Blade of truth

Chapter Three: Dream of ashes

The world around me spun, the edges of consciousness fraying like the threads of a broken tapestry. My body felt alien, no longer a part of the person I used to be. In the last moments of clarity, I remembered the battlefield—the blood-soaked earth, the endless rain, and the faces of my fallen teammates: Lyric, Raven, Azrael, and Vex. They had fought by my side until the very end, and now they were gone, leaving only their memories behind.

As I slipped into the black void, fragments of my past began to unfold before me. Each moment a puzzle piece, each memory a warning I had been too blind to heed.

In the stillness of my mind, I began to wonder if I had ever truly known who I was, or if I was just a tool forged by someone else's twisted design. Father had shaped me from a young age, carving away the soft edges of my humanity until only a blade remained. I was meant to be the perfect weapon, a force of destruction without question or remorse. But as I lay in the darkness, with the ghosts of my comrades surrounding me, the questions began to surface.

Why had I followed him? Was I so broken that I could not see the cost of my own soul? Why had I destroyed everything that had once mattered to me?

Had I been here because I couldn't live on my own? Because Father had forced me into this existence? Did I kill because I was ordered to, or was there a part of me that enjoyed it? Why did I crave the chaos and bloodshed that seemed to follow me wherever I went? Why did I feel both disgusted and drawn to the destruction?

I was terrified of what I had become. A creature made for war, designed to obey, to kill, to dominate. There was no redemption for me—none that I could see. But one thing was certain: I would never be a tool to Father again. No matter the cost, I would not allow myself to be a weapon in his hands any longer.

The dream shifted, and I found myself standing at the edge of the training grounds again, the sterile walls of the facility stretching endlessly in front of me. But now, I saw it all from a new perspective. It was not the sharp drills or the endless cycles of combat that defined me; it was the system itself. The Sections had become a cage, one I had been trapped in since the moment I was brought here.

I had been a part of the Vanguards, the elite warriors, but it was the people in the other Sections that I never fully understood—until now. The Analysts, the Watchers, the Demolitionists, the Hunters—they were all complicit in Father's grand design. They were all forced to feed into the machine that turned us into weapons.

I had always felt a distance between us and the others, a line that divided us based on our strengths and our weaknesses. The Analysts' minds were brilliant, calculating everything from mission logistics to the future of entire systems. The Watchers were always distant, always watching, and always waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The Demolitionists, their cybernetic bodies a testament to their sacrifice, had been designed to destroy. But the Hunters—there was something different about them. They were the trackers, the ones who never let anything slip past them. I often wondered how many of them were human anymore, how many had become something darker.

Yet, I was blind to it all. I had been too focused on my own path, on my own survival, to see the fractures running through our society. We were all tools, but I had been too proud to admit that we were all just as broken.

Before all of this—the blood, the chaos, the betrayal—there was the boy. A boy I had met years ago, on the pirate ship that had taken me in after Father abandoned me. His name was Aiken, and he was different from the others I had met. He was just a child, wrapped in a tattered blanket, his wide, cerulean eyes filled with a strange mixture of fear and determination.

He had been a stowaway, hiding in the ship's cargo hold when I discovered him. We had shared nothing more than a fleeting connection, but it had been enough for me to see that he was more than just a refugee. There was something in his gaze, something that reminded me of myself before I was made into what I was.

Years later, when I crossed paths with him again, I hardly recognized him. The boy who had once hidden beneath that blanket, the one with eyes like the sea, was gone. In his place stood a cold, calculating figure—the eyes, now a pale gray, were devoid of warmth, a reflection of the Hunter he had become. His hair, once a messy, sun-kissed brown, had been shaved down into a tight, utilitarian style. His uniform, dark and intricate, bore the insignia of the Hunters—black armor with silver accents, designed to make them blend into the shadows, their movements silent, lethal.

He was not the same boy I had met all those years ago. The warmth had drained from him, replaced with the harsh discipline and training of a hunter.

When he looked at me, there was no recognition in his gaze. No warmth. Only the cold precision of someone trained to track, to kill.

I, too, was far from the girl I once was. My body had been replaced piece by piece until nothing of my original self remained. The transformation had been so thorough that even the bones were no longer mine, replaced by an alloy of unimaginable strength.

My body was now composed of Solarium, a rare, indestructible metal that shimmered with a faint, ethereal glow. It was a material forged from the depths of the Earth's crust, a combination of platinum and vibranium, designed to withstand extreme temperatures and intense pressure. Solarium was not only a symbol of wealth and power—it was the pinnacle of military engineering, and Father had spared no expense in ensuring I would become the perfect weapon.

My arms, once human, now bore the seamless sheen of Solarium, their flexibility and strength unmatched. The alloy was lightweight, yet impervious to nearly all forms of damage, making me an unstoppable force on the battlefield. It was a constant reminder that I was no longer human, but something else. A tool, created for destruction.

At my side, always within reach, was my sword—a masterpiece, forged in secret. It was a weapon unlike any other, combining elements of Excalibur, Nodachi, and Naginata into a single, fearsome blade. The hilt was long, wrapped in black leather, designed for both one-handed and two-handed use. The blade itself was curved, with a slightly wider base that tapered to a razor-sharp point. It was a fusion of both elegance and brutal force.

The steel gleamed silver, with faint traces of red veins running through it—almost as if it had absorbed the very bloodshed it had witnessed. The blade was designed for versatility: the Excalibur influence made it a symbol of strength and legend, the Nodachi element lent it unparalleled reach, while the Naginata style added a deadly sweep to its arc. Together, they made it the perfect weapon for close combat and long-range strikes alike.

The sword's weight felt just right in my hand, balanced perfectly for swift, decisive blows. It was a piece of art, forged in the depths of Father's laboratories, but now, it was mine—an extension of my will. A weapon not only for war but for my quest to reclaim my own soul.

I had lived my life on the battlefield, following Father's orders without hesitation, without question. But now, as I lay dying—again—the truth came crashing down on me. There would be no more orders, no more missions. There would only be the aftermath of my choices.

I had been a warrior, a tool of destruction. But I was tired. Tired of the blood, tired of the violence.

The question echoed in my mind: Was I too far gone to change? Had I become so entangled in the web Father had woven around me that I couldn't escape?

Father's voice rang through the darkness. "Kaida. You are mine. You always have been."

But I had to wonder—did I belong to him? Or was I something more? Something better?

In the silence, I made a vow to myself: I would find a way to break free. Even if it meant sacrificing everything.

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer the person I had been. My body had been rebuilt, reformed into something unrecognizable. The metal limbs that replaced my flesh felt cold and foreign, a constant reminder of everything I had lost.

Father stood over me, his expression unreadable. "You are perfect now, Kaida. Stronger than ever."

"Perfect?" I whispered, my voice trembling with anger. "I'm a monster."

Father's smile was cold, unfeeling. "You're a weapon. That's all that matters."

As he turned to leave, I closed my eyes, the weight of the past pressing down on me. I knew one thing for sure: I would never accept what he had done to me. I would never be his tool again.

The war was far from over. But for the first time, I knew it was no longer just about survival. It was about something more. Something I had to find for myself.