THE DRAGON SWORD

Chapter Three

The aftermath of the battle left the White Knight Academy in a fragile silence. The fissure that had split the battlements now loomed like a dark scar, the acrid smell of smoke still lingering in the air. Gideon stood at its edge, his knuckles white as he gripped the Dragon Sword. The mark on his chest pulsed faintly, as though alive and waiting.

But for what?

“Justiceborn,” Roderic’s voice was stern but laden with weariness. “We need to talk. Now.”

Gideon turned, his mind still replaying Lysandra’s words. Roderic’s face, usually unreadable, betrayed the weight of unspoken truths. Without a word, Gideon followed him through the rubble-strewn halls to the inner sanctum a chamber few knights ever saw.

Roderic lit the braziers along the walls, casting flickering light over the room’s contents. Ancient tapestries told stories of battles long past, and shelves overflowed with dusty tomes. At the center of the room stood a pedestal, and upon it lay a single object: a fragment of a shattered mirror.

“What is this place?” Gideon asked, his voice low.

Roderic turned, his gaze sharp. “This is where we keep the truth hidden. About the academy. About you.”

Gideon stiffened. “Then it’s time I heard it.”

Roderic sighed, running a hand over his face. “The Dragon Sword doesn’t just choose anyone, Gideon. It’s bound to a bloodline, a lineage that traces back to Emperor Aerioneth himself. And that lineage…is yours.”

The words hit Gideon like a blow. “So Lysandra wasn’t lying.”

“She twisted the truth,” Roderic snapped. “Yes, you and she share a connection. But she is not your ally, Gideon. She was raised in the Dark Lord’s shadow, trained to sow doubt and chaos. You saw what she did tonight.”

“And yet she didn’t kill me,” Gideon countered. “Why?”

Roderic’s jaw tightened. “Because she needs you. The Blade of Shadow and the Dragon Sword are two sides of the same coin. One cannot achieve its full power without the other. She believes that by joining forces, she can awaken the Blade’s true potential.”

“And what do you believe?” Gideon asked.

Roderic hesitated. “I believe she’s dangerous. That she’s trying to lead you down a path that will destroy everything we’ve fought to protect.”

Gideon’s chest ached as the mark flared again, a faint whisper tugging at the edges of his consciousness. “What aren’t you telling me, Roderic? What is this mark?”

The commander’s eyes darkened, and he gestured to the mirror fragment. “Look for yourself.”

Gideon approached the pedestal cautiously. The mirror fragment shimmered faintly, its surface swirling like liquid silver. When he touched it, a surge of energy coursed through him, and the world around him shifted.

He stood in a battlefield drenched in blood and shadow. Two figures clashed at the center: one wielding the Dragon Sword, its light blazing like the sun, and the other wielding the Blade of Shadow, a vortex of darkness. The combatants were evenly matched, their movements a blur of grace and fury.

Then the vision shifted. Gideon saw himself standing between them, the mark on his chest glowing brighter than the sun. Both figures turned to him, their voices echoing as one:

“Choose.”

The vision shattered, and Gideon stumbled back, his breath ragged.

“What does it mean?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Roderic’s expression was grim. “It means your choices will decide the fate of this world. If you falter, the Light and the Shadow will consume each other, plunging us into eternal chaos.”

Before Gideon could respond, the door to the sanctum burst open. A knight stumbled in, his face pale. “Commander! The council demands your presence. They’ve summoned the heir.”

Roderic cursed under his breath. “They don’t waste time, do they?” He turned to Gideon. “Prepare yourself. They won’t be kind.”

Minutes later, Gideon found himself standing in the council chamber, a vast, circular room dominated by an ornate table. The council members, clad in ceremonial robes, glared at him with a mix of suspicion and disdain.

“The boy who wields the Dragon Sword,” one of them sneered. “A farmer’s son.”

Gideon bristled but said nothing.

“The fissure is proof that the Dark Lord’s forces are moving,” another councilor said. “And yet the sword chose this…child?”

“Perhaps the sword was wrong,” a third suggested. “Perhaps we should reconsider who—”

“The sword does not make mistakes,” Roderic interrupted, his tone icy. “And neither should we.”

The room fell silent, but the tension was palpable. Finally, the head councilor spoke. “Very well. Gideon Justiceborn, you will prove yourself. Tomorrow, you will descend into the Wailing Caverns.”

Gideon frowned. “The Wailing Caverns?”

“They are said to hold a fragment of the Dark Lord’s power,” the councilor explained. “Retrieve it, and we may begin to trust that you are worthy of the sword you carry.”

Roderic stepped forward. “This is madness! The caverns are a death trap!”

“And yet, if he is truly the heir of Aerioneth, he will survive,” the councilor replied coldly.

Gideon squared his shoulders, meeting the councilor’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”

The Wailing Caverns lived up to their name. As Gideon stepped inside, the air grew heavy, and an eerie keening sound echoed through the twisting tunnels. Roderic had insisted on accompanying him, but the council had refused.

“You’re on your own,” the guard at the entrance had said. “Prove your worth, or die trying.”

Gideon gripped the Dragon Sword tightly, its light barely cutting through the oppressive darkness. The mark on his chest burned hotter with every step, as though drawing him deeper into the labyrinth.

Hours passed, or so it seemed. The air grew colder, the wails louder. Shadows danced along the walls, shapes that moved without a source. Gideon’s heart pounded, but he pressed on.

Finally, he reached a vast chamber. At its center stood an altar, and upon it lay a black crystal, pulsing with dark energy. As he approached, a voice filled the chamber.

“So the heir comes to claim his destiny.”

The shadows coalesced, forming a figure cloaked in darkness. Its face was obscured, but its presence was suffocating.

“Who are you?” Gideon demanded.

“A servant of the truth,” the figure replied. “You seek answers, do you not? About the Light, the Shadow, and the lies you’ve been told?”

Gideon hesitated. “What do you mean?”

The figure extended a hand, and the mark on Gideon’s chest flared in response. “Take the crystal, and you will see.”

Gideon’s hand hovered over the crystal. The Dragon Sword hummed in warning, its light flickering as though fighting against the darkness. The figure’s voice was calm but insistent.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The doubt. The questions. Take the crystal, and all will be revealed.”

His chest burned hotter, the mark pulsing like a second heartbeat. The room seemed to close in around him, the choice weighing on his very soul.

Finally, he grasped the crystal.

The chamber exploded in a blinding flash of light and shadow. When the chaos subsided, Gideon stood alone, the crystal’s energy coursing through him. In his mind, two voices clashed:

“You’ve made a grave mistake.”

 “You’ve taken the first step toward freedom.”

As the cavern began to collapse around him, one thing was clear: there was no turning back now.