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Chapter 103: The Dance of Crimson Shadows
Chapter 103: The Dance of Crimson Shadows
The morning was still young when Theia stepped into the training hall, the cold air biting at her skin. The fortress was silent, save for the faint crackling of torches lining the stone walls. In her hands, the newly forged daggers—Emberfang and Bloodfang—gleamed with a deep crimson glow, their edges as sharp as the finest steel. They were not ordinary blades. They pulsed with a quiet, waiting energy, as if alive, as if anticipating the hands that would wield them.
She took a steady breath, rolling her shoulders, letting her muscles relax. This moment was important. Weapons were more than just tools to an assassin—they were an extension of the self, a part of one's soul. And these blades had been made for her.
With a flick of her wrist, she twirled Emberfang in her right hand, testing its balance. It felt perfect, neither too heavy nor too light, resting in her palm as if it had always belonged there. Bloodfang, in her left, hummed with latent magic, responding to the slightest shift in her grip.
She took her first swing—slow and controlled, feeling the air part before the blade’s edge. The dagger moved effortlessly, slicing through the empty space as if cutting through silk. She followed with the second, twisting her body into a smooth arc, the blades weaving through the air like twin streaks of fire.
They felt… right.
A smirk ghosted across her lips as she quickened her pace. She stepped forward, striking with Emberfang, its crimson glow flaring upon impact with the training dummy. The magic within it pulsed, momentarily leaving a scorched mark on the surface before fading. Bloodfang followed, slashing in a sharp, downward arc. The cuts were clean, precise—just as she had expected.
But testing their weight and sharpness was not enough. She needed to push them further.
She shifted her stance, muscles coiling as she moved through a deadly dance. Her feet glided across the stone floor, each movement deliberate. She lunged, spun, feinted. The daggers responded like an extension of her body, seamlessly following her intent.
She imagined an opponent—an assassin just like her, quick and deadly. In her mind’s eye, she saw their attacks, felt their presence, countered their every move. Theia ducked, twisting mid-air as she lashed out with Emberfang, then followed through with Bloodfang in a devastating counterstrike. The imaginary foe stood no chance.
The magic in the blades thrummed, feeding off her energy, growing stronger with each strike. She could feel their bond solidifying, their presence becoming clearer in her mind. These were not just weapons—they were companions, attuned to her will.
With a flick of her fingers, she sent Bloodfang spinning through the air. The dagger cut through the torchlight, landing with a solid thunk against a wooden pillar. A mere thought was all it took for it to return. The blade trembled for a moment before dislodging itself and flying back to her waiting hand.
Theia’s smirk widened.
She tested their defensive capabilities next. Raising Emberfang, she let her instincts take over, deflecting an incoming strike from a swinging wooden arm meant to simulate an enemy attack. The dagger met the force head-on, the impact absorbed by the enchantments woven into its steel.
She stepped back, breathing evenly. The weapons had passed every test. Speed, precision, power, defense—there was nothing left to question. They were perfect.
For a moment, she simply stood there, feeling the weight of the daggers in her hands, listening to the faint hum of their magic. Then, with a satisfied nod, she sheathed them at her sides.
A quiet chuckle escaped her lips.
“They are lovely.”