Evan set the case down in the middle of the training hall. The moment it clicked open, heat seemed to hum in the air. Kael approached slowly, his eyes narrowing at the sleek black blade within — forged with dark steel and pulsing faintly, like embers under obsidian.
"I figured you'd need something more permanent," Evan said, standing up straight, arms crossed. "Forged it myself. Titanium base. Arcana-reactive alloy. Won't melt, won't warp. Channels your flame without fighting it."
Kael gripped the hilt. The sword answered his touch with a low, molten hum — not loud, but alive.
"I call it…" Evan began, watching Kael lift it.
"…Ashrend."
Kael tested its weight. Perfect balance. The blade was straight, slightly curved toward the tip — a mixture of eastern and western sword styles. Built not just to slice, but to endure. To punish.
Evan's voice was calm, but serious. "It's the kind of sword someone carves their future with. Or burns their past to the ground."
Kael nodded once, staring into the reflection on the steel. His fire flickered — low, focused. No rage. Just purpose.