This was undoubtedly one of his most beautiful swords.
"Dustless," he whispered to it, "lucky you, you're going to have a master."
The sword responded to his words with a hum of energy, its blade lighting up with a radiant white glow. It seemed to grow sharper in his hand as sword intent flowed around it, layering the blade with a powerful aura, enhancing its already deadly edge.
"You're pleased, I see," Petne said, smiling. "Your master is a professional too."
Dustless hummed louder, as though acknowledging the match. Among all his weapons, only Dustless could match a certain woman's monstrous talent, and Petne had no doubt that the two were compatible.
Within the sword's intricate white rose guard was its spirit, also named Dustless, which took the form of a tiny white rose. It was a gentle but fiercely loyal spirit, one that had bonded with the sword from its creation.
