Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Seven has been produced by Square Enix. I disclaim all intent to profit or other wise benefit from this fan fic.
A/N: Thanks for the betaing Mystic 777. J
Swords
Honor, dreams, and promises made up the entire foundation of the Buster Sword's legend.
It was a weapon forged for the purpose of carrying on legends and legacies. It had been dragged through dust, debris, and left to rust. It had seen heroes rise and fall as easily as it had fallen into the hands of its next wielder. Too many times lives were ended in its presence, either of the wielder or the opponent. The Buster Sword was not a weapon to be described as beautiful or as one of elegant proportions. Those words better described the sister weapons of his previous owner's companions.
The Masamune was a weapon designed with elegance and a surgical precision. The Rapier was mysteriously colored a beautiful blood red. Weapons designed for wielders that had fallen into madness. The Buster Sword however was something all too different. It was overly large, resembled a butcher knife more than any true sword should. It was an honest weapon.
Whatever legends these weapons carried, they were all cut from the same fabric and had crossed paths more than once. As ally or foe, they carved out the very nature of the world.
Then came a new entry into their ranks.
A weapon designed to fit all definitions, with little or no apology for its existence.
This blade bowed to only one master. It fell into pieces when a new person tried to pick it up, each new edge a mocking laugh for those who would turn it against its master. This sword was a reflection of its maker. His desire was its desire.
It honored.
It promised.
It dreamed.
Most importantly of all….
It protected.