A few hours had passed…
The sage led Mo through hidden paths in the cliffs, to a sealed cave veiled by illusion. With a murmured incantation and the pressing of his bloodied palm to the stone, the entrance groaned open, revealing ancient stairs.
Deep within, they came to a chamber where blue light pulsed from the walls, not from flame or crystal, but from veins of living essence that shimmered like stars.
On a pedestal at the chamber's heart lay a weapon: a long, curved blade the color of twilight, with a hilt wrapped in black dragonhide. It vibrated softly, humming to an unheard song.
"The Azure shamshir," Alric said reverently. "Forged from the fang of a sky serpent and tempered in the breath of a dying god. Your father wielded it. And now...it calls to you."
Mo stepped forward, heart pounding. As his fingers brushed the hilt, a surge of memories not his own flooded him. A battle above the clouds. A woman of flame. A beast of shadow roaring from beyond the veil.
He gasped, stumbling back.
"It remembers," Alric said. "The shamshir is not just a weapon. It is a vessel of legacy. And you, Mo, are the last of the bloodline that can awaken it."
Mo looked down at his hand, trembling. "What am I?"
"You," Alric said, "are the ember of an age that should have ended."