The Saint's Blade
Deep within the bowels of the cavern, where the damp stone gave way to a chamber that hummed with a low, celestial frequency, George found it. Resting upon a pedestal of obsidian was an ancient weapon that seemed to draw all the light in the room toward its blade.
"This," Elijah whispered, his youthful face illuminated by the weapon's soft radiance, "is Ascalon."
Ascalon, known in the oldest scrolls as the 'Saints' Sword' or the 'Truth or False Sword,' was a masterpiece of legendary proportions. Forged in the crushing heat of a primordial volcano's belly, the blade had been tempered using ancient techniques lost to time and infused with the essence of an angel. It was a weapon of heavenly power—indestructible, unbreakable, and possessed of a shifting nature that allowed it to transition from a balanced sword to a formidable spear at the wielder's will. Most importantly, it was said to double the raw aura of whoever held it, making it arguably the most powerful weapon in existence.
Elijah stepped toward the pedestal, his gaze somber. "To understand the weight of this steel, George, you must understand the blood that paid for it. One hundred thousand years ago, during the Demon Wars, this world was not a place of forests and dunes, but a slaughterhouse. Lucius, the King of the Demons, rose to consume everything. Two-thirds of the world's population was wiped out in a tide of chaos, famine, and death."
George listened, his breath hitching. He had studied the Great History at the Academy, but Elijah's words felt like a living memory.
"The stories your scholars teach you are but half-truths, sanitized to keep humanity from crumbling under the weight of the past," Elijah continued, his voice growing cold. "Destruction raged until the five legendary heroes arrived: Solomon the Wiser, Paul the Agent of Change, Abraham the Father of Time, Joseph the Voice of Angels, and Moses the Parter of Oceans. Together, with the aid of Michael, the oldest of the heavenly host, they forged Ascalon. It was the only thing sharp enough to cut through Lucius's darkness and seal him away."
The Golem Maker turned to George, the divine light within him flickering like a dying candle. "But seals break, George. One day, Lucius will rise again to finish what he started. This sword was left here, guarded by the sands, waiting for a heart that could carry its burden." Elijah gestured to the shimmering hilt. "I ask you now, George: will you take up the mantle? Will you become Ascalon's master? But heed my warning—this blade is the 'Truth or False' sword for a reason. It judges the soul. If your heart is not pure, if your intentions are tainted by even a drop of malice or ego, Ascalon will not serve you. It will destroy you from the inside out, burning your spirit until nothing remains but ash."
The air in the chamber grew heavy, the silence pressing against George's ears. He thought of Elvina pinned by the golem, of Jamil's desperate wind cutters, and the three Harvesters who had already been claimed by the sand.
"Do you still want to save your friends?" Elijah asked, a knowing, piercing look in his eyes.
George didn't flinch. He stepped toward the pedestal, his emerald eyes reflecting the heavenly glow of the blade. The fear was there, a cold knot in his stomach, but his resolve was a roaring furnace.
"Yes!" George replied, his voice echoing with a power that shook the dust from the ceiling. "I don't care if my life is at risk. I want to save the people I love. I want to become just like the five legendary heroes! If this is the path I have to take to protect them, then I'll take it."
He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from the hilt, the static of the sword's aura dancing across his skin.
Would you like me to describe the moment George's hand closes around the hilt and the sword begins its judgment?