"So he was dead, after all."
Neph's even voice sounded like a dull blade.
She remained motionless for a long while, then slowly approached the weathered skeleton.
A soft sigh escaped from her lips.
She stayed silent, then asked in a quiet whisper:
"Why are you lying here all alone?"
Sunny kept quiet, as well, still looking at the tall shadow that the remains of Broken Sword cast.
The shadow of Weaver.
Then, he slowly pulled his gaze away and looked at Nephis.
Her pale face was smeared in blood and dust, gaunt from fatigue. The white sparks that usually danced in the depths of her eyes were gone, and her lips were pressed into a line. Her gaze was both intense and distant.
Sunny turned to look at the weathered bones, too.
This was Broken Sword… the legendary, glorious Broken Sword — one of the greatest, if not the greatest, heroes of humanity. A swordsman of sublime skill and talent, as well as an Awakened whose power had paved the way for all humans to follow.
