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\'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.

"With the defeat of Lavos Aros, fifth son of the Brigadier Geral: I, who carry the authority of the Duke, hereby invite Altair to the Awaker Class. No more will he join the Unawak routine!"

Altair got into formation, the astonishmt shattering the mask he carried.

"NOW! Unawak! Twty Laps! Eighty Sword Dances and lightweight conditioning. Move out!" The Master of Sword barked his command, glaring at those who scurried away at a momt\'s notice. He began again.

" Awakers, you will begin your Sword Dance for half an hour."

\'A sword dance, huh.\' Altair mused, not hearing himself speak. He parted his feet and thought of the First of Sev Forms of Grave of Night, Shadow Blade. His mother had instilled all the mechanics in his swordsmanship from the tder age of two, and he had be training the first Form ever since having memorized the rest.

He sucked in a breath, and the light within his obsidian gaze fell into darkness. His blade elegantly whisked and whirled into arcs of semi-circles. As if an invisible sphere had gathered a him, Altair stepped forward, his domain slowly expanding and contracting, spirling the flow of the winds a him.

Each stroke of his blade, each thrust, and riposte seemed to capture the ethereal nature of the world a him.

Control gathered within the Young Altair\'s mind. With each swing of his blade, he could feel the G-Weapon would grow heavier. He could feel it was almost twelve pounds and rising, but the swiftness of his blade never waned. Grave of Night: Shadow Blade was a Form of Pure Control, unlike many other forms that added destructive elemts. It focused on controlling everything a him.

\'If the winds are too strong, I shall be the winds themselves. If the sun burns my skin, my blade shall gather its cruel flame! If my weapon is too heavy! so too, shall my blade carry the weight of the world!" He thought, no longer using his tire wrist to control the blade but rather the tirety of his body, retaining the same swiftness and power.

Sweat whipped over the young Altair\'s exquisite features, turning many of the young ladies\' cheeks flushed. They stared at the smiling Young Master. Many of them never holding the honor of witnessing his grin.

\'What a monster!\' The Master of Swords told himself, shak by the level of elegance. He stood, unable to pull his gaze away. \'It\'s as though the boy\'s sword was shadowing the world a him. What type of… no, what rank technique is that? I don\'t know if I can wait for him to awak his System.

Veltos was so caught up in Altair\'s Shadow Blade Dance; he\'d not ev felt the chilling presce of the Reverd Mother and her little guest clinging to the Reverd\'s Mother\'s finger.

Masks of porcelain covered their faces, revealing nothing but similar snow- tailcoats, vests, and trousers, the jet-black hair of the Reverd Mother, and the Snow White of the female child.

The Reverd Mother stared at the young Altair, a seriousness in her gaze.

"Master… His blood… He doesn\'t seem human." The young child pointed out. Her tone was somewhat confused. \'But it smells good, though."

"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."