"Stop opening and closing your hand. You’re making me nervous."
Owen Ferrers looked at his older brother. "You’ve been telling me not to be nervous since we left home."
"And you’ve been ignoring me since we left home."
Gareth caught Owen’s wrist before he could curl his fingers into another fist. He was taller than Owen by several inches, and the formal coat he wore did little to hide the broad shoulders he had developed through years of sword training.
"Your hand will still be there when they call you," Gareth said. "Give it a rest."
Owen pulled his wrist free. "You’re enjoying this too much."
"I’ve waited eighteen years for the chance to see you embarrass yourself in public. Of course I’m enjoying it."
"You’re supposed to be encouraging him," Eleanor Ferrers said.
She reached across Owen to straighten the collar of his coat, which he had disturbed while adjusting his sleeves. Her chestnut hair was pinned neatly at the back of her head, and her hazel eyes moved from his collar to his face.
"Have you eaten enough?" she asked.
"Yes, Mother."
"You barely touched your breakfast."
"Because Gareth spent the whole meal telling me what could go wrong."
"I gave him useful advice," Gareth said.
"You told me not to drop my sword."
"Well, don’t."
Eleanor gave Gareth a look, although Owen caught the small smile she was trying to hide.
They had reached the entrance to the Awakening Hall, where attendants were directing arriving families toward their seats. The building was already crowded. Voices carried through the wide entrance, accompanied by the scrape of chairs and the occasional metallic sound of an awakened weapon being moved out of someone’s way.
An attendant glanced at the crest on Edmund Ferrers’s coat and immediately straightened.
"Lord Ferrers. Your family’s seats are ready."
"Thank you," Edmund replied.
Owen followed his father through the hall, aware of several people turning to look at them. Edmund’s dark hair had begun to gray at the temples, but his broad shoulders and steady bearing had changed little in Owen’s memory. He wore the same formal military coat he reserved for important family occasions, with the Ferrers crest displayed prominently on the chest.
A man standing near the front aisle greeted Edmund by name. A few seats farther along, an older woman paused her conversation to offer the family a respectful nod.
The attention was familiar enough that Owen usually ignored it. Today, however, every glance reminded him why his family had come.
The Ferrers were one of the Great Families, and swordsmanship was more than a profession to them. Owen had spent his childhood training beside people whose awakened swords were as familiar to him as the practice weapons hanging in the family training hall.
In a few hours, he expected to have a sword of his own.
They settled into their seats near the front. Gareth remained beside Owen while Edmund exchanged a few words with an acquaintance, and Eleanor took a moment to check that Owen’s coat had survived their walk through the crowd.
"When we get home, we’ll start with your balance," Gareth said.
Owen turned toward him. "I thought we were sparring."
"We will, once you can hold your new sword without swinging it into the furniture."
"I’ve been using swords since I was six."
"Wooden swords. Practice swords. Neither of those is a bonded weapon."
"You’re still worried I’ll beat you."
Gareth laughed. "If you manage that today, I’ll let you choose my training schedule for a month."
"I’ll remember you said that."
"You’d better. It’s the only generous offer you’re getting."
Owen smiled, but his attention returned to the altar at the front of the hall.
For twelve years, he had practiced the movements Gareth taught him, first with a wooden sword that had been too heavy for his small hands, then with proper training weapons as he grew older. There had been mornings when he could barely lift his arms after practice and afternoons when Gareth made him repeat the same movement until his feet stopped landing in the wrong place.
The effort had never felt wasted. Every year brought him closer to awakening, when the dormant Armament Core within his body would finally activate and allow him to cultivate.
Owen still remembered an ordinary life on Earth, though eighteen years in the Ferrers household had given him an entirely different set of experiences. He remembered going to work, coming home tired, and making plans with people he had expected to see again. He had never imagined that his next life would involve preparing to wield a supernatural weapon.
But this was his life now. His parents were sitting beside him, Gareth was planning their next training session, and Owen wanted the future they had spent so many years helping him prepare for.
