Sins forever deep, agony tormenting the soul, a heart in bondage. One embracing those imperfections and selfish desires, even if it shall mean becoming corruption itself. Days of joyfulness, a bond between two. Despair consuming that maiden for so long, words never reaching the other. No matter so, a wrong that has been done, a most regrettable one. Millennia's it may take, but a faint light of hope no less. An eternity of sorrow, a void going on without end. Walking through that abyss, a plain of nothingness. Minuscule her chances may be, her deepest desire far inside. Even so, this will to continue on burning once more. Grief gripping at the core, an experience never at a rest. No matter so, another challenge at hand. That mother facing in her direction, resting her vision upon her daughter. A child going well beyond her limitation, battling against both internal and external conflicts.

"You must make an offering to Lævateinn." She softly informs.

Cyra tilting her head in confusion, contemplating the words of her mother. A weapon requiring an offering, potential hiding away deep inside of it. One most trusting, residing there through her harshest of times. Even through the pain upon her body, the agony gripping her soul. That weapon desperately fighting, giving her that courage so long ago. Even if it shall mean an end to herself, that freedom once more, her desire in spreading those wings once again. Carefully thinking on the situation at hand, the possibilities that her weapon may need.

"What do you mean?" Cyra positioning her arms in a thinking posture.

That woman facing in the direction of the demon sword, that blade extending high in the background. Lævateinn, a legendary weapon. One once belonging to a certain someone, a loyal sword meeting the wish of that person. That passive nature of the young woman making it quite a challenge, a demon loathing the battlefield. Even if its potential is not at its peak, a bond forming between the two. Weak it may have been, but one working with the maiden. Throughout those years, keeping watch over her, awaiting the time of her return.

"Over the many years, as you fell deeper into despair, you have accumulated much malice. Lævateinn feeds on that malevolence. From every battle you fight, a piece of your enemy's darkness merges with yourself. Once enough offerings have been made, only then can your true abilities be set free." She explains.

Despair over the many years, those enemies suffering defeat. Lævateinn feeding on malevolence, no matter so, that weapon never bringing this to her knowledge. One well in awareness on the severity of it all. A devil incapable of handling much darkness, a state of instability. Cyra looking down, those words of her mother's making sense. One loathing battle, slaughtering her enemies, malevolence merging with herself. One falling deeper into despair, Lævateinn devouring that darkness, releasing its potential. An option no less, one of much consideration. That young woman lowering her hands to her side, passing her mother. Cyra standing a few feet ahead, her eyes of distantness.

"Allow me to take a guess, the offering must be made at that tree huh." Cyra placing her hand upon her waist, glancing back to her mother.

"Correct, be-careful though, offering too much may cause Lævateinn to devour you." She warns.

Darkness of deepness, a soul shackling down to the land, a heart in bondage. These many emotions, agony incomparable. A risk upon herself, a legendary sword capable of extreme feats. That young woman resting her vision onward, unease boiling inside of her, one misstep and everything ending in an instant. Over those numerous years, learning little about the demon sword. No matter so, a valuable companion protecting her. Even if it is but a leap of faith, that devil placing her existence on the line once more. That eternal cycle having a chance of coming to an end, her deepest desire in view. Approaching the tree, that mother resting her vision on her child. A familiar warmth enveloping that maiden, a haven away from her troubles. A nightmare of a life, retreating to this place inside of her mind, memories most of pleasantry.

"How far are you willing to dive into the depths of despair, Cyra...?" her mother distantly looking on.

Times so long ago, events but a memory. Agony gripping at the heart, a soul resisting. A morrow constantly a somber one, that will holding on. Cyra standing in front of the tree, her vision resting upon Lævateinn. That sword staking into the ground, malevolence intensely burning from it. Darkness reacting to her own, her body emitting negativity. That maiden holding her hand to her chest, closing her eyes. Slowly inhaling and exhaling, embracing this path forward. Her crimson vision soon revealing, that hand extending to her blade. Malevolence flowing from her body, moving towards the demon sword, merging with the weapon. That darkness reaching high, stretching to the sky. That young woman hearing the crying of her sword, that blade calling out to her. Her eyes slightly widening, that devil extending her hand, gripping the hilt of the weapon ahead of her.

