Lucy extended her hand, and from the frigid air, a shimmering form began to take shape. Ice swirled and condensed around her palm, coalescing into a long, elegant blade. The sword materialized with a quiet, resonant hum, as though the very essence of winter had answered her call.
The weapon was breathtaking—its surface so pure and flawless that it almost appeared translucent, as if crafted from the clearest, most untouched ice in existence. Light danced across the blade's edge, refracting in a cascade of shimmering blues and whites that gave the sword an ethereal, otherworldly glow. Razor-thin, the blade seemed to hum with a power that was both ancient and divine, its frosted surface glistening with the radiance of a thousand frozen stars.
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