The letter of truth

### Chapter Two: **The Letter of Truth**

**Ten Years Later...**

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the quiet suburban neighborhood. Birds chirped lazily, and the wind rustled through the trees. Chris stood in front of his grandfather's old house, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket. The place had been empty for almost a year now, ever since his grandfather had passed away.

Chris sighed, pushing open the creaky front gate. He hadn't been back here since the funeral, but today was different. The lawyer had called, telling him that there was one last item from his grandfather's estate—a personal gift, something that had been left specifically for him.

Entering the familiar study, Chris felt a pang of nostalgia. The old leather chair, the smell of aged books, and the faint scent of incense—it was all just as he remembered it. Except now, there was a small wooden box sitting on the desk, tied with a thick, faded ribbon. A folded piece of paper was attached to it with his name written in his grandfather's distinctive handwriting.

Chris hesitated for a moment before reaching for the note. His fingers trembled slightly as he unfolded the paper and began to read:

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**My Dearest Chris,**

If you are reading this, then I am no longer here to guide you in person. But there are things you must know—truths that I've kept from you until now. I told you stories when you were young, stories about kings and divine weapons. But those were not just tales of the past. They are your legacy.

You are the last descendant of King Arun, the wielder of a great divine weapon. The sword, passed down through generations, is a relic of immense power—one that has been protected by our family for centuries. That sword, Chris, now belongs to you.

I hid the truth from you because I wanted you to live a normal life for as long as you could. But the time has come. The world is changing, and soon you will understand why this weapon must be in your hands.

In the box before you lies the sword of King Arun. It is more than just a blade—it is alive, and it will recognize its rightful wielder. But be warned, Chris: with great power comes great responsibility. The sword will test you, and the path ahead will not be easy.

Take it, but only if you are ready to embrace your destiny. If you choose not to, hide it away where no one can find it, for there are forces in this world that will stop at nothing to claim it.

Your destiny awaits, my boy. I only hope you are prepared for what is to come.

With all my love,

**Grandpa**

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Chris lowered the letter, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind raced back to the stories his grandfather had told him as a child. Back then, they had seemed like nothing more than fanciful myths. But now...

He glanced down at the wooden box. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. Slowly, he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in velvet cloth, was the sword.

It wasn't as ornate as he had imagined. The blade was long, gleaming with a faint shimmer, its hilt simple yet elegant. But as Chris reached out to touch it, a surge of energy shot through his hand, causing him to pull back. The sword pulsed once, a soft blue light emanating from its core.

Chris stared at it, wide-eyed. It was real. All of it—the stories, the legends—it was all true.

His fingers hovered over the blade once more, and this time, when he grasped the hilt, the light surrounded him, filling the room with a blinding glow. Chris felt something shift deep inside him, as though the sword had recognized him, accepted him.

He staggered back, his breath quickening. His grandfather's words echoed in his mind: *"The sword will test you."*

But Chris didn't feel fear. Not anymore. Instead, a sense of purpose began to stir within him—a pull toward something larger than himself, something ancient.

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**Later that night...**

Chris sat on the edge of his bed, the sword lying across his lap. He couldn't stop staring at it, tracing the lines of the blade with his fingers. It felt warm, almost as if it were alive, like his grandfather had said. But what did it mean to be the "last descendant of King Arun"? Why had the sword chosen him now?

He picked up the letter again, reading over the last lines. *"There are forces in this world that will stop at nothing to claim it."* What forces? What danger was coming?

Chris lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His grandfather had always been a mysterious figure, but now it seemed that there was so much more he hadn't known.

*What do I do now?* Chris wondered.

But deep down, a part of him already knew the answer. He couldn't just ignore this. The sword was his now, and with it came a responsibility he couldn't walk away from.

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**The following morning...**

Chris woke early, his mind still buzzing with the revelations of the previous day. He decided to head back to the house, maybe find some clues in his grandfather's study about what to do next.

As he entered the room, something caught his eye—a faint blue glow from the secret door in the corner. Chris's pulse quickened. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed to be calling him, just like the sword had.

With a deep breath, he approached the door and pushed it open. The underground chamber stretched before him, filled with paintings and artifacts. But what drew his attention most was the large, faded portrait at the far end of the room—a painting of King Arun, holding the very sword that now lay in Chris's possession.

Beneath the painting, a pedestal stood, its surface covered in strange markings. Chris stepped closer, and as he did, the sword in his hand pulsed with energy again, glowing brighter.

Suddenly, the markings on the pedestal began to shift, rearranging themselves into a language Chris didn't understand. But somehow, deep in his mind, he heard the words: *"The trials have begun."*

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(A/N):More chapters, give me power stones.

Bye..