And yet, it fit comfortably in his hand, the length was familiar to Hadjar, and it had a precisely-calibrated weight. Balance was not even an issue. Good weapons were either balanced or unbalanced. They could not have a ‘good balance’ or a ‘not-so-good balance.’ Either it was there, or the blade had to be sent back for reforging.
It was strange that he wasn’t able to feel the presence of the Quetzal bird in the blade and a piece of his own soul in its edge. And it was stranger still to feel some sort of kinship with this seemingly simple, and yet quite unusual weapon.
It was as strange as the fact that he could still sense his eternal prisoner lurking in his soul. The Black General felt more alive than ever. It felt as if he might see the Enemy right behind him if he just turned around.
