Renewal

In flame was I wrought; by flame renewed:

Fired. Red-hot coals purify my flesh, burning away traces of tainted blood.

Beaten. Heavy hammer-strokes meld my broken bones.

Folded. My spine stiffens, fusing strength upon strength.

Again and again do I suffer this handling, until...

Quenched. I hiss at the shocking chill, tightening my sinews.

Polished. Runes of protection adorn my burnished skin.

Sharpened. Keen is my bite.

By my maker's skill am I hardened on the outside, flexible within — reflecting the radiance of Anar, the resilience of Isil.

After an Age of shame, I am once more fit to serve.