Damon stood in front of the others… all of them dressed in armor. These weren't ordinary armors—no, these were the ones the Beldam had once kept like decorations, proudly displayed in her lair, untouched by dust or decay. Oddly enough, unlike the other artifacts they had uncovered—most of which were cursed or rotten with dark magic—these were different.
These were pure. Untainted. Almost reverent in design.
Each armor was a set, complete with a weapon… save one.
That one… was called Pale Crown.
It ca with nothing—no blade, no spear, no staff. Just the armor alone.
For the past few days, they'd contemplated, argued, and tested who would wear what. And after much trial, they decided. The armors at first looked dead—dull, lusterless, like tomb relics drained of soul. But the mont they were worn… they responded. Awakened. Shifting and morphing to mirror the magic attribute of their new bearer.
His eyes fell on Sylvia.
She had regained use of her book again, and for whatever reason, the cost of prying information from it this ti wasn't as steep. Just a two-day headache. Though, even so, she had been bedridden, wrapped in fevered silence, twitching beneath cold sheets.
A price was still a price.
But that was how they learned the nas of these armors.
Damon glanced toward Xander—his body now swallowed by gleaming silver-gray heavy armor. It gave the already towering boy an almost monstrous silhouette, shoulders like bastions, footsteps like anvils. The weapon that ca with it was a massive spear, thick and unbending, already pulsing with gravitational weight that bent the dirt around its head. It didn't stay rigid for long either—it shifted, adapting to his gravity-aligned magic.
That set was called Armor of the Bound Colossus.
Its enchantnt—Weightbreaker: Amplifies spear strikes with gravitational force, turning every swing into a shockwave.
Each of these was no ordinary relic. Sylvia's book had shown them—these were Ascendant Armors. Only six in existence. No replicas. No duplicates.
Damon nearly scoffed under his breath.
The Beldam… she must've suffered to collect them, dragging them out from the ruins of Lysithara… only for them to kill her and claim the prize.
He turned his gaze back to Sylvia.
She now wore a much lighter set—closer to robes than armor. A breastplate hugged her torso, thin pauldrons over her shoulders, and flowing cloth ran down her sides. It was elegant. Subtle. Dangerous. This was one of the three forms every armor could take.
The first form—Awakened Form—more fabric than tal. Nimble and reactive.
The second—Ascendant Mantle—a balanced blend of cloth and steel. Still mobile. Still light.
The final—Sovereign's Mantle—a full suit of heavy armor from crown to toe. That was the form Xander now bore.
Of course he did.
He was the group's tank.
"...Sylvia," Damon muttered, "you never told us everything before you passed out."
She nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I told you most of it… didn't I?" Her voice was hoarse, but steady. "The armors were forged for six of Lysithara's mightiest champions. Made to fight the Rot. Each one has a soul core—it aligns with your magic. And each one holds four enchantnts…"
Her eyes flicked across the group. They listened. Quiet. Armored.
She continued.
"There's more. A trial. A counter. If you vanquish ten thousand foes… the armor binds to your soul. Forever."
Damon frowned. "You an… until sothing kills us."
She gave a shallow nod. "The first armor… the one you've got… is armor of Pale Crown."
Damon sighed. He already knew his was called Pale Crown—the only armor that didn't co with a weapon. Just like the others, it held four enchantnts… but like them, he could only use one.
Soul Veil – Allows the user to phase through solid objects for short monts.
Basically, sothing he could already do with his shadow skills—except this ti, he didn't need to slip into shadowform. This… he could do in his physical body.
Sylvia's armor was different—Armor of the Crescent Seer.
The enchantnt she could tap into:
Lunar Echo – Arrows fired during the full moon double in number and damage.
Coincidence or not, the weapons it ca with—a bow, a quiver, and two short swords—were exactly what Sylvia always used.
'Yeah, no, I'm not buying this… this is not a coincidence.'
All of them had gotten weapons that matched them.
Sylvia's armor was silvery white, delicate and elegant, with crescent motifs lining the edges. It clung to her form like moonlight, complinting her white hair and grey eyes with a grace that felt less forged and more… destined. It was ceremonial, draped in white fabrics that swayed when she moved.
Evangeline had received the Armor of Duskglass.
Her enchantnt:
Refraction Halo – Light bends around her body, granting evasion boosts and illusionary afterimages.
She looked beautiful—sleek and radiant, like sunlight caught in crystal. Even in the dimst corner of the chamber, her form glowed faintly. Silver and gold traced her helm, and her new rapier shimred with stored light magic. She stood quietly, listening to Sylvia, her eyes flickering calmly across the others.
Leona wore Armor of Stormwake—and unlike the rest, she had jumped straight into its third form: full plate. Heavy. Intimidating. A greatsword hung across her back.
The armor was jagged, like storm clouds beaten into steel. Sparks crackled around her shoulders even when she stood still, like the armor was breathing with thunder.
Her enchantnt:
Flashstep Edge – Can teleport short distances during sword swings, leaving a trail of thunder.
Then ca the most unusual of the group.
Matia's Armor of Shattered Ice.
At first glance, it seed to have no weapons. But that was wrong. The armor itself was the weapon. All she had to do was think, and a weapon would form in her hand, forged from soul-infused ice.
A flowing set of icy-blue armor that never kept one shape—always shifting, refusing to stay fixed. She stayed locked inside its third form, silent and motionless. Heavy and stalwart. A sentinel of frost.
Her enchantnt:
Frost Arsenal – Can generate ethereal weapons made of soul-infused ice at will.
Each armor held four enchantnts. But they could only access one.
They were too weak. They hadn't passed the trial.
The trial to slay ten thousand.
Sylvia's gaze moved toward Damon. He hadn't said a word since she began speaking. Just stood there, armored like a fallen king reborn. The second form of Pale Crown suited him far too well.
It was regal—full-body plating veiled in cloaks of smoke that constantly shifted with his movents. No helt. Just that crown… a pale, ashen ring of light like a dying halo, hidden in his ssy hair.
She smiled, gently.
"That used to belong to the forr Lord of Lysithara," she said softly. "The one who beca the Keeper of False Truths…"
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