To a passerby, one could be forgiven for presuming Raiden Bosenmori Mei was choosing which katana she would be using against the Yaoyorzu-no-Kami, by the way she stood and gazed at the weapons hung on the racks surrounding her in your smithy. In reality, she had already chosen her weapon a while ago — the single-edged katana, which she had tentatively named Origin as it was splintered.

No, her thoughtful gazing was attributed to only one weapon, hung halfway up the rearmost wall — the single-edged longsword. Mei had trained with a sword from practically the moment she was born and realised its fate, learning the reach of a blade, the various techniques, and which blade lent itself to either speed and precision or brute force. Using a sword was as natural to her as breathing, an extension of her arm.

Mei reached up to unhook the single-edged longsword from the wall, holding it in her hands, and gently unsheathed the blade. The metal glimmered under the light, like it had barely been dulled by its sharp hammering. Mei leaned the sheath against the wall, and admired the relative lightness of the weapon, remarking how her body automatically adapted to wielding a blade once again.

It had to be of medium length and width like Origin, with a hilt long enough for two hands to wield it yet agile enough to only need one, and narrow enough to allow her customary movements of her wrists.

The crossguard had to be just enough to prevent her hand from slipping onto the cutting edge, but not too wide as to affect balance. By comparison, the longsword was medium length, just as she wanted, with a blade that featured a single edge. The crossguard was an inch or so wider than the blade itself, and the hilt was the perfect length.

And the blade itself? Origin and the longsword had something in common — they were single-edged. Mei often encouraged it, believing in adaptability in combat and not having to think about whether the sword was held correctly in the heat of battle. Hitting an enemy with the blunt edge would be an incorrect but flashy move.

It was when, as she sighed whilst moving the longsword around in a figure eight motion and carried its sheath on her free hand that an idea graced her mind: what if she were to own the longsword so she can fight against the Yaoyorzu-no-Kami more effectively? A longsword made from all the splintered weapons, an extension of herself, her spirit and her will.

Something she could call her own. Mei looked down at the longsword in her right hand; could this weapon be it? Had you, the person responsible for making this weapon, made it for her? It was one thing to create a sword and a weapon, but...a functional, usable sword against the Yaoyorzu-no-Kami’s wrath?

Only one way to find out.

She held the handle close to her face to point directly ahead of her, not unlike the moments before her clash with her opponents, and began fluidly cutting through the air as though slicing her enemies, her feet matching each slash like a dance routine unforgettable. She imagined parrying, blocking and dodging strikes from all angles, multiple threats with the faces of the Yaoyorozu-no-Kami all vying for her blood...and all cut down by her blade.

Did it matter? Indeed. For she finally had a sword of splintered, refined parts.

Mei would practice with it. She would refine it. She would harden and sharpen it, balance it and adorn it with detail until it was perfect — for she had proven it could be done.

And when her blade was ready for war, she would name it Naught.

It seemed apt, for what she had to do.

“I will bring this blade — this Naught — to the Yaoyorozu-no-Kami gates. I name it Naught. When the blade strikes, there will be no legacy left behind. No cries. No witnesses. Only absence.” Raiden Bosenmori Mei gave you a firm nod, but it didn’t stop her from occasionally glancing at her weapon. She was obviously enthralled by the longsword in her right hand. “You have outdone yourself, Black Smither.”