It had taken forever for the enchantment to settle.
The fear it might break was at the forefront of his mind. Older things like this were difficult to make with the limited supplies available. Tyleril had to use some of his newfound coin from his last commission.
He prayed to the Light, asking for it’s blessing. For the first time in his long lived life he didn’t ask for kindness, strength, or any other benevolent blessing.
He wanted searing white flames, cold and brutal strength.
It was a last minute thought that had wormed his way into his mind and he had spent the better part of the day and night focusing on it.
She might be used to better than the garbage this is.
Tyleril hesitated, picking it up gently and eyeing it.
The arcane shimmer that caught his eye was beautiful, but when he felt the Light’s blessing he shuddered. It was cold burning fury. Strength that healed you even as it burned.
The Light was kindness, warmth, and grace. But this…
Tyleril brushed his fingers over it.
Like Aestus’s healing. The pain from a broken rib was nothing compared to the feeling of the Light burning as it healed. It was the cold grace of a mercy kill. The delayed feeling of pain when a sharpened blade cut through your flesh.
A cold mercy.
"I'm fine." He said, but the lie tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Tyleril Silversword 