"Don’t wear yourself out before you get up there," Edmund said as he returned to his seat.
"I’ll be fine, Father."
"I know. Just remember that your first priority is becoming accustomed to your armament. Your brother can wait a day before he starts testing you."
Gareth leaned back in his chair. "Apparently, nobody wants him to enjoy his awakening."
"I’d like him to get through it without being challenged to a duel by his own brother," Eleanor said.
Owen was still smiling when an instructor stepped forward at the front of the hall and called for the candidates’ attention.
The surrounding conversations faded.
"Candidates will approach the altar when their names are called," the instructor announced. "Place your hand on the altar and follow the examiner’s directions. Once your awakening is complete, return to your seats so we can proceed."
He consulted the register in his hand.
"Mara Ellery."
A young woman rose from the opposite side of the hall and approached the altar. Owen watched as she placed her hand against its pale surface.
Light gathered around her fingers before spreading across the altar. A moment later, a sword appeared before her, suspended in the air with its hilt angled toward her right hand.
Mara reached out and caught it.
The examiner inspected the result, confirmed that her Armament Core had awakened, and announced her weapon class. Applause rose from the seats behind her as she returned to her family, holding her sword carefully in front of her.
"Tomas Bell."
The next candidate approached with considerably less confidence. He kept glancing at the examiner until the man repeated his instructions, then pressed his hand to the altar.
A broad shield manifested before him.
The young man stared at it for a moment before grinning at the people waiting for him. By the time he returned to his seat, one of his relatives was already leaning across another family member to get a closer look.
The instructor continued calling names.
Each successful awakening made Owen a little more eager for his turn. He watched a bow appear in front of one candidate and an axe before another, then glanced at Gareth’s sword resting against his chair.
"That’s Gareth Ferrers, isn’t it?" someone whispered from the row behind them.
Owen kept his attention on the altar.
"His younger brother is awakening today."
"I heard. Another swordsman for their family, then."
"Wonder what sort of sword he’ll get."
Owen shifted in his seat. The speakers lowered their voices when he turned slightly, though one of them continued looking in his direction.
Gareth noticed.
"Leave them alone," he said quietly. "They haven’t got anything better to talk about."
"I wasn’t going to say anything."
"You were looking at them as though you wanted to."
Owen faced forward again.
Gareth rested an elbow on his chair. "Anyway, I haven’t forgotten that you keep stepping too far forward when you attack."
"Only when you move out of range."
"That’s generally what people do when they don’t want to get hit."
"You could tell me before you move."
"I’ll make sure to announce every step during our next spar."
Owen opened his mouth to answer, but the instructor spoke first.
"Owen Ferrers."
Gareth’s grin widened. "That’s you."
"I heard him."
"Try not to drop anything."
Eleanor reached out to smooth Owen’s sleeve one last time. "Go on."
Owen stood and made his way toward the altar.
The sound of his footsteps seemed unusually loud against the stone floor. He could feel the attention following him, although he kept his eyes on the examiner waiting ahead.
The examiner checked the register.
"Owen Ferrers?"
"Yes."
"Place your hand here, please."
Owen stepped forward and pressed his palm against the altar.
The stone was cool beneath his fingers. For several seconds, nothing happened, and then warmth spread through his hand and travelled up his arm.
He held still.
The sensation reached his chest, where it seemed to gather around something that had remained beyond his awareness for his entire life. A steady pulse followed, and Owen drew in a sharp breath as energy began moving through his body.
His Armament Core had awakened.
The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced during training. He could still feel the cool surface of the altar beneath his palm, but there was now another presence within him, something he could reach toward without moving a muscle.
Light appeared in the air ahead of him.
Owen watched closely, waiting for the outline of his sword to take shape. The light grew brighter, but instead of forming a blade, it flickered and gradually faded.
Nothing appeared.
Owen kept his hand against the altar. His Armament Core had awakened, and he could still feel the energy moving within him, so why hadn’t his weapon manifested?