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"Lævateinn, I require your services just a bit longer." She softly speaks.

Emotions flowing deep, feelings rising once more. One walking in the deepest of abyss, reaching her hand out in this game of chance. Agonizing it is, painful even. No matter so, that will to oppose taking hold once more. Lævateinn crying even louder, negative energy rushing out from the depths of the land. That darkness surrounding the young woman, Cyra slowly removing the sword from the ground. Negativity slowly settling, merging with her own. That young woman removing it from the earth, raising the weapon above.

The light of the sun shining down, reflecting the beauty of the blade. Lowering her weapon, facing in the direction of her mother, that woman approaching. Her mother standing before her, resting her vision upon her daughter. Even if pain is what is existing, that resolve to continue on lighting anew. A soul seeking to soar, a heart yearning for freedom. That desire in sight, one rising to the challenge. That woman gazing at the maiden, her eyes of sorrowfulness. That devil having some confusion, wondering the reason for such.

"What is wrong, mother?" she questions in confusion.

Years upon years of despair, pain instilling on the body and soul. Solace once existing, but only for a moment. An unlikely meeting of two, one from highness, the other walking the land. Despite those hardships, a faint light it has been. Words never reaching, that life falling apart. Both living with the consequences, something more sinister below the surface. That woman thinking to those events, the reason for it happening. Her heart at an unrest, experiences of cruelty for so long. That mother holding her hands behind her back, those eyes resting on her child.

"This is not the life I wished for you, I never meant for you to be born with such an ill fate." She gently states.

An existence of a curse, a demon loathing the battlefield. A lawless world, that heart much too soft. No matter so, a moment of bliss coming about. Dreadfulness gripping at her, a drive strongly persisting. That maiden resting her eyes upon the vast blue sky, the wind gently hitting against her. An illusion it may be, but a pleasureful experience. Even if it is not real, joy existing in this realm. One desiring a rest, away from her torment. A chance coming about, that light shining inside of the abyss.

"There is no such thing as fate." Cyra calmly responds.

Words so long ago, guidance from the message. That young woman reaching her hand out, desperately trying to maintain such happiness. A sorrowful ending it may have been, but even so, that chance very much of a reality. Falling into the pits of despair, sinking in the depths of the abyss, walking her path of loneliness. A soul seeking release, a heart resisting once more. That woman resting her vision on her daughter, those eyes of the maiden soon meeting with her own. Confident they are, warmth washing over her. A foolish word it is, that much the devil is knowing to be true.

"There are only those who hide behind the notion of fate as a means to do as they please. Even so, if they wish to play such a game, then so be it. These desires of mine, no matter how far I must sink into the depths of despair, I will have them realized." She faintly smiles.

Desires of deepness, one pursuing release from her torment, away from the battlefield. Those times so long ago, a wish forever far within. Words never meeting the other, hesitation leading to separation. A life of ease, even through those conflicts, two facing it together. That mother faintly smiling, turning from her daughter. One born with a hand of illness, that one resisting what is reason, opening her own path forward. A somber morrow it may be, but the smallest chance no less enough in continuing onward. Proudness the woman is experiencing, a child constantly rising to the challenge at hand.

"Then go now, head back to the graveyard, there is something there that you will need to continue on." She glances back.

Wind of gentleness, emotions at a rest. A place of joy, one being away from her torment. Numerous desires, all lining to a goal of singularity. A heart in bondage, that soul slowly breaking its shackles. Cyra resting her eyes on the graveyard far ahead, answers residing in that horror of a place. No matter of the distance, that one pushing onward, resisting the harshness all around. Even if the chances are minuscule at best, that no less enough. A hand reaching out, that one wishing for the nigh impossible.

Even if I must bathe myself in malevolence, even if I must fall into the pit of despair, these desires of mine will be realized. To return to such a time once again, even if I must fight for an eternity. I will do so, all for the chance to grasp that life once more...