Chapter 2: A Weapon Dressed as a Boy
The nobles came dressed in silk smiles and gold-stitched lies.
There were five of them—lords and ladies of the Kingdom of Asvera—each more polished and cold than the next. They circled Ren like scholars inspecting a cursed artifact.
Duke Vaelthorn, whose cane was more for theatrics than support, tapped the butt of it against the floor and squinted through monocle-covered eyes.
"This one has the aura of an Abyssal Seed… dangerous. But useful."
Lady Cerynne of House Noxfield, her pale fingers laced with emerald rings, didn't even bother to hide her grin.
"A cursed tree? How poetic. He'll make quite the project."
Ren said nothing.
Still dazed from the cathedral—from the voice, the fruit, the pain—he followed them silently through crystal-laced halls into a marble chamber, a bed like a king's tomb waiting in the center. As the door shut behind him, whispers resumed just beyond.
"He's not human anymore."
Lord Eridan Blackwell, youngest on the council, murmured with a chill in his voice.
"He's a weapon. Born of death. Shaped by darkness. If we don't control him, the Abyss will."
So they made a choice:
Keep him close. Train him. Sharpen the blade.
Ren Kamizuki—bearer of the forbidden Tree of Chains—was enrolled into the Asveran Academy of Arcane Souls.
The academy was carved into the bones of a mountain. Towers stabbed the sky. Students flowed like blood through the veins of skybridges and runed halls, each wearing a cloak the color of their Soulmark.
Ren's was black.
No one else wore it.
They stared as he passed. Whispers clung to him like cobwebs.
He might've fractured—if not for the one person who didn't flinch.
Zayne Kael, with a red scarf and fire in his grin, bumped Ren's shoulder like they'd known each other in a past life.
"I like cursed sh*t," he said. "Let's be friends."
In their first class, a towering tree shimmered in runelight on the wall, branches splitting into a thousand fractals.
Professor Elvyn entered with a gait that barely disturbed the air. His voice rolled like ancient scripture.
"Let's begin with what defines you: your Soul Tree."
The tree glowed brighter, then split into dozens of forms—some aflame, some blooming, some cloaked in storm.
"Every person here is born with a Tree. It forms from your soul—your memory, your essence, your grief, your fire. From it, you draw your power. This is your Soul Echo—a unique manifestation of your Tree's will through you."
Students leaned forward. Even the aloof ones.
Elvyn's gaze swept the room.
"Each cloak color reflects a base affinity. Red for flame, blue for air, white for light, grey for stone, green for wild magic. Black is... unrecorded."
Eyes flicked to Ren, though few were brave enough to hold the look.
Ren kept his gaze locked on the tree illustration—but beside him, Kara Duskveil raised a hand.
Her voice was clear, her eyes sharper than any blade.
"What of soul-bonded trees with corrupted roots? What happens when grief warps growth?"
Elvyn paused.
"That's... complicated."
She sat back, the air around her freezing just enough to frost her desk.
Behind her, Sylven Lireth scoffed.
"Trees don't get corrupted. They get ugly. Difference."
His long silver hair shifted slightly, as though the wind followed his moods. He smirked when Kara ignored him.
Across the aisle, a hulking student cracked his knuckles on the wood desk with intentional force.
"Mine's strong enough to crush trees like that."
Dren Molrak. Earth soul. Fists like granite. Brain optional.
Elvyn kept speaking, unfazed.
"Some trees grow calm. Others stormy. Some thrive on purpose. Others on pain. There are even those with dual affinities—rare, volatile, powerful."
Zayne raised a hand lazily, grinning.
"Like me?"
"Yes, Kael," Elvyn said, half amused. "Fire and smoke. A rare hybrid."
In the next row, a quiet girl sat with her hands folded perfectly.
Marielle Dawnryn. Her cloak shimmered white. A healer. A watcher.
"Professor," she asked softly, "can Soul Trees... evolve?"
Elvyn's voice softened.
"Yes. Under great pressure—or trauma—a tree may change. Split. Hide."
"Hide?" Ren asked before he realized he'd spoken.
A few students turned.
Elvyn nodded. "It is possible to veil your tree, if your Echo threatens to consume you—or others."
Ren's heart skipped. Veil his tree? Hide it?
He realized then, with a sudden clarity that sliced through the fog of his thoughts—his tree didn't have an Echo. He could feel the subtle hum of the trees around him: Sylven's wind, Dren's earth, Kara's frozen ice. The sounds were like melodies, each one unique and unmistakable.
But from the Tree of Chains… there was nothing.
No hum. No pulse.
It was like standing in a room full of voices and realizing he was completely deaf to them.
The absence ate at him.
