Cyan's eyes narrowed as he questioned Orion, his voice authoritative yet calm, like a maestro conducting a symphony.
"So the old man actually did polish it.... I thought he said this was a probably a useless relic and wasn't this supposed to be destroyed in the carnage that ravaged Ranon."
he glared at the sword with intent.
the sword reflecting back the features of his face. A mask clearly occupying his face. red eyes.
seeing the mask in the reflection...
"Damn. what's it with this damn mask."
he grabbed it of his face with his left hand and tossed is in front with every meager strength he had. the mask colliding with a bolder from the last fought battle.
shattering into pieces.
The air was thick with tension, the sudden silence like a challenge, waiting to be met.
"Affirmative. Identified as the previous and current tool. however only three main differences detected: polished and refined and passive soul awakened"
"Where are you getting all this. I don't recall having you when this was gifted to me?" cyan inquired his gaze back to the blade considering how profound the sword looked. Reflection palpable. no mask in sight.
The design: something impossible to craft, like something found in a fictional game with a legendary backstory.
Orion's response was cryptic, like a message from an oracle. "Your collective memory."
The words hung in the air like a challenge, leaving Cyan to ponder their meaning. His expression turned ruthless, his eyes emitting a golden glow like embers ignited by a fierce passion.
"My collective memories?"
"Affirmative: due to the lack of sense of sight. collective memory synch is required in replacement of eyesight" Orion responded. voice cryptic.
"I don't get it? Are you trying to say what I am seeing right now turns into a memory and then you use that memory as your eyesight the moment I see it? am I correct?"
"Yes in simple terms thats 99.9% percent correct. due to the lack of eyes I see through memory." Orion replied voice cryptic.
"That's okay. however..."
his eye's burned with aura. A faint crimson glow.
"I absolutely forbid you from pocking around in my past memories are we clear?" his voice was cold and detarched.
silence...
"Are we clear" voice fell deeper.
Orion's voice was laced with no emotions, like a monotone melody. "Understood. Memory Gateway sealed."
"Good"
Cyan's gaze turned introspective, like a philosopher pondering the mysteries of the universe.
"Moving on. You claimed to posses information to a certain degree when you first spoke to me. Do you know anything about this sword's Origin. I only know that I have been aided twice by it now and the fact that it was found in a lake or what ever."
he paused.
" I want to know anything you night know"
Orion's response was hesitant, like a whispered secret. "Origin is unclear. more intel required. As for why it's aiding streak I believe you made a pact."
The words were like a spark, igniting a flame of curiosity in Cyan's mind.
"Intel. A pact?" The word was like a key, unlocking a door to a new reality.
"Pact: the sword recognizes Sayl cyan Ranon and acknowledged him as it's owner. Intel: I need more details to identify the sword, a name or it's craft man. though I can't provide those details I can however appraise the quality, durability, attack and other basic things.
"well I don't know it's name or craft man so that's out..... Will appraisal tell me where it came from?"
Orion's reply was cryptic as it was direct. "No"
"Then it's useless for now?"
Orion's voice was uncertain, like a traveler navigating uncharted terrain. "Likely yes."
As Cyan recalled a memory, his expression softened, like a summer breeze on a warm day. "What about it's sudden appearance and disappearance. what's up with that?."
"Unsure: 50% chance one of it's skills." Orion replied voice cryptic. Orion replied voice calculative.
"can I summon it and de-summon it at will?"
"The context de-summon doesn't exist however summoning the sword and un- summoning it vary depending on the owner, the sword or the pact"Orion replied voice cryptic.
With a fluid motion, Cyan threw the sword into the air, catching it mid-air with a whooshing sound, like a bird taking flight.
"In any case it's mine... will figure more this later. for now let's complete the task at hand and get out of this sick place."
"Confirmed" Orion replied.
He walked back to the entrance, his worn out leather boots releasing gentle thuds that echoed through the chamber like a heartbeat. He bent down, lifting Aris's sword from the ground, covered in thick crimson liquid, like a relic of a bygone era.
Cyan sat down on a rock, placing the uniquely designed mid-ranged sword on the ground, like a sentinel waiting for its master. He wrapped Aris's sword in grimy bandage cloths, securing it on his back, like a warrior preparing for battle. With Aris's sword covered, he picked up the mid-ranged sword, his eyes glowing crimson, like embers ignited by a fierce passion.
Then stood.
"Let's head to the next target," he said, his expression cold and emotionless, like a cold-blooded murderer.
As he took his steps towards the door, the sound of his boots echoed through the desolate chamber, like a death knell, the air thick with tension, the scent of sweat and blood hanging heavy in the air. The door loomed before him, like a portal to the unknown, its surface adorned with intricate carvings, like a work of art, the metal worn and weathered, bearing the scars of countless battles.
As he reached out, his hand grasped the center of the door, the metal cold to the touch, like ice that had been drained of all warmth. The sound of the door creaking open was like a mournful sigh, a lament for the passage of time, as he pushed it open, the air inside the chamber rushing out like a gust of wind, carrying with it the scent of dust and decay, a reminder of the forgotten memories that lay within.
The corridor beyond was dark, like a shroud that had been draped over the land of the living, the only light coming from the chamber behind him, casting long shadows like skeletal fingers across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of mold and rot, a noxious odor that clung to the back of his throat. Cyan's eyes adjusted slowly, his pupils dilating like a cat's in the dark, as he stepped forward, his footsteps echoing off the walls like a metronome, marking the passage of time.
The corridor stretched out before him, like a serpent winding its way through the depths of the tower, the walls lined with ancient tapestries, like a museum preserving the relics of a bygone era. The fabric was worn and faded, bearing the scars of countless battles, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay, a reminder of the transience of human endeavor.
As he walked, the silence was oppressive, like a weight pressing down on his shoulders, the only sound the soft rustling of his clothes. The air was heavy with the scent of age and neglect, like a poison carrying the screams and the forgotten memories that lay within these walls.