Cain sat cross-legged on a flat rock near the edge of camp, one of the {Stellar Razors} balanced across his palms.
The blade was beautiful in its own alien way.
Roughly thirty inches long, the leaf-shaped profile caught the multicolored light of the Graveyard and threw it back in shimmering waves.
The silver-grey base metal seemed almost ordinary until you noticed the purple undertones that rippled beneath the surface like oil on water.
And running down the center ridge, that green luminescence pulsed with steady rhythm, as if the blade had its own soul.
He turned it slowly, examining every angle. The edge was sharp enough that even looking at it felt dangerous. The balance was nearly perfect, slightly forward-weighted to give it stability with every thrust and stab, but not so much that it would be awkward to slash with.
