Shaking my head from those thoughts, I picked up the two pieces and slumped onto my throne. My eyes bored into the broken sword. It was my sixth sword after creating Excalibur that failed in some way. I didn’t know how Claidheamh na Fìrinn broke, a mind could get a bit fuzzy when one was dying. The image of attacking an armored man came to mind; my sword being parried by a block of a shield, but a sword went through my back at the same time. Nonetheless, every sword after Excalibur has failed. The words spoken by Nimue’s monotone – really Fate’s – voice had meant I didn’t understand my powers, but I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Then there were the words of how no matter what I made to replace to use, the shining blade in the rock was the only one for me.