"A sword wouldn't fit you."
-👓
"Pfft, I can use a sword."
"You're not a swordsman at all."
Fae holds out his hand, as if to grasp the breeze that runs across his skin. Mistral said a thunderstorm would roll in tonight.
The perfect time.
Overhead, thunder roars, succeeding lightning strikes he cannot see.
Violent, bloody red. It flashes brightly, and leaves just as fast as it appeared.
He feels his blindfold whipping in the wind that howled harshly as the storm set in. The sky groans and heaves.
Raindrops fall onto his face, trained towards the heavens. It seeps into his blindfold, soaking it and making it stick to the bridge of his nose and his shut eyelids.
Shakily, he unties the piece of cloth, and sets it free to the wind.
Just to feel like himself again.
His eyes are open, but Fae only sees the dark still.
"It's yours now. It'll only respond to your summons. Even I can't use it anymore."
"...But why?"
"You'll know why."
The thunder reverbrates throughout his entire body. The energy, the restless electrons in the air, it all reminds him of that power.
Electricity dances around his open palm, sparking and fizzing out. Then they turn into pure light, resting in his hand, forming a hauntingly familiar grip.
It weighs heavy in Fae's hand and on his mind.
The last time he had seen this blade... It was bloodied and thrust through its former owner.
A scene so vividly burned into his mind...
The last thing he saw before losing his vision.
Resting in his hand, the sword hums. A weapon that once harnessed the power of lightning, now corrupted by light.
Fae's light.
He swung it through the air, the blade hissing as it caught the rainwater; the droplets instantly evaporating upon contact. It forms an aura of heat around it, even warming up Fae's own hand.
"It's connected to your emotions. Like mine, when I feel strongly, the energy intensifies."
Holding it now only reminded him of what he'd done, and what it costed him. And the blade sensed it, the light growing agitated and heating up and cooling down erratically.
"Yet you can't let go, can you? No matter how hard you try to escape it."
The blunt words remind him; Fae was his own downfall.
Gritting his teeth, he gripped the handle tighter, digging his heel into the mud.
The rain still pours heavily, drenching him to the bone.
"I don't... want it anymore."
His whisper is not at all audible over the storm, but the sword acts as if it had heard him, humming deeply in displeasure.
"I don't need it anymore."
Fae breathes in deeply, inhaling the cold breeze that stings his lungs.
He holds the sword with both hands now, facing the vast, unknown storm.
His face... Fae imagines so clearly.
A permanent scowl, with irate eyes that always glared coldly towards his way.
"I... can't have this anymore."
The sword's hum grows louder, its vibrations making Fae's hands tremble as he held it even tighter.
Take your sword back, Nicrom.
The handle loses its weight and the blade betrays its shape, dispersing into pure light, so warm and bright that he can feel it on his face, that he can feel it in the air.
Fae holds nothing but raindrops that pool in his palms.
The light is gone, and so is he.
I'm... so tired. Of this.
Fae falls, his knees sinking into the mud, but he can hardly care. The downpour had lessened to a drizzle, the water no longer cascading heavily down his back. His clothes coldly embraced him, and he shivered as he knelt there.
You're finally gone, aren't you?
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His tears are indistinguishable from the gentle rain, and he leans forward, hugging himself.
..I'm so sorry.
