"Well? Go on, boy. Pick up the damn sword already."
Solron's impatient voice finally snapped Elion out of his daze. The others also seemed to recover at the same time.
"R-right…"
Elion slowly brought both trembling hands toward the wooden case.
His fingers touched the sleek black scabbard first, carefully tracing along its smooth surface before finally wrapping around the weapon itself. Then, with both hands, he slowly lifted it from the box.
One hand shifted naturally toward the intricate hilt while the other steadied the scabbard.
Shing!
The blade slid free with a sharp metallic cry that seemed to echo resoundingly through the entire room, and only then did they realise something.
As beautiful as the scabbard was, the blade itself was what truly felt unnatural. The steel was neither fully black nor silver; it existed somewhere in between, a shifting metallic darkness that reflected the world around it in warped, distorted fragments.
