The Single Edged Flame: The Single Edged Flame

    "Why is it orange?"

 

    Arcus could see Ann-Len's mouth pinch into a thin line under the dark cloth over the lower half of her face, as her eyelids drooped in mellow frustration.
    "Oh, I'm sorry", she said, with an exaggerated tone, "I didn't know you had a color in mind! Unfortunately, we don't have any Toxic Green or Darkness Black in stock right now. Should I leave a reservation?" The half elf's head tilted playfully as her monologue ended. Arcus let out a mechanic snort, as she reached out her arms. Ann-Len gently lowered the weapon in her hands into the wyfex's palms, and slipped her hands out of the way.

 

    Arcus felt the sword's weight. She had heard Ann-Len call it a falchion and a scimitar interchangeably, but it was quite clear it at least wasn't the latter. Even for a falchion, it seemed crude - even barbaric. Its single edged blade was clearly made for use, to wreak havoc and destruction, hastily decorated with uneven lines - or what did Arcus know, maybe they played a role in balancing the blade or something.

 

    Ann-Len took hurried steps back as the wyfex grabbed the sword's handle with both of her hands. The fiery vixen felt the weapon's weight again. It was substantial, to say the least.  Arcus lifted her eyes to the half elf as she heard her clearing her throat. The woman gestured at her side with a small head movement. "Try it on that."
    Arcus turned to the side, and her shoulders slumped. She turned her nonexistent eyes back to the pink-haired woman.
    "On a watermelon."
    "Yes!" Ann-Len raised her voice. "Look, I'm not going to let you rush into war with something you're not used to", she said, huffed, setting one of her hands on her hip, and gesturing at the sword in Arcus' hands. "And especially not with that."
    The wyfex chuckled, and walked over to the unfortunate fruit. She could hear Ann-Len shifting positions behind her, as Arcus shifted hers. She set her dominant foot before the other, and slid her hands down the sword's handle. The wyfex pulled back the sword, and swung.

 

    As if the sword had heard her inner demons, and become one with her being like the golden chains around her forearms did when her magic burst out like a firework, it set itself ablaze. Ann-Len let out an awkward yelp as her whole body violently jerked back at the sight. Within that single swing, inside only a second or two, the sword started to glow from the impossible heat it radiated. The metal darkened, then became red, until it ultimately glowed pure white. It left a trail of embers and molten metal as it howled through the air in the wyfex's hands - and then, it stopped. With a cold sound and a hollow impact, it sliced the watermelon into pieces, and practically made the fruit blow up under its force. The pink haired half elf covered her face with her arms as she desperately tried to avoid getting fruit juice into her eyes.

 

    Arcus stared at the sword, stained in watermelon juice, and surrounded with fruit carnage. The fire was gone - and so were all the molten metal and embers. Only a strong, singed smell remained of the events that had occurred. What even had happened? She had an element nowadays, yes, and magic tied to it - but she did not activate any part of it, or feel it activating within her. It wasn't her. Was it the sword?

 

    Ann-Len walked over to Arcus, and tapped the wyfex on her shoulder. Arcus straightened her posture, and turned to the half elf. The pink-haired menace crossed her arms on her chest.
    "And where did you learn to do that?"
Arcus had no answer to her question. The wyfex shrugged.
    "Places", she replied, with a twitch of her ears. Ann-Len had learned, from having to read Maxuss for so many years, that such gesture on a wyfex was an equivalent of a humanoid smirk or a grin. The half elf let out a snort, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion, and a sly smile rising onto her lips under the dark cloth.
    "I see."