In a forest suffused with darkness, a knight rides through. Pushing his steed at a breakneck pace, tearing up the dirt path in a chaotic cloud. The trees on either side seeming to lurch for him, like the charred skeletons of horrible monsters revived by his passing. His eyes widen and his muscles tighten. There upon the secluded path lay an altogether serene silver lynx with eyes like pewter toned coals. The knight rears back his steed, the marble coated horse issues a frightened neigh. Unsheathing his broadsword, teeth gritted. The steel catches the pale moonlight and shines like a comet burning up in the atmosphere.
“My, what an illuminating sword you have, Sir knight,” the lynx says, positively content in the middle of the path.
“What is your purpose, beast?” the knight responds, hiking his sword higher.
“Merely a question.”
“Yes, a question. Should you answer in a manner befitting the various circumstances your appearing here thus entails, then I shall permit you to pass.”
“And if I do not answer in the way you deem right?”
“You will not even feel it.”
The knight is silent, measuring his words.
“Oh, and do not try to turn back or strike off into these thick woods on either side. That answer is the wrong one too.”
“I had no intention of running.”
“For you are the courageous kind.”
“On the contrary, I am determined.”
“Well played. Are you not bewildered by a… beast who speaks?”
“I have long believed all could and will speak to me when I am ready to hear.”
“Hmm. So, Sir Knight, are you ready for the question?”
The knight pauses, adjusting his position on his steed, still gripping his sword. “Yes.”
“What is your sword made of?”
“I know this question does not befit a simple answer.”
The lynx eyes him peacefully.
“I have the answer. Or more correctly, I have had the answer for years. Moments, even, after my sword was forged. Nay, during the forging, the sword came out of the first in a color without name,” the knight says, hoisting it higher, staring at it before his gaze, lightly pressing his forehead to it, eyes closed. “My sword is made of love.”
“I clearly see a sword made of steel. There will need to be more to this bold declaration,” the lynx says, head canting.
“There is, of course. I said this answer could not be simple, strange beast. My sword is made of love. The light that fell upon me after a dream of a world built up around me in the time span of a moment. The sweet serenity burning as torch to my soul. This is the feeling, the feeling that started as small as an acorn the day I met her. The feeling that now fills every room I walk into, the surrounds me in greater expanse than this dread forest. The feeling of a world conjoined with mine. A private escape into a private universe. Two souls. This sword has the power of souls mixed. With Love’s purpose was this sword forged. An energy both tangible and wholly intangible.
“Do you know of the legend of love? I’m sure you must. Legend speaks of the Universe’s formation and the first two beings to live within: a snail and a lynx. The snail fell in love with the lynx and the lynx fell in love with the snail. Love was born in that earliest moment of All Known and has unfurled throughout time and space ever since. Love is powerful and one of the oldest energies in the Universe. And it is created again and again.
“Yes, this sword appears steel, but the moment this blade touches you and indeed halves you in one swift swing you will glimpse the power it contains and embodies a half second before the black.”
“Do you mean to strike me down, Sir Knight?”
“No, because I have passed your test.”
“Oh? Was this a test?”
“Not actually. Not ever.” The knight pulls back on the reins and his steed slowly trots forward.
The lynx ambles out of their way and plops down in the grass underneath a spiral canopied oak. “One more question.”
The knight halts his steed and glances back at the silvery lynx.
“Where are you headed?”
The knight smiles and turns back to the path, urging his steed onward again. “Returning to the source of my determination and my strength. To the vessel of this sword’s forging. My Lady Love.”
The lynx grins and gazes into the woods behind her, where the snail, a snail as tall as the oak she sat under, was coming into view.