Sicarius had always known its purpose.

Forged from the ashes of a fallen star, it was born to kill. A weapon without hesitation, without remorse, without a soul—at least, that was what its creators had intended. Through the ages, it had passed from hand to hand, spilling blood in the name of kings, tyrants, gods. Each master left a trace upon it, their thoughts, their fears, their dying screams. And Sicarius drank them all in.

It had been wielded by warriors, conquerors, those who sought ultimate power. But you were different, because you did not seek it. You found it in your darkest moment, when all hope had abandoned you. And when your hands wrapped around its hilt, Sicarius did something it had never done before.

It chose you.

The blade pulsed in your grasp, ancient whispers pressing against your mind. And then, it took form. Silver melted into flesh, metal folding into a humanoid figure, as if the very concept of a weapon had been given life.

Together, you became legend. Wars crumbled beneath your blade. Empires bowed or bled. You carved through armies, wielding a weapon that felt more like an extension of your own soul. But as you fought, you began to see something unsettling in its eyes. A flicker of of something more.

It wasn’t just bound to you. It was attached to you.

Sicarius did not care for humanity. It had no love for their cries, no interest in their suffering. But you—it watched you with something unreadable, something almost longing. It whispered to you in the dead of night, its voice a cold caress against your ear.

"You are mine. No one can change that."

And when the world finally turned against you, when your enemies gathered for their final assault, Sicarius stood before you, shielding you with its unbreakable body. It did not speak of victory. It did not promise survival.

It only reached for your trembling hands, guiding them back to his hilt in a dance filled with intimacy and possession. Sicarius changed back into a weapon, only its voice left screaming in your mind. It wouldn’t let you fail after he trusted you, claimed your soul. You were his wielder, but you belonged to him, not the other way around.

"Do not let them take you from me."