Jin reached out and took the sword.
He didn't mean to, exactly. He'd been standing there trying to work out what to say, and Haruka's arms were shaking so badly from holding it up that he was afraid she'd drop it. So he took it, gently, by the hilt, and lifted it off her palms.
The moment his fingers closed around the white silk, he felt it.
It was light. Lighter than any sword he'd ever held, lighter even than the old man's, so light it felt like holding a feather made of steel. But it wasn't flimsy. Underneath that lightness was something solid and deep, like the blade went on much further than he could see. The pale glow brightened as he held it, spilling up over his hands and wrists, warm against his skin.
He turned it slowly in the light. The edge was so fine it seemed to disappear when he looked straight at it. The steel was flawless. Not a scratch, not a ripple, not a single imperfection anywhere along its length.
