In the dark room, dust gently floated up and down in the moonlight, while a longsword lay quietly on a silk cushion. The blade was slender, bright, spotless, and emitted a faint silver light. Abstract patterns, like flames, extended along the spine of the sword, finally growing into several small branches, encircling a line of delicate fairy script:
'Gatt's Dárkáun, Súésl's Flaéűm; Luáth's március, Ctam's réshett.'
'Sleep with dragons, hide with stars;
Rise with the moon, burn with the fire.'
Mazak quietly picked up the sword, his calm gaze directly facing the cold, shining blade in the dark environment. The heritage of a thousand years could not leave the slightest mark upon it, as if attributable to the exquisite skills of the fairies, or perhaps the protection of the Oly Pantheon.
It bore an ancient name:
——Fairy Kin, Galapea.
