sword. Asar’s sword—no, my sword. I had lost it when I fell into Srana’s forge. Yet, it looked different now. The broken blade glistened as if freshly polished, illuminated with a sunless glow. The leaves on the intricate hand guard quivered as if they were alive. And the hilt . . . the hilt had changed. Now it bore poppy petals, and outstretched wings that looked as if they were aflame. A phoenix.
