A/N: And here we enter the last phase of Raising Amy. :O She's grown up so fast! She is now 14-15 (in appearance and maturity, not years), and I have about six chapters left for this collection before it closes out and the next time we see her, it'll be for brand new multi-chapter adventures with the whole gang. :D
"Rite of Passage"
"Why did we have to come all the way out here?" Amala asked, stepping to the edge of the cliff face and surveying the vista below.
Castiel came to stand beside her, marveling with a touch of bittersweetness that her height now reached just above his shoulder. She looked more like her mother every day.
"We didn't have to," he replied. "But I thought we should go somewhere that matched the significance of the occasion."
Amy grinned, eyes brimming with excitement and anticipation. She had been looking forward to this moment. Castiel, too, felt a surge of pride at the beautiful young woman his daughter was becoming.
He moved away from the precipice, Amy following, and took up position on a patch of grass.
"Forging one's angel blade requires a great deal of focus," he began. "You have to harness the energy of the ethereal plane and transmute it into solid matter that can manifest in this plane, all while shaping it under very high pressure."
Amala nodded. "I'm ready."
Of course; they had gone over it in great detail before now. Castiel took a step back, giving her space.
Amala raised her hands, palms out, and began to push against the air as she reached into the ether. A ripple formed in front of her, swirling into a mini vortex. Castiel watched her extend one arm and begin to extract some of the ether from its plane.
The pressure in the air increased, puffs of wind billowing in his coat. Amy's jaw tightened, but she didn't lose her concentration. A globule of ethereal matter began to take shape in her hands, fluidic and opalescent in its raw state.
"Picture the blade's shape," Castiel coached.
Amy rotated her palms, manipulating the floating bubble as it glowed white hot. Castiel watched his daughter bend it to her will, elongating one end to a point and fashioning the opposite into a pommel. He stayed silent now, letting her do it on her own.
When the blade finally had its expected shape, Amy summoned up her grace and pushed it into the forging. Blazing angelic essence flooded the core, transforming it into something solid and unbreakable.
Amy was visibly straining now, but did not falter. She pursed her mouth and slowly turned her hands, running them up and down the blade as she infused a tendril of grace throughout its contours, binding the edges together.
The pulsing light started to fade, and the air pressure normalized. Soon it was just the two of them standing on a quiet mountaintop.
Amy held the blade in her hands, now corporeal, the iridescent celestial steel glinting in the sunlight.
Castiel cocked his head at the small wing tips on an extended hilt. That…was not standard issue for angel blades.
Amala lifted the blade to examine it, turning it from side to side and testing its weight. She gave it an experimental twirl, and smiled. But then she seemed to remember her father.
"Is it okay?" she asked, passing it over.
Upon touching it, Castiel felt the thrum of her grace signature, a song unlike any other angel in existence. Thus, he decided, the blade suited her quite well.
"It's perfect," he said, handing it back with a proud smile. "It's you."
Amy beamed, and held it up to the light again. A sunbeam struck it head-on and sent prisms scattering through the sky.