_Eshwar_

A tragedy...
An abrupt departure...
Death...
And rebirth.

Pain, rage, struggle, and blood honed a sword.
A sword sharp enough to sever through reality and reveal what lies beyond.

It unveiled something,
Or rather, someone, incomprehensible and unprecedented....
A being who seems to weave the threads of fate.

Does he truly exist, or is he merely a manifestation of another's will?
If he does exist, what purpose does he serve?
Is there really a purpose, or is it just another will imposed upon him?
If it is another's will, can he defy it?
Can he turn his sword against his creator,
A being who literally writes his reality?

Or will he be consumed by the abyss from which his power flows,
Forever lost in the shifting void of his own making?

The Blind Swordsman.

Rushing over towards me were a dozen—at least that's what I could count at a glance, yet my mind and heart remained calm..... it was ominous.

Either way, I noticed that my frown marred resting face had returned:

'is he inexperience? Like me?' The soldier right in front of me thrust his sword, stabbing at my head; but his actions seemed inexperienced and awkward, much like how I was, but I wasn't that obvious as far as I could tell.

Because my muscles don't feel awkward or strange when I wield my sword, maybe because of my skill set and class?

I didn't know, nor did I care much about it—as far as I know, a sword or whichever weapon there is, is but a tool to extend my reach, that's all.

Day-1 (9)