Role

Chapter 2

Maegrohir Glamrodel stood transfixed, his eyes wide with awe as he
witnessed the extraordinary phenomenon unfolding before him. The sword in
his hands, a relic of ancient power, seemed to possess a life of its own.
Seraphel, a renowned bard and sorcerer, chanted ancient verses that
resonated with magic, intertwining his words with the essence of the blade.

The moon, usually capricious in its illumination, humbled itself in the
presence of the sword. Its pale light paled further, as if paying homage to
the radiant luminance emanating from the blade. Maegrohir's skepticism
wavered as he beheld the enchantment unfolding.

The awakening began delicately, a mere glimmer at the tip of the blade. A
solitary spark, unwavering and resolute, emerged like a drop of blood on a
finger pricked by a thorn. It pulsed with a rhythm reminiscent of a beating
heart, each breath-like surge carrying it higher along the blade.

Maegrohir furrowed his brow, his gaze locked on the mesmerizing spectacle.
The singular spark multiplied, growing into a cascade of light. Like a
string of precious crystals, the radiant beads ascended, each one joining
the others with a delicate dance, until the double-edged sword shimmered
with a resplendent brilliance.

The pulsing illumination intensified, its radiance expanding exponentially.
Brightness flooded the surroundings, bathing the astonished warrior in a
warm, ethereal glow. The sword, now aflame with celestial fire, became a
beacon of power and mystic energy, captivating all who beheld its majestic
display.