The sword has been restless, whispering endlessly of discordant notes and propelling him on: there are stories of a creature in the waves that lures fishermen to their doom. He has walked long and far to reach the ocean; it has been a long time since he rested.

At the shore itself he stops where the waves wash highest, and looks up as the sun unfurls overhead, burning away the clouds in a flash of brilliance. A warm breeze touches his face and fades like fond laughter.

He bows to the ocean; he bows to the sun; he moves on.