Slowly, too slowly, the murmurs began.
"…That thing… Did anyone else…?"
"No. No, I've never seen it before."
"M-Me neither."
"I thought I had reached the depths, but…"
"I don't think we ever did. Not like him."
"It's wrong..."
"Whatever that thing is… it's wrong."
Another hush fell as the projection shifted, revealing the dark-cloaked being on its feet.
It was presenting Malik with a weapon wrapped in green cloth.
The moment it was unveiled, the entire hall sucked in a breath.
A double-bladed, curved sword, gleaming under the firelight outside.
It had a blade like no other. Fully white, its hilt a subtle gold.
"Zulfiqar."
The name was whispered with something akin to reverence. Awe. Maybe even fear.
A Holy Relic of legend.
A sword that once belonged to one of the twelve Great Old Ones.
While the crowd struggled to process the origin of their Sultan's weapon...
"Haaa—!"
Safira let out a gasp.
"...No wonder."
