The Sunsword
She moves her hand to the third card, at the right arm of the cross, her eyelids closing like a trance, her lips pursed in quiet contemplation. The candlelight vanishes, for a heartbeat—and then returns in a nova of fierce, burning white, so pure and strong and clean that it hurts to look at, burns to see—
Madam Eva's eyes snap open, burning with a fierce determination.
"This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight." She flips the card.
The light reveals a third illustration: a solemn-faced man clad in holy vestments, one hand clutching the chain of a bronze censer that billows with burning smoke. “The Eight of Glyphs—the Bishop.” The crone's voice is strong with purpose. "What you seek lies in a prison of darkness, beyond a set of amber doors," she intones, her eyes narrowing. "This weapon is long hidden. The house of the fallen dragon can lead you there."
Madam Eva's eyes snap open, burning with a fierce determination.
"This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight." She flips the card.
The light reveals a third illustration: a solemn-faced man clad in holy vestments, one hand clutching the chain of a bronze censer that billows with burning smoke. “The Eight of Glyphs—the Bishop.” The crone's voice is strong with purpose. "What you seek lies in a prison of darkness, beyond a set of amber doors," she intones, her eyes narrowing. "This weapon is long hidden. The house of the fallen dragon can lead you there."