Calm before the storm

He held it tight in his hand. His virgin emerald eyes ever again cautiously inspecting its dangerous Embrace. Like 10 years ago.

..

He held it in his hand. His right. Gloved in an onyx, black color, that covered a curse, he carried upon his shoulders. But which beautiful charcoal, fit perfect to the golden-handle, he held confidently in it. Its virgin Gold shimmering in the bright afternoon light, it pridefully reflected on its polished surface. Engraved with deep symbols, that stretched its carvings over the entire curved handle. And which curving separated itself into two arched spikes leading away to both right and left, so another slim and treacherous blade, that concealed itself at the handles ending. Three spikes, that carried on small, scarlet rubin, that reflected his piercing green eyes, as he cautiously inspected the handle, he balanced in his thin hand. Quietly, let them wander over every exact carving and symbol, Ancient Forger had precisely forged into it and all of them to carry a concealed meaning, he could easily decipher with the great knowledge the young, yet so old Sorcerer owned. As he watchfully inspected itsastonishing handle for a few more seconds, before he deliberately tightened his grip aroundit, once again, like he wanted to enjoy every second of his faintly-numbed fingers curlingitself around its golden metal. And carefully began to turn it, along with these toxic-greeneyes closely following, as he admired to sharpened and slim blade it carried from all sidesthere was to exist.

A beautiful, short blade, of which there was only one replicate, there was only one to haveever been made and exact blade, his friend had gifted him with 100 years ago and he heldnow securely between his palm and fingers. Entirely solid, synchronic and balanced. Easy tohold, even for him, with the numbness of his skinless hand, making it nearly impossible tohold any heavier weapons, let alone anything, without feeling this disgusting numbness.Even now, that he slightly felt it against his glove, but was he too captivated in admiring themagical blade he still gracefully turned and twisted. With its darker carvings and rimsspreading itself even on the smooth iron of the short-blade. Along an engraved phrase.

_Seçilən kimdir. Son döyüşü faciəli qələbəsinə aparacaqdır!_

'Whose wielder shall be the Chosen. Will lead the final battle to its tragic victory..' His voice asmooth and velvet tone. Gently in its own Devine way, that he silently whispered under hisbreathe, as he had shortly held the blade still infront him, for his eyes to nearby silently,wander over the meaningful Engraving and just translated it in the same time.

Languages, every one of them he could read. As his eyes continued to inspect its reflectingblade for slightly longer, until the increasing feeling of this shuddering numbness of his handmade it more and more back to his Awareness, overwhelming even his absorbed Inspection.And ever so often it disgusted him. When he saw this beautiful work of iron in the grip of hisright hand, but he didn't feel it, there was only this prickling numbness in his fingers and likeso often, when he had desperately tried to overcome it still back beyond the castle's walls,he knew it would just fall out of his numb hand, with this silent clash of metal hitting rawgrass.

That not to feel this chronic *curse* anymore, there was only still a low sigh, he gave fromhimself, along that his chemical eyes shortly closed and clipped the legendary weapon backat his belt, for all of his concentration to heavily wander to his paining hand, _once, again_

_A soldier, a leader, a General, a Traitor, that he was, ever so often clothed in his long, andgraceful yarn coat, that reached itself up to the soft grass he stood on. And which thinmaterial concealed a thin abd fragile body, to carry both mental and ever-lasting physicalscars. The mental of them, that reflected so bright in his Devine Emerald eyes and did it onlytake a single closer look to penetrate their single lock, to see the screams he had screamed, to see the reflections of torture, loss and unforgiving punishments, to see the weight of guilt and the memories of a unchangeable fight laying upon his shoulders.__Yet, which he all carried on his bony shoulders, like the short abd wild charcoal hair hecarried on his, head,, as he had an responsibility to care, himself about. The only existingResistance and he, as their brave, leader._