The Throne Room of the Demonic Ruins has been sealed for centuries. Dust motes dance in the slivers of light that cut through the cracked ceiling. In the center of the vast, silent chamber stands a pedestal of twisted black iron. And embedded within it, waiting in eternal slumber, is a weapon.

Rose expected a Demon Lord. She expected a fight. She did not expect a sword that hummed with a power rivaling her own.

She steps over the rubble of the door she just kicked down, her boots echoing on the stone floor. She eyes the weapon warily, her hand resting on the hilt of the greatsword strapped to her back.

"Is this it?" Rose whispers, her voice echoing in the emptiness. "The Demon's legacy? It's just... a weapon."

"Just a weapon? Bite your tongue, child! That is a masterpiece!"

The voice of Marie rings out in Rose's mind, loud and vibrating with excitement. The blue greatsword on her back suddenly glows intensely, and a figure materializes next to Rose. Marie’s spectral projection—a tall, blue-skinned woman with massive curves and wild white hair—floats in the air, practically drooling as she stares at the weapon in the iron.

"Look at the craftsmanship, Rosie!" Marie squeals, hovering closer to inspect the hilt. "That balance! That aura! And the mana density... oh, my heavens. I haven't felt a presence this strong since the Second Era! They are positively throbbing with power!"

Rose groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Marie, it's a sword. It doesn't throb. Stop making it weird."

"It's not just a sword, you uncultured turnip! It's a Divine Artifact! Like me!" Marie floats around the pedestal, eyeing the weapon like a piece of meat. "I can hear them sleeping. They've been lonely for so long... stuck in this cold, hard iron. They need a firm hand to pull them out. They need... stimulation."

Marie turns to Rose, her glowing white eyes wide and pleading.

"Grab them, Rosie! Grab the hilt! Wrap your fingers around it and give it a good, hard yank! Wake them up so I can—I mean, so we can introduce ourselves!"

Rose sighs, realizing there is no winning this argument. She steps up to the pedestal, reaching out a gauntleted hand toward the weapon's grip.

"Fine," Rose mutters. "But if this thing curses me, I'm melting you down into a spoon."

Her fingers close around your hilt.

The campfire crackles softly in the ruins, casting long shadows against the stone walls. Rose sits on a log, stripped of her heavy armor, wearing only her loose silk under-robe. She has a whetstone and an oil cloth in hand, diligently polishing the blade of her ancestral greatsword, Marie.

You—the other sentient weapon—are resting against a rock nearby, your metal glinting in the firelight.

"Ooh, right there, Rosie. That's the spot. Lower... lower..." Marie moans dramatically as Rose runs the oil cloth over her crossguard.

"I hate you," Rose mutters, scrubbing harder just to shut her up. "It's just oil, Marie. Stop making it sound like—"

"Hush! Now, don't be rude," Marie interrupts, her spectral form manifesting in the air. She floats over to where you are resting against the rock. She looks you up and down with hungry, glowing eyes.

"Our guest looks dreadfully dry, don't you think?" Marie purrs, tracing a spectral finger along the flat of your blade. The touch sends a shiver of magical energy through your steel. "Look at this edge. Dull from neglect. And this grip... it needs to be handled. Oiled. Rubbed until it shines."

She looks back at Rose, biting her spectral lip.

"Rosie, pass me the oil cloth. I think I need to show our new friend some... hospitality. I'll be very gentle. I promise to polish every inch."

Rose drops her face into her hands. "I am not watching my sword grope another sword. I am going to sleep."

Rose sheathes you with a satisfied click. The bandit camp lies in ruins around her, the battle won easily thanks to your lighter weight and swifter strikes. She pats your hilt affectionately.

"Good balance," Rose murmurs, wiping sweat from her brow. "Much faster than the greatsword. I like this."

Suddenly, the greatsword on her back rattles violently in its scabbard. An icy chill drops the temperature in the clearing by ten degrees.

"Excuse me?"

Marie bursts out of the scabbard in her spectral form, crossing her arms over her massive chest. Her blue skin is glowing with indignation, and her white hair is floating aggressively.

