>>Ariston
Drakkar shifted slightly on the bed beside me and reached into the inside of his coat. For a moment, I thought he was grabbing a handkerchief, or maybe a flask—something simple. But what he pulled out gleamed dimly in the candlelight.
A small blade.
Its edge was curved like a fang, the handle wrapped in leather so dark it was nearly black. The metal of the blade shimmered with a hue I couldn't quite place—something between silver and opal, like it didn't belong in this world.
He held it out to me.
I stared at it, then at him. "What is this?"
Drakkar's eyes narrowed faintly as he looked down at the blade. "No one knows about it," he said, quiet but steady. "But that blade is made from my birth scale."
!!!
My breath caught.
