of his energy blade. "Outside."

  He led the way, backing out into the driving rain, Vantis following with an unhurried grace that set Corym's teeth on edge. They splashed through the muddy yard, past the dripping eaves, towards the open expanse of the newly plowed field stretching out into the stormy darkness. The wind tore at them, whipping rain into their faces. The only light came from the distant, hazy glow of Oakhaven and the fierce, pulsating light emanating from Corym's emitter and sword.

  "Ready when you are," Vantis said, drawing his own sword. The sound of steel sliding from its sheath was sharp, deadly serious in the night air. The blade was plain, functional, but perfectly balanced, gleaming wetly in the ambient light.

  Corym barely had time to brace himself. Vantis moved with blurring speed, a whirlwind of motion that seemed impossible in the slick mud. His sword darted forward, a flicker of steel aimed not to maim, but to disarm, to test. Corym reacted instinctively, bringing his energy blade up, parrying the blow with a sizzling hiss as light met metal. The impact jarred his arm to the shoulder.

  Vantis didn't relent. Blow after blow rained down – swift feints, lightning-fast thrusts, cutting arcs designed to force an opening. Corym was hopelessly outmatched. Vantis was a veteran, his movements honed by countless hours of practice, maybe even real combat. Corym, fueled by panicked energy and the muscle memory of simulation games, found himself stumbling backwards, parrying frantically, the humming energy sword feeling unwieldy and erratic in his grip. The emitter on his belt was searing hot now, burning through the fabric of his tunic.

  Vantis pressed his advantage, sliding through the mud with unnerving agility. He feinted low, then brought his sword whistling upwards in an arc aimed at Corym’s head. Corym jerked back, bringing his energy blade up desperately. Vantis altered his trajectory mid-swing, the flat of his blade striking Corym’s sword arm, sending numbingly painful vibrations through his bones. As Corym stumbled off balance, Vantis pivoted, his sword tip lancing forward.

  Pain exploded across Corym’s cheek and jaw as the razor edge sliced through skin. It wasn't deep, a warning cut, but it shocked him, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. He staggered back, hand flying to his face, parrying another blindingly fast thrust just inches from his chest.

  Frustration and fear boiled over into raw, uncontrolled fury. Roaring, Corym surged forward, swinging his energy blade wildly. Gone was any attempt at technique; this was pure, desperate offense. He drove Vantis back a step, then another, the golden blade leaving sizzling trails in the rain-soaked air. His attacks were amateurish, predictable, relying on the raw, burning power of the weapon rather than skill, but the sheer ferocity gave Vantis pause.

  For a moment, Corym thought he might actually be pushing him back. Vantis parried Corym's overhand slash, his steel blade ringing, then spun inside Corym's guard with blinding speed. Corym saw the opening too late – Vantis’s sword was perfectly positioned for a disarming strike, possibly a killing blow if he chose. Time seemed to slow. This was it.

  Desperation surged. Pouring every last ounce of panicked energy, every stray spark of his untrained magic into the blade, he didn't try to block. Hereleased it.

  The golden sword exploded outwards in a searing wave of pure heat and light. A concussive blast of flame erupted from where the blade had been, momentarily engulfing Vantis, forcing him to leap back, shielding his face with his arm.

  Simultaneously, the emitter on Corym’s belt gave a choked, high-pitched scream. An incandescent flash erupted from the blue crystal eye, followed by a sharp crack. The device burst into smoke and angry orange flames, the casing splitting apart. The connection severed, the source overloaded.

  Corym cried out as searing pain shot from his hip, stumbling backwards, clutching at the burning device. The field plunged back into near darkness, lit only by the faint residual glow where the flame wave had struck and the distant lights of the village.

  Vantis lowered his arm, his coat slightly singed, his expression no longer amused but starkly assessing. He looked from the burning emitter on Corym’s belt to Corym himself, who was panting, bleeding, swaying on his feet.

  "Damn," Vantis breathed, genuine respect – or perhaps clinical interest – in his voice. "Pushing a simple field emitter that far… channeling raw like that... you burned it out completely." He took a step forward, sword held loosely at his side. "Impressive display. But you're spent. You can't stop me now. Just give it up."

  Corym glared defiantly, though dizziness was beginning to fuzz the edges of his vision. He had nothing left to fight with, but he wouldn't yield.

  Suddenly, two more figures splashed into the periphery, emerging from the direction of the homestead, drawn by the flash and noise. It was Vantis' companions.

  "Vantis - what the fuck?!" It was the platinum-haired woman, her voice sharp with fury, cutting through the wind and rain. She rushed towards them, her pale eyes flashing, taking in Corym's bleeding face, the ruined emitter, Vantis's ready stance. "I told you to handle this diplomatically, not duel him in a farmer’s field!"

  She reached Corym's side, her expression softening slightly with concern, though bewilderment flickered there too as she took in his appearance – the blood, the defiant stance, perhaps recognizing the residue of strong, uncontrolled magic hanging in the air.

  "Are you alright?" she asked Corym directly, her voice losing its edge, becoming gentler. "I am so sorry. He can be... regrettably impulsive."

  The shorter, goggle-wearing companion hurried up beside her, looking utterly alarmed, his eyes wide behind his lenses. He fumbled in one of his coat's many pockets and produced a clean gauze patch. "Fuck’s sake, Vantis! Look at him! Here," he offered the bandage tentatively to Corym. "For the… uh… face."

  "We just need to talk," The woman insisted, turning back to Corym, though her glare towards Vantis hadn't entirely dissipated. "Please. There's much to explain—"

  But Corym wasn’t listening. The adrenaline dump, the pain, the sheer overwhelming weirdness of the night crashed over him. His vision swam violently. The faces before him – Vantis' assessing stare, the woman's concerned frown – blurred into streaks of light and shadow.

  The effort of channeling so much raw mana, untrained and untamed, had taken a far greater toll than he realized. His knees buckled. The muddy field rushed up to meet him, and the world dissolved into darkness.