The room fell silent as Umbra raised his hand to summon his weapon with a quiet, commanding gesture. An intensity in his eyes reflected the weight of what he was about to demonstrate. The very air around him seemed to shift, bending under the power about to be unleashed. Slowly, out of the shadows of his command, a form materialized. It shimmered and pulsed, the form gradually taking shape—till, in a flash of time, a blade forged from some ethereal darkness sprang into his grasp.
"This," Umbra started off, his voice steady as stone yet full of meaning, "is Umbra Blade."
A collective gasp rippled through the room as the blade hovered effortlessly in his grasp. The weapon was unlike any other; it radiated a faint aura of power, black as night but with an ethereal sheen that gave it a surreal, almost otherworldly quality. It seemed to hum with a life of its own, as though it had been waiting for this moment, for this time.
