Two weights. Precise. Patient. Waiting.

  “I think… I feel it,” Aster murmurs.

  He sees them.

  Not visually. More like the mind’s knowing: suspended in a black expanse, drifting on nothing. The staff, its galvanised steel shaft glowing faintly like memory made metal. The chain coiled and heavy, links whispering suggestion of movement.

  Aster’s gut clenches—recognition.

  He reaches, instinctively. Pulls.

  Nothing moves.

  “They’re not coming out,” Aster says.

  “Because you’re pulling with thought,” Musa says. “Most beginners make that mistake. The Stomach Palace isn’t a brain vault. It’s a draw space. You don’t snatch things out. You authorize their return. Pull with your will—not from your head, but from your center.”

  Aster takes another breath. Slows it down. Re-centers.

  He pictures the void again—but this time, from inside it. As if his perception is a presence there. Looking outward from the black.

  The staff and chain don’t feel separate—they feel like organs unplugged. Ready.

  He doesn’t summon them.

  He invites them back.

  The dark expanse stirs.

  The chain flickers first—links blurring to light. Then the staff follows, dissolving into threads of muted gold, drawn across the void toward—

  His hands.

  ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════

  ?? [STOMACH PALACE — EXTERNALIZATION INITIATED]

  — [Bent Street Sign Staff] Released

  — [Pit-bull Lock Chain] Released

  Current Load: 0 / 250

  ═════════════════════════════════════════════════════

  Aster’s hands grow heavy.

  He opens his eyes.

  The staff is there, cold and weighty, metal scarred from chitin strikes. The chain coils just above his knuckles, links dense as truth.

  “I have them,” he whispers. “They were really just… inside me.”

  “Congratulations,” Musa says. “You just used your Stomach Palace.”

  “Now do the same process in reverse to store them. Pull them from your grip. Let your Will call them.”

  Aster closes his eyes again, focuses on that inner emptiness, and reaches outward.

  The chain coalesces first—solid, familiar. Then the staff, sliding back into his Danteans like it never left.

  He opens his eyes.

  Both weapons are gone.

  “But you still feel them,” Musa says with a satisfied nod.

  “In my gut,” Aster mutters. “Like spiritual indigestion.” He grins, despite himself. “That was... actually kind of cool.”

  “Perfect, so now that you have your weapons—”

  Aster glances from the staff to the chain.

  “Weapons? You mean I don’t need to choose between the two?”

  “You’re drawn to both, right?” Musa asks.

  Aster nods, staring at the staff. “One gave me reach. The other ended a beating. It feels wrong to leave either behind.”

  Musa considers him for a moment.

  “Then don’t.”

  Aster blinks. “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t have to pick one forever,” Musa says. “Not here. Not in the Astral Plane. That’s Material Plane thinking—'one weapon, one style, one hand at a time.’ Here? The spirit bends the rules. Will rewrites the script.”

  Aster eyes him warily. “So using two opposing weapon styles is normal?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Musa snorts. “Nothing about what you’re doing is normal. But yes, you can wield two weapons—eventually. The trick is not doing it all at once.”

  “There are three stages to wielding dual scripture paths,” Musa says. “And each one will test whether you’re building a style or just throwing sharp things at problems.”

  Aster leans in despite himself.

  “First phase is Alternation. You start with one weapon. Master it. You let its scripture soak into your Astral Vessel until it becomes second nature—until your bones remember. Then, and only then, do you begin with the second. You learn to switch between them, to fight with one style, then another—fluidly. Seamlessly. But never simultaneously.”

  “Sounds like the setup to a terrible dating metaphor.”

  “I’ll let you come up with it,” Musa replies dryly. “Phase two is Simultaneity. That’s when your cultivation’s strong enough to split focus—when your mind and spirit can run both scripts in parallel. One in each hand, one in each breath. Staff striking clean lines, chain weaving chaos behind it. It’s rare. It’s dangerous. Most people fall apart before they make it there.”

  “And phase three?” Aster asks, though the question comes out quieter than he intended.

  “Phase three,” Musa says, lowering his voice as if the vault might be listening, “is Fusion.”

  Aster expects a metaphor. He doesn’t get one.

  “You don’t just use both weapons,” Musa continues. “You combine them, fuse them. Literally. Through scripture, through Artificing, through the force of your will, you make them one. A weapon that didn’t exist before. A fighting style that has no precedent. That’s how you create legacy. Not by inheriting it. By forging it.”

  Aster stares down at the weapons again.

  Staff. Chain.

  Discipline. Chaos.

  Distance. Wrath.

  Two halves of a fight he’s never stopped having.

  It takes Aster a full breath to speak.

  “So, I start with one. I build up. Then I merge.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you think I can do that?”

  “You have a lifetime to try.”

  “Staff first,” Aster says. “Then chain. Then… whatever comes next.”

  Musa claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll have to really get used to moving things across your Dantean if you want to excel at the second level of dual wielding. It’s one of the core fighting foundations to get used to dual wielding. Master it, and you’ll never be disarmed. Fail it, and you’ll be the guy rummaging through his ribcage trying to switch weapons mid-fight while someone stabs you.”

  Aster nods, still watching the staff. “So when I get fast enough—summon mid-swing?”

  “Eventually, yes. It’s the basis around phase two of dual wielding, Simultaneity. But first you learn to walk. Then you learn to teleport your walking stick into someone’s face.”

  Aster laughs. “Right. Reasonable.”

  Musa gestures to the vault entrance. “Now that you’ve got your weapons and your soul pockets figured out, let’s head to the Market District. Lena’s probably already pretending she hasn’t been people-watching for twenty minutes.”

  Aster gives the staff one final spin, letting it settle into his Stomach Palace resting alongside the coiling chain like it belongs there.

  Two weapons. One body.

  An entire world waiting to see if he’ll survive long enough to wield both.

  Musa gives a slow, approving nod. “Now we can choose a corresponding scripture for the two weapons.”