Zami sat cross-legged in the dim light of the fortress entrance, his katana laid across his lap. The sharp ache of his last encounter with the Bone Monarch lingered in his mind. He clenched his fists, recalling the skeletal hands that had dragged him into death's grip.
His body felt new, as if untouched by battle, but the memory of his failure burned within him. The creature inside stirred.
"You've tasted its power. What will you do now, Zami? Blind courage won't suffice."
He ignored the voice, focusing instead on his wounds—phantom pains that weren't real but served as reminders. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a handful of herbs and fungi he had gathered during his exploration. These weren't for sustenance. He had identified their properties through trial and error, testing their effects on minor wounds.
Zami crushed a cluster of blue-veined fungi, mixing it with the sap of a twisted vine and the powder of ground bone. The paste glowed faintly, an indication of its potency. Carefully, he applied the mixture to a shallow cut on his arm—a wound reopened from his recent revival. A sharp sting shot through his nerves, but he remained still, watching as the paste hardened and sealed the cut.
It wasn't perfect, but it worked.
The next day, Zami stood in a wide, open chamber of the fortress, his katana drawn. The Bone Monarch's movements replayed in his mind. He had watched every detail during their fight—the way its skeletal frame shifted, the sharp precision of its claws, the reanimation of its minions.
He moved slowly at first, mimicking the Monarch's strikes. His body flowed like water, each step deliberate. His mind focused on countering its attacks, finding gaps in its defenses. He used *Blade Bind* to parry imaginary strikes, followed by *Hidden Strike* to land counterattacks.
Sweat dripped down his brow as he practiced *Stone Slash*, leaping off walls and imagining the skeletal hands clawing at him. He repeated each technique until his body ached, pushing himself further with every sequence.
By evening, Zami sat near a faintly glowing pool within the fortress. The water was laced with minerals and faint traces of the shards he had seen the creatures guarding. He cupped his hands, lifting the water to his lips. It tasted metallic, but it invigorated him, easing the strain on his muscles.
The creature spoke again.
"You've seen them, haven't you? The shards...they're pieces of what once bound this place together."
Zami's eyes narrowed. "And the Bone Monarch? Is it bound to them?"
"It draws power from what remains. Those creatures...they guard it because they fear what it represents—a fragment of their origin. And yet, they don't understand it fully. Only you and I see it for what it is."
"What is it?" Zami asked, his voice cold.
"The same as the stone you forged your blade from—a remnant of something greater. Something that shaped this colony and its horrors."
Zami stared into the water, his reflection rippling as he clenched his fist. "Then I'll take it. If it gives me an edge, I'll make it mine."
The creature chuckled.
"You're as relentless as ever. But know this—power comes with its own chains."
Zami rose, gripping his katana. The thought of the shards and their connection to his blade sparked a new determination. He would claim them, not just for power, but for understanding.
He glanced back at the chamber where he had trained, the marks of his relentless preparation etched into the stone. Tomorrow, he would return to the Bone Monarch—not as a blind warrior, but as one prepared to break its reign.