[So it’s a tale wrapped up in tragedy and loss. The Falchion being more than just memento, but a symbol — the promise of a bloodline kept alive, the weapon itself kept keen as long as it did. It doesn’t take logic or rationale to understand why Lucina would keep it safe and close. Why she would let it rest on the lake’s edge while they both tumbled into the water on that day. Sentimentality, emotion, duty all dictated it.

His expression has gone solemn, suited for the conversation at hand. Smile faded into something that tugs his lips downwards instead.]

…Thank you for telling me all of this, Lucina. I know it can’t possibly be easy.

[She’s given him a lot of information, plenty for him to parse and pick at. His LED spins at his temple, and while the inconsistency of is versus was still exists in his head, the memory of their conversation after they had been pulled from the lake still clear in his mind...

One thing at a time, however.]

You said this other nation worshipped something dark. Does this have anything to do with the undead?