A child’s body bows beneath chainmail links, cut from convention.
By some innate doctrine her battle is decreed!
She clutches a brittle blade that, when drawn, hums a hollow tone
For the blacksmith’s ore he neglected, that would have served her.
She espies another youth with a breastplate beaming brightly
And with strange surety, he grasps a sword named sodalitas.
Just as defeat is unfurled in her eyes
Certain failure written into untimely lines
A benevolent sage with an aura of light
Penetrates the vacuous world she has known.
All that she had seen but still unbeknown-
Becomes every signal to every sense heightened,
And just as sure as the old world changes
She is armed and blessed with the knowledge of ages.

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