Behind him, Nima Ashreach whispered, "Not all trees speak… but his... his tree doesn't even echo."
Ren clenched his fists. His gaze shot toward her, but she had already turned away, her shadowy twin flickering at the edges of her cloak.
Zayne leaned in, nudging him with his elbow.
"Hey, don't let it get to you. The Tree of Chains is different. It doesn't play by the rules. Who needs a fancy Echo when you've got that kind of power?"
But Ren wasn't so sure. His tree didn't feel like something powerful. It felt empty, hollow… like it was waiting.
A noise from across the room broke his train of thought—Thorne Belveil stretched lazily in his chair.
"Can you bond with more than one tree?" he asked. "Asking for a friend who sucks at commitment."
The room chuckled—except for Iliya Voss, who watched Ren with surgical calm, like she was studying a ticking spell.
"He won't last long," she murmured. "Not unless his tree wants him to."
Ren didn't react.
But deep inside, the bark of his soul shuddered.
The Trial came too fast.
Each new student was led into the Soul Pit, a controlled magical arena where they would fight low-level monsters to awaken their Soul Echoes—the unique power tied to their Soul Tree. Each student would face their creature, drawn from the depths of the Pit, and by defeating it, would unlock the abilities tied to their Tree.
The air hummed with anticipation as students filed in, their cloaks swirling. One by one, their powers manifested.
Kara Duskveil stepped forward, her eyes gleaming like shards of ice. She raised her hand, and the air grew heavy, freezing in an instant. A Frost Wyrm emerged, its scales glittering like diamonds. Kara extended her arm, fingers pointed, and the wyrm's body was surrounded by a freezing mist. She didn't even break a sweat. With a snap of her fingers, she encased the creature in a block of ice, crushing it to the ground.
The crowd clapped politely, but there was no surprise. Everyone knew the strength of Kara's ice magic. Still, she was just as cold as her spells—her expression unreadable.
Next came Dren Molrak, bulky and brawny, his feet thudding as he marched forward. The ground trembled beneath his steps as a massive Rock Golem emerged from the pit, its stony fists raised in challenge.
Dren cracked his knuckles and grinned, a feral gleam in his eyes. With a roar, he slammed his fist into the ground. The earth cracked and heaved under his strength, sending massive boulders flying through the air. One of the golem's arms was torn off as Dren's massive fists met its stone body. In seconds, the creature crumbled beneath him.
The spectators watched in awe—Dren was a natural, a force of nature. His power was pure, untamed, and lethal.
Finally, Sylven Lireth stepped into the Pit with his usual swagger. He flicked a strand of silver hair from his face and grinned as a Thunder Drake emerged, crackling with electricity. Sylven smirked, his fingers dancing through the air as if plucking lightning from the sky itself.
The drake charged, but Sylven was faster. His body blurred, becoming a streak of wind and lightning, faster than the eye could follow. He dodged the creature's attacks with ease, his body almost a living storm. With a flick of his wrist, the lightning that arced from his fingertips surged toward the drake, disintegrating it in a flash of blinding light.
The crowd gasped, murmuring in admiration. Sylven was the epitome of speed and control, his connection to the storm unmatched.
And then, it was Ren's turn.
Ren stepped into the center of the Pit, his heart pounding in his chest. The air felt too still, too suffocating. His body was still aching from the earlier fight in the cathedral, the weight of the Tree of Chains gnawing at his thoughts.
The Devourer Beast appeared—massive, with jagged claws and an insatiable hunger in its glowing yellow eyes. It charged at Ren with terrifying speed. He barely had time to react as it slammed into him, sending him crashing into the stone wall.
Claws raked across his chest, the force of the impact cracking his ribs. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought the darkness was going to consume him again.
But then—
A strange sensation flickered inside him. A pulse.
From the pit's stone floor, black roots shot upward like jagged claws. They erupted around the Devourer, wrapping around its body, tearing at its flesh. The roots pulled the beast apart, dragging its essence back into the ground, into Ren's Tree of Chains.
Ren stood, eyes wide with shock. He felt something deep inside him stir—a dark, gnawing hunger.
His voice echoed through the arena, but it wasn't his own. The sound was deep, distorted—something ancient.
"Tch. Pathetic. Next time, just give me the reins sooner."
The crowd fell into stunned silence.
Zayne Kael, who had been leaning on the wall with a casual grin, was the first to speak.
"...Akira?"
And that was it—the moment when Ren Kamizuki truly awakened. But unlike the others who were greeted with the resounding resonance of their Soul Echoes, Ren's power was… empty, hollow. The Tree of Chains had no familiar hum, no melodic beat to guide him.
Instead, there was only darkness.