In the serene stillness of a winter day, raindrops delicately traced a symphony on the frost-kissed window, their rhythmic pattern casting a spell upon the world outside. Upon his bed, an elderly figure with weathered brown skin, a crown of silver-white hair, and eyes ablaze in an unusual shade of red contemplated the peculiar dance of rain and frost, drawing parallels to the extraordinary twists of his own life. Each droplet was a vivid memory of a bygone era, and each rhythm was a poignant whisper of forgotten laughter.

  "How truly peculiar," the old man pondered, his voice resonating with the weight of a lifetime's contemplation, each word a testament to the depth of his thoughts. "It's winter, and yet it's raining; what a cliche for an old man like me to die on a day like this." But perhaps it's not a cliche at all. Perhaps it's a poetic end to a life well-lived, a life marked by the wrinkles on his face and the silver in his hair, a life filled with love and laughter, and now, with the bittersweet anticipation of the end.

  "Grandpa Arthur, you shouldn't say things like that," the old man named Arthur turned to his great-grandson Azriel. The boy, a spitting image of Arthur, had brown skin, silver-white dreadlocks, and red eyes filled with life. In those eyes, Arthur saw a reflection of his youth, a reminder of the love and legacy he was leaving behind. A legacy that he hoped would continue to thrive in this young man's heart.

  "Azriel, my time is coming soon." Azriel was about to speak up, but Arthur put his hand up to stop him from talking. Then he continued, "I want to see my family one last time, the true born and bred Nighthawks." His voice, filled with a deep longing, carried his love for his family, a love that transcended time and space.

  "Okay, Grandpa," Azriel responded, his voice filled with sadness and understanding. Arthur was about to speak up, but Azriel beat him to it, reassuringly saying, "I'll make sure to gather everyone, Grandpa. We'll make it a day to remember."

  "Thank you, Azriel," Arthur said.

  "No problem, great grandpa," Azriel said as he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door. Arthur listened closely to Azriel and waited until he was far enough from the door and distracted by the phone call.

  "Alright, the boy is gone, Freyja Solaris; you can come out now." As Arthur finished speaking, a woman appeared from what seemed like nowhere. The woman, Freyja, had reddish-brown skin covered with golden abstract tattoos and red hair with orange highlights, giving a deep impression of fire. She wore a black crop top underneath a short-sleeved white kimono jacket with a hood decorated with glowing red spider lilies over it and baggy black pants with a phoenix logo on one of its legs. She opened her eyes, revealing what looked to be orbs of fire, and smiled.

  "Hello, my love," Freyja said warmly, "You've kept me waiting."

  "I had a critical life mission to fulfill," Arthur smirked.

  Freyja cocked an eyebrow. "Beating the world record for the longest-living person was a critical life mission?"

  Arthur smiled like he had just told the funniest joke in the world. Freyja rolled her eyes, walked over to the bed, and took a seat on the bed, looking out at the rain just as Arthur was doing, even when speaking to her. After a moment of silence, Freyja reached and held Arthur's hand. Unlike his massive course and rough hands, Freyja's were small, delicate, and warm. After some time, Arthur spoke up, "I chose my successor," Freyja turned to look at Arthur and then looked towards the door.

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  "You really chose him?" Freyja asked with concern. "He carries a lot of pain in his soul."

  "He'll be okay."

  "If you say so, why did you choose him?"

  "Stick around after I leave this body, and you will see."

  ***

  Hours later, all of Arthur's family showed up and surrounded each side of his bed. His children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren all carried somber expressions. As far as they knew, his time was, but only Arthur and Freyja, who once again vanished from sight with her magic, knew this body's time was not Arthur's will. Even with all the somber expressions in the room, Arthur always kept a smile on his face as though he was in on the joke of the century. "I won't lie to any of you; my time has arrived," Arthur said with an oddly happy tone, "I'm finally going be with my wife after a century."

  "Damn right," Freyja said to Arthur through a psychic link they shared. After so many years of not using this connection, Arthur was a bit startled. Everyone in the room got worried when they saw Arthur jump out of nowhere; he calmed them down, and then he finally sent a reply to Freyja.

  "Oh, hush, I'm going to be stuck with you for eternity," Arthur said through their link. Arthur spent his remaining time giving each member of his family his last Christmas gifts to them. The younger members of Arthur's family were excited by the gift of new game consoles and toys, while the older members of his family were concerned by his gifts of costly clothes. Arthur then waved over Azriel to give him something.

  "What's up, Grandpa," Azriel said.

  "This is for you, Azriel," Arthur said as he handed Azriel a book made from blue leather, with an emblem of a phoenix and light blue emeralds embedded into the wings of the emblem.

  "What is this?" Azriel asked as he inspected the book.

  "Think of this as an unofficial guidebook to Astraquilla."

  As Azriel looked over the book, Arthur watched his great-grandson with a smile, knowing that he would overcome the pain and find his new purpose. Arthur once again turned his head to the window to finally see snow coming down. Arthur smiled at the sight he had always loved since he was a child at peace. He finally closed his eyes, letting darkness overcome him. Then, the status window appeared in his vision.

  ***

  As Arthur’s spirit left the world, Freyja remained, her gaze resting thoughtfully on Azriel. She took in the quiet determination written across his face, sensing the spark within him that Arthur had seen—something fierce, resilient, a soul unyielding to fate’s whims.

  With a faint, knowing smile, she murmured, “A Radiantborn… Very well, Arthur. I see it now.” Freyja extended her hand, a shimmer of ethereal energy flowing from her fingertips to Azriel, weaving itself into his essence like starlight caught in a web.

  As Freyja bound Myth Maker to Azriel’s soul, the weapon appeared before him in its full form, hovering with a steady hum of energy, a powerful symbol of his newfound destiny. The Myth Maker gunblade was an extraordinary fusion of sword and firearm, crafted to blend the elegance of melee combat with the precision of ranged strikes. Its hilt was adorned with dark, swirling engravings that seemed to pulse faintly, almost alive, and a trigger integrated seamlessly just above the crossguard. A slender barrel ran along one side of the blade’s edge, carved with intricate runes that hinted at its celestial origin.

  The blade itself, forged from dark meteorite metal with an edge sharp enough to part air, had a gleaming, ethereal quality as though starlight had been woven into its very core. Across the metal, faint lines of silver and blue traced patterns that shifted like constellations, a reminder of its cosmic bond. When wielded, the Myth Maker could emit a subtle, resonant hum that grew louder when it locked onto a target. In its ranged mode, the blade fired bolts of concentrated energy with pinpoint accuracy, the recoil balanced by a gravitational force unique to the weapon’s enchantments.

  As Freyja’s spirit faded from the world to return to her realm, she whispered her final words to the weapon: “Guide him, protect him, and make him a legend.” With that, the Myth Maker’s aura flared brightly before settling, leaving Azriel holding a weapon not only bound to his soul but also carrying the silent promise of greatness within each swing and shot. Freyja’s smile lingered as she vanished.