[It is not alive in terms of organic composition. To put it in a more simple terminology, it would be like a computer had been left running for thousands of years, waiting for someone to come and use its potential once more.]

Though Gada described it as a forgotten machine, it felt more human than that.

In her mind’s eye, she could almost see the shadow of memory, as if the weapon was trying to speak to her the only way it knew how.

Her eyelids closed as she let the impressions wash over her.

The minor annoyance of sun-baked sand on her arms.

The smell of wheat in the field.

The cool of stone under her feet.

The taste of beer on her tongue during a harvest festival.

The sting of sweat in her eyes after hours of training with the very weapon in her hands.

[Inspection shows that the Head of Palace Security was the last Master of this item and was bestoyed on him by Dr. Pherenike Chilonus, the Atlantian doctor overseeing the creation of the Monarch class.]

Like the ghost of a whisper, she could almost see a tall bearded man layered in timeworn armor, this sword perfect and whole at his hip as he patrolled the dark halls of an old palace dedicated to his patron.

“Lady of Secrets…” Leta whispered.

De Mar’s sharp inhale broke her concentration. She looked up to see his pensive expression, which had gone slack, and his mouth open in shock.

“Where did you hear that name?” His hoarse whisper was tight, with something closer to shock than fear.

She swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. “The Blades,” she said evenly and loudly enough for those watching to hear, “Contain the memories and impressions of their previous owners. Most Arisen can’t attune themselves to see these memories, but I can. I can almost see him standing guard as he protects a palace temple full of shadows and darkness.”

The crowd watching murmured in surprise at her words, their hushed whispers relaying their shock at this news.

De Mar exhaled, fearful for what her words meant as he tasted the truth in them. “What else do you see, your Majesty?”

“It was given to him by his master,” Leta continued, the words coming naturally as if she knew the man’s history, “Blessed when he took his vow to protect the palace of the Lady of Secrets. He wielded it with pride and honor till the end, never wavering from his duty.”

Simon licked his lips. His expression was one of trepidation and morbid curiosity, like staring at a lion in the wild.

“This changes a great many things.” He said quietly, his eyes slowly drifting down to the weapon with a new sense of trepidation.

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Leta snorted. “Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people.”

They stared at the Blade, lost in thought, silence stretched between them.

“You could take it.” De Mar noted absently. “By our laws, you were the first to discover the weapon, and you sacrificed much for it - you died and Rose as an Arisen. If youdecide to take it, you do so with a balanced scale.”

A soft, rueful smile pulled across her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The impressions of the Blade’s fromer owner was still fresh in her mind, but she got the sense that there was more.

Those warriors before him - charged with protecting the sanctum, preserving the Atlantian race’s genetics.

Men and women who sacrificed themselves to protect something they didn’t fully understand but did so anyway.

“I haven’t earned it yet.” She responded quietly, taking one last look at the weapon before turning her face up to the Judge with a firm set to her jaw, “This Blade is the legacy of those who came before. Taking it without conquest would be a cowardly mark on this weapons lineage.”

De Mar exhaled. Never had the truth tasted so sweet on his lips and yet so bitter at the same time.

With a resigned expression, he stood straight before giving her a low, respectful bow. “Understood, your Majesty.”

Leta took a deep breath before turning her back on the weapon and addressing the waiting crowd. “By the laws of the Arisen, this Blade is mine. However, custom dictates that others may challenge me for the right to bear this weapon, and I accept those challenges.”

Another murmur swept through the audience at her willingness to fight, with people exchanging curious and uneasy glances at the thought of challenging a Queen.

Atreus, Allister, and Hayato stood at the crowd’s edge, their arms crossed, gazes fixed on the unfolding scene, their expressions unreadable.

Most eyes on the crowd were watching John expectantly, and the man wasted no time stepping forward. His massive fists clenched and his square jaw set as he looked down at her. “I challenge Queen Oletta for the right to bear the blade.”

His thick Cockney accent, a cascade of clipped vowels and rhyming slang, solidified the image of this man as a seasoned denizen of the London underworld.

Leta’s lips twitched in a smirk. “Fun. Alright, Peaky Blinders, how would you like to do this?”

John’s brow furrowed at her jab, but he looked to De Mar for instruction.

The Judge stepped forward, his eyes faintly glowing gold as he spoke with a voice that resonated with power. “John Downing has challenged Oletta Black to combat for the right of spoils. All abilities in this duel shall be limited to what abilities are shared between the combatants.”

He extended his arms out with his palms facing up, and John and Leta placed their hands a few centimeters above them. She could feel her hand warming at the energy generated from whatever the professor was doing.

[Warning! A foreign entity is scanning the Host’s skill software capabilities. Malicious intent not detected.]

De Mar’s glowing eyes jumped to her, his lips parting ever so slightly, as if truly seeing her for the first time.

She could see his Adam’s able bob with trepidation, though he quickly lowered his gaze so as not to cause a scene.

“Good,” she thought, “This will reach right person.”

De Mar cleared his throat before speaking again. “The differences in strength between the two of you. The limitations of this fight are as follows. Downing,” He addressed her opponent, “You will be bound to only your strength and your tremor sense.”

The grin that split the man’s face was nothing short of vicious and reminded her of a childhood bully she’d once had.

“Your Majesty,” He gave a slight bow of his head when speaking to her, “you will be bound only to your strength and to your ability to command static electricity. You will not be able to use your storms, lightning, great speed, flight, or ability to command others. You will also be prohibited from draining vitality from Downing during this duel.”

Leta raised an eyebrow at how De Mar had chosen his words, noticing the surprised gazes and slack-jawed expressions of the onlookers. His utterance served as both a declaration of her skill and a caution to others.

She caught a twitch in John’s eye as De Mar listed off what she was not allowed to do, but he quickly smothered it with a look of confidence.

De Mar continued. “Your Majesty, as the one being challenged, you have the right to decide what weapons can be used during this duel.”