The light falls in gentle rays, bright and lucid. They join with the mountain air, which is cool and snowy around me. The mountain air washes me gently, but below I can hear it roaring loudly in the precipices on either side of the mountain. But I am not cold. Something powerful burns inside of me. It’s something great and terrible…but at the same time it’s soft. It’s under control. It’s me, actually. Or it’s something that has been entrusted to me, with the knowledge that I can bear it.
I’m surrounded by swords. Each one is different. But they all hum with the same intense, electric power. All of them are gently stirred by the crisp mountain breeze. And as I breathe in the air, the blades seem to breathe too. I will take up only one sword when I go to fight. But all of them are connected. All of them are a part of me. They cast shadows on the flawless snow, falling into place like the ranks of an army. They are silently saluting, silently heralding me as their master. Each one is a part of a greater whole; each one is a part of me. They are, in a way, physical manifestations of my own personal strength.
How great I am. How great I have been made. With strength like this, strength that I’ve been blessed with, I can move mountains. Or I can fly off of them. This power filling me, given to me, it can only be described by the number of blades that I direct:
I love Fate/Stay Night 😀
What does this picture make you think of?