Merci stood up and faced the sword.
"What do you mean by 'Lydia has chosen'?"
"Another spirit, but in an elf's body. Fascinating…" the reflection spoke, ignoring her question.
"Spirit! I'm no spirit, my dear, I am the great grimoire of the ancients."
The reflection laughed out after hearing what she had just said as if it was nothing more than a joke.
"Great as you are, you still have no idea of what you are."
"Then what am I?" she was curious.
"Wrong question, and even if I knew, telling you would ruin the fun. You may not sing the songs of your creators but that power you and the endless carry says otherwise."
Merci was trying to make sense of what the sword was saying but it was confusion to confusion with each word it spoke. It was like she was speaking a different language.
"My creator is Lord Avoros of the Magisterium, the first lord of magic."
