I know the flame before me. Long ago, when I was new-made, my first wielder had perished due to them. I glitter, cold and white, in defiance, my blade still keen and sharp.
The hands that wield me now are not that of an Elf, or a Man, though he wears the guise of one. A servant of the Secret Fire, he is kin to the one who stands before us.
A red sword raised in challenge. I am stronger, the other shatters. No matter the outcome of this, I will do my utmost to avenge those gone before.