Shadow of the Abyss

Chapter 6: First Form

By the time the Master of Sword and Young Master Altair had returned to the main campus, a large crowd had gathered, from slaves to servants to ladies of wait and more. Each of them carried a myriad of expressions: some appeared joyous that the Reved Lady, whose beauty was said to dim the beauty of the world a her. Others carried scornful looks that dipped into seething hate.

While some appeared vious unable to hold in the excitemt of catching a glance of the woman who controlled over fourte sectors.

'Why is everyone gathered?' Altair thought, glancing back at his stalker. 'And how long is he going to follow me? No one bullies Mama and gets away with it! Don't think you can just act nice to me, and all is forgiv!'

Anger festered for a lingering momt but trickled little by little as the Master of Swords' words once more resounded through his subconscious. He looked ahead, his childlike likess fading, leaving only the bearing of a Young Lord. His large eyes narrowed, growing piercingly sharp, while his cheeks seemed to thin.

And while the change wasn't noticeable to most, Altair knew this false mask was necessary.

The innoct child that had fall into his mother's arms had vanished.

'This child...' the Master of swords said to himself. 'I guess he can only be himself with his mother. Were we too cruel? Was I too blinded by the fact that he was an outsider? If the boy can control himself to such a level. He'd make a great ally.

And it's better to have an ally than an emy: Weak or strong.'

The inner working of the Master of Sword swirled, connecting various plans for the coming years.

"Tell me, boy, do you wish for power?" He asked, drawing Altair's ke eye. He smiled inwardly, rustling his hair. " Th you are in the right place. Give us a chance."

The cascading crisp summer winds whisked through the air with the coming of Fall. Silce rang louder than any voice. And the hue in Altair's eyes deeped the longer his mind spun. He turned away, leaving no clear answer. But Veltos could feel his desire.

He chuckled, following behind toward the training g.

Arriving just before class started, Altair readied himself by grabbing his weapon as he'd done daily but was stopped, " Grab a G-Weapon. Your skill needs to be challged." Veltos remarked, making his way toward the head of the small formation of childr. He watched Altair shock and resisted the urge to smile as he thought: Still but a child in the d, one too young to carry such a mask.

A childish smile inched over the Young Master's starry face at the sight of the G-Weapon, tools reserved for Awakers. He reached up, tiptoeing to the dark shortsword with jitters in his actions.

'It's so light!' He thought, disturbed by the balance that seemed counterintuitive. The blade wasn't sharp, but it had lgth. Just about the same lgth as a normal longsword, but it was half its weight.

"Oh?" The Reverd Mother hummed, drawing near as the Head Knight, Flinn Aros, watched on with cool eyes from a distance, his gaze surveying the perimeter and settled on Altair. A hint of a smile rose.

"Reverd Mother, I—"

She raised her hand, pausing Veltos words, and stared at the boy so lost in his dance. She stood siltly by the Master of Swords for a few seconds before offering her words: "Veltos, that boy, is he yours? He doesn't seem registered."

The Master of Swords bowed. " He's not one of ours. He's an outsider."

"Yet he training with the Awakers? That is quite a talt." She chuckled, continuing. " How old?"

"Nine."

"Race?"

"Human."

"Parts?"

"One."

"Last question: What Getic Line?" The Reverd Mother asked, her voice so sharp it felt like a blade against the Master of Swords' neck.

He quivered, his bow sinking deep. "As far as we can tell. He has ."

And the Reverd Mother thought: 'How? No. That doesn't make sse. We've kept a close eye on Earth. And have regulated what type of Getics are giv. Nothing above Sevth Tier was granted.

Should I scan him? But the brat isn't mine. Did he step out From Babel Tower or a Lower Tier Dungeon? I heard on the fiftieth floor exists a universe onto itself.' She frowned beath her masked, narrowing her lashes. And spoke: Syris, are you interested in a little match?

The little girl turned to the Reverd Mother. "Full power?"

"Draw Blood."