"Will you let yourself be wielded?"

Ya'ath did not respond instantly. It did not turn away from facing Verai, even as lightning flashed, jolting a herd of ponyta. Its focus was entire, absolute.

<Will you let yourself be wielded?> It echoed, and likewise Verai did not have an answer for that.

"I'm told you were a spirit, that inhabited a sword." Verai knew attempts to make conversation could end poorly- He wanted to know about Ya'ath, and this was the easiest way. If it responded, or not... either was an answer. "Do you remember who you were, before?"

The sword was slow to speak- methodical about what it chose to say, precise with its wording, and thoughtful. Verai supposed those were all good qualities for a sword.

<Do you?>

Verai stopped walking at the sound of a magnemite, swirling gently nearby. He slowed his breath, and reached backwards.

<You will die.>

"As I've been told callously many times before," Verai returned. "This is a game. We can't truly die here."

<Very well.>

Verai did not feel like he was dying when he took the sword in hand, sash winding around his arm. The grip was comfortable, balance precice, edge sharp.

If anything, it felt like some piece of him settled back into place.

Weak.

Verai hissed, ears pinning back. He could do better than this. He needed to do better than this. This pokemon was hardly worth the effort, yet skipping away virtually unharmed. The anger that rose in him was hot, and he lashed out again.

Finally- not a perfect strike, but something substantial. Something powerful. He straightend, no longer feeling a sword in his hand, but simply himself. The magnemite thrashed, lunging at him- but Verai simply moved, finding the rhythmn of battle, the notes his enemy was playing. Verai counted, stepped, and played the final chord.