The ground shakes. I run anyway—ignoring the screaming in my ribs. I need to get close. Close enough to—
‘Forge the weapon.’
A voice slices through my head without warning.
What?
I jump onto the hilt of the sword still protruding from the tenari’s side and climb, boots slipping on blood-slick armour. I scramble up its spine, the creature thrashing beneath me.
The claw in my hand glows faintly, silver shimmering along the edge.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Adrenaline. Ithasto be.
‘Forge it.’
The voice comes again. Stronger.
I cling to the ridged plates as the beast thrashes, and somehow the claw is glowing brighter now, and I can’t ignore it.
‘It is whatever you want it to be.’
My breath stutters.
I jam the talon deeper into its hide for leverage, climbing toward the beast’s head. Its antennae whip through the air like blades.
‘It can be a great weapon if you will it.’
‘Do you will it?’
I have nothing left to lose. Nothing left to give.
“Yes—I will it!” I shout, leaping into the air.
For a heartbeat, time hangs suspended.
The claw transforms in my grip—colour flooding it like molten dawn. The stump lengthens, vines of gold curling around my fingers, weaving into a perfect hilt crafted just for my hand. The blade extends, silver-edged with a golden vein running through the centre, alive with pulsing light.
A sword.
A masterpiece.
Forged from fear, will, and pure desperation.
I drive it between the tenari’s antennae.
The blade drags downward, slicing through armour as though it were nothing more than damp paper. I skid with it, sliding the length of its spine until I hit the ground. A spray of metallic-blue blood drenches the earth and soaks my hands.
The creature gives one last shriek—horrified, and broken—before collapsing. Its body splits cleanly in two, muscles tearing apart with wet, sickening sounds.
Then silence.
Only my breath, ragged and disbelieving, fills the clearing.
The sword in my hand is light. Almost weightless. It feels like it belongs to me. Like it’s always belonged to me.
Blue blood rolls down the blade, leaving a thin line of shimmering victory.
I wipe my brow with the back of my hand, still staring at the weapon that shouldn’t exist—Except I willed it into being.
