amaterasu's sword | brennan day 6

〖    b r e n n a n    f i t z g e r a l d    〗

Most of Francine's things fell with her as she tumbled down from the peak. A few things fell out of her bag or were released from her hands. When I pull myself back from the edge, I search the ground for anything of use. Knives. Medical supplies. Plants. Water. Thirsty, I drink from my own leather skin canteen and exchange it for her full one. The water is warm from the intense heat and humidity of the day, but I'm glad to have it in my system. Even through moist air, my mouth and lips felt dry for three days without at least a sip to hold myself over.

There's only one thing I haven't touched yet, and the thought of doing so makes me nervous. Amaterasu's sword. The blue energy crackles on the ground. It's exchanged hands frequently over the past few days: Ama, Svet, and Francine. Now, it rests on the floor, like its power is waiting to be claimed by the next person to yield it. I crouch beside the sword, arms crossing and staring.

"Not yours," Francine's voice reminds me. Not mine, not yours. It belongs to someone else. Ama held it with pride once we stood as winners of the wealth. It was an unexpected choice for her. I probably would've expected it to go to Pierce rather than him taking the bow. There was courage in her willingness to take the front line when a boy trained to do exactly that stood right beside her. I hover my hand a few centimeters from the sword. Lightning energy sparks at my palm. From memory, it didn't use to do this. The sword would imbue itself with lightning when it makes contact with a living being. And when it did so, the lightning engulfed the entire blade. Now, it just looks like metal cutting metal, fading blue sparks weaker with every passing moment.

The sword is dying.

I pick it up. Even the hilt is warm but bearable. My hold on it hardens as I shut my eyes, thinking of the friend who once held it. "Ama…" I whisper. Call it a hope, call it prayer, call it a feel-good moment. I speak to her. "We miss you a lot."

I stand up and walk to the cliffside again. Cherry blossoms fly through the wind, the tree tops scarcely visible from the high altitude. "I read in some books that it's tradition to let a soldier rest with their sword. Our fight is never over."

My feet dangle from the edge as I lean over. I lift Ama's sword above my head and throw it down to the mountain below. "Keep fighting out there. Wherever there is." Heaven, purgatory, hell. Wherever tributes go after death to face the Gamemakers, I hope she's standing with the blade ready to show them vengeance. I shoot the sword straight down and watch it fly through clouds and fade to the below.

The engulfing lighting descends, blue energy radiating as it flies through the clouds that once empowered it. It dives, tip first, to the lower mountains at such a speed that the rock in which the mountain is made becomes penetrable. The sword buries itself to the hilt in the ground. Cracks in the stone stretch a few inches in two directions. The cracks shine a purplish blue with whatever energy is left transferring itself into the earth.