Suddenly, from the blade began to sprout flames of a pale green, very close to the moon's tone. They extended firmly along the metal, adhering to its surface with a strange regularity, without dispersing or rising in waves.
Almost at the same time, the first brambles emerged from the sword's base. Thin, covered with thorns, they advanced over the table and coiled with determination, gaining ground in a matter of seconds. They didn't grow randomly. They followed a defined path, surrounding the wood and intertwining with each other. Between their sections began to open flowers of an intense blue, with smooth, well-formed petals.
Lloyd leaned back upon noticing it.
The gesture was short, measured. His eyes remained fixed on the sword, attentive to every change. The greenish reflection of the flames mixed with the shine of his pupils, accentuating that emerald tone. The air entering through the window stirred his black hair, lifting some strands that moved softly around his face.
