A dagger of silver and gold glimmers nearby, hilt molded into the shape of a narrow leaf, blade made to catch and deflect attacks from other sword like objects. A feather is carved into the bottom of the hilt, barely noticeable, the signature of the blacksmith who made it. This blade holds an air of protection somehow, a weapon that preferred to defend rather than go on the offensive.
While a titan that can crush mountains in its bare hands may not need such a weapon, the king could sense through the doll that this blade was a gift. Not one given out of reverence or fear, but genuine kindness and care.
Gigi carefully picked up the dagger, and slid it into their sash. It may not be a full sword, but it would serve the king’s vessel better than the thickest of shields. From their sculpted lips boomed the voice of the monarch, far off in the temple.
“Thank you for this present, fine smith. May your path be clear and the winds lift you higher, my friend.”
