Its power could never be forced. The sword was not a weapon that bent to will or strength. It had a soul of its own.
No one unworthy could ever awaken it, no matter how much they desired. To touch it without being chosen was not simply failure—it was death.
Elysia knew this. Everyone in her family knew it. The stories had been drilled into her since she was a child, carried on hushed voices and stern warnings.
And yet…
Her father's voice echoed faintly in her mind, as if the years had not passed at all. She remembered herself as a small girl, standing in the great hall while he loomed over her, his words as heavy as iron.
"You are forbidden to set foot in the sealed grounds. That sword is not for you."
The memory struck her harder than any blade could. She clenched her fists until her nails dug deep into her palms, sharp enough to sting.
