He remained on the balcony, not speaking a word. His hand seemed to be trying to reach for the weapon in spite of Lucian's hatred for it. He didn't want to be swept into another war, but in the past these wishes had proved an excercise in futility. His hand gripped the hilt weakly. It's wrappins felt comforting somehow. As much as he hated it, the weapon consoled him. "If I must... I'll take up the sword again...", he said. He began unsheathing it once more, but just before the blade had completely left the scabbard, he stopped. He began to sweat, he was out of breath. In his mind, once the weapon was in his hands, free from its prison, it was too late to back out of this. He slowly returned it to his side once more, not removing his hand from the hilt.

"No... never again. Never again will I be swept into battle against my will. This time, I make the choice. This time... I wield you. You do not wield me.", He took a deep breath, and pulled the weapon from the sheath completely. A strange crimson glow ran up the blade. The Chaosbringer was born anew. He ran down the stairs, awaiting whatever may come.