"Let's return with the sword, child?"
She turned back," what?"
Elysia's eyes snapped open as if ripped out of a dream. Her body jolted violently, her heart hammering in her chest.
She was no longer in the visions of the past—she was back at the altar where the sword was kept.
But she quickly realized she had not returned unchanged.
The Oathblade's hilt burned in her grip, searing hot, as though the sword itself was alive and angry at being touched.
The pain shot through her palm, but she did not release it. Her knuckles whitened as she clung tighter, refusing to let go.
Then, the blade gave a cry.
"So you accepted me? Fine, let's wield this together until the end. I won't let you down."
It was not the clash of metal, nor the groan of stone—it was a song. A sharp, ringing note cut through the silence of the cavern, echoing off the walls like the voice of some ancient spirit.
The sound was beautiful and terrifying like both a warning and a welcome.
