The next second a steel blade materialized in Caspian's hand. Surprisingly there were two of them. It was moderately lengthy its blade mildly surpassing the length of an adult male's forearm. The blade was made of glimmering steel that reflected the blood-red sky on itself.
The grip was made of black leather with a simplistic design.
A minimalist dream.
'Shit.'
Caspian cursed with a wide grin as he drew careful arcs in the air with the straight steel blade. As he did the blade weeped, filling the air with a melodious yet living hum.
He wasn't anything close to a swordsman, but he had experienced being one in his glimpse at his future self.
Even though he had lost a ton of those memories, he could never forget launching himself at a four-winged Crisis like it was just another day.