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Summary
The dagger is heavy in her hand.
She turns it over, inspecting the newly sharp blade, the weight of the hilt.
This dagger has been with her through everything, right at her side when her magic fails. A constant presence, a reminder that she is not completely dependent on the storm, the storm she’s learned to harness and channel as she grows ever more powerful.
“It doesn’t have to be you.”
Orym has been sat with her through most of the silence as she regards her weapon.
“I know,” she replies softly. “But it will be.”