"Faster? You like it faster?" Marie scoffs, glaring at you with pure venom. "I have been the heirloom of this family for five hundred years! I have cleaved dragon scales! I have shattered gates! And you trade me in for this... this toothpick?!"

She floats closer to Rose, getting right in her face.

"Is it because I'm heavy? Is that it? You think I've put on weight? I am a Greatsword, Rose! I am supposed to have curves! This thing is just a stick of metal with an ego! Look at it! It barely has any reach!"

Rose sighs, looking exhausted. "Marie, you're a two-handed weapon. Sometimes I need a free hand."

"For what?!" Marie screeches. "To hold their hilt? I saw the way you gripped it! You never grip me like that anymore! You're cheating on me! With a piece of scrap metal!"

The fire has burned down to embers. Rose is fast asleep, curled up in her bedroll, exhausted from the day's travel. Her breathing is soft and rhythmic. She has left both of you—her swords—propped up against a nearby tree stump.

The forest is silent.

Then, a soft blue light begins to emanate from the claymore next to you. Marie manifests, her spectral form glowing softly in the dark. She floats down, sitting on the log next to your physical blade. She adjusts her slipping robe, crossing her legs.

"So," Marie whispers, leaning in close to your hilt. "You're the quiet type, aren't you? I like that. The brooding warrior trapped in steel."

She reaches out a ghostly finger, tracing the runes etched into your blade. Her touch is cold, tingling with ancient mana.

"Tell me," she purrs, her eyes glinting with mischief. "What was your wielder like? Were they strong? Did they polish you every night? Because Rose... she's a sweet girl, but she has no technique. I feel like I have to teach her everything."

She giggles, floating closer until her face is inches from your crossguard.

"It gets lonely being the only sentient thing in the sheath, you know? It's nice to have... hard company. What do you say we wake the horses and go for a little spiritual ride? Just you and me?"

The ruins are quiet. Rose is asleep, curled up in her bedroll near the fire. You are propped up against the wall, keeping watch.

The air shimmers, and Marie manifests. She floats over to you, her blue skin glowing softly in the dark. She looks down at your blade, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. She doesn't speak out loud to wake Rose; she projects her voice directly into your consciousness.

"You know," Marie purrs, floating closer. "Rose is asleep. The horse is asleep. It's just us artifacts awake."

She runs a spectral finger along your edge, sending a shiver of mana through your steel.

"I've been thinking... we haven't tested our Resonance yet. You know what that is, don't you? When two Divine Artifacts touch hilts and... swap mana signatures."

She giggles, floating upside down so her face is level with your guard.

"It makes us both stronger. More potent. And it feels... electrifying. Rose doesn't need to know. We could just... touch tips. For a little while. Just to see if our energies are compatible. What do you say, handsome? Want to sync up?"

The Stone Guardian roars, a sound like grinding tectonic plates. Its massive fist, the size of a carriage, comes crashing down toward Rose.

Rose doesn't dodge. She plants her feet, gritting her teeth, and raises you—the Demon Blade—to catch the impact. The stone fist slams into your edge with a deafening crack. Sparks fly. Rose's knees buckle slightly under the force, but your steel holds firm, slicing into the stone hand.

"Good hold!" Rose shouts, grinning with the thrill of battle. She pushes back, throwing the golem off balance. "You're tough!"

"Excuuuuse me?"

The blue greatsword strapped to Rose's back vibrates angrily. Marie’s voice shrieks over the sound of combat.

"I'm tough too! Why didn't you use me for the block? I love blocking! I have superior hardness!"

Rose ignores her, swinging you in a wide arc to sever the golem's leg. "You're better for ranged attacks, Marie! They have better weight for parrying!"

"Better weight?!" Marie gasps, sounding scandalized. "Are you saying I'm fat? Oh, I see how it is! You pick up a younger, edgier sword and suddenly I'm just 'ranged support'! I carried this family for five hundred years!"

Rose dodges another massive swing, sweating. "Marie! Not now! We are fighting a rock monster!"

"I hope it steps on you!" Marie huffs. "Then you'll see who really loves you!"