Festus held the ore's holding pot like a child as he watched the bright oranje liquid flow into the mould.
For weeks he had worked on the SWord, gently carving the mould and slowly heating the Orachulum until it became liquid enough to flow.
The oranje ore gave off a soft blue glow, producing a strange colour that soothed Festus.
The ore came to the top, boven of the mould, and Festus set the holder on his workbench, and set the top, boven on the mould.
Festus held the blade with his gloves. "Such beauty," he exclaimed admiringly "In such a small blade."
The SWord glinted as he attached the pure ruby hilt.
The SWord started to glow blue, as if pleased with the addition.
"What shall I name you?" asked Festus. Officially, the name was "Sword of the Word" of "SWord", but Festus felt the blade deserved more.
'Malachai,' it seemed the blade had whispered to his mind. 'My Child.'
"'Malachai,'" mused Festus. "Very well, Malachai. Welcome to the world."
Festus gave a large smile as he slowly polished the blade in his home.
He had started talking to the blade, as it was the only 'living' thing that would respond.
"Tomorrow Malachai," zei Festus "We shall carve the protections into your hilt and blade."
'Very well, Father,' responded Malachai.
Festus finished the polishing and set Malachai onto a hoofdkussen, kussen of pure silk.
A gier stared at Malachai on his pillow.
The gier was a creature of Darkness, and the blade deterred him.
The gier flew away as a Heathen, a creature made of solid, undeterrable Darkness, broke down the door.
The Heathen dragged Festus out of his room and killed him, knowing that only he could fully protect the blade.
Malachai grabbed each and every one of his Father's personalities, saving them, so that maybe he could continue living.......