Strongest Among the Heavens

A flurry of red mana appeared and rapidly materialized into the same wooden chair that Xander sat on. Dasha took the freshly created seat quickly.

"I’ve never met a Transmutator of his level," said Xander. "It is remarkably fun."

"Mm, I agree. Although nothing comes close to the soul, wouldn’t you agree?"

"Oh? The soul?"

"This instrument I hold..." As Myth, Dasha carried his fancy lyre everywhere. It was equally as symbolic and important as his mask. "It is an item that cannot be replicated by magic."

"You truly believe so? I disagree. Anything can be recreated with magic. Anything. Perhaps it would drain a man to his death but it is possible."

"No, it is not, for nothing is made by just one man. This was made in the great city of Aphaea, a relic from the worlds in the Heaven Tower. The wood was mixed with blessed wood and mortal wood. It is helped with magic and made with the touch of the artisan and his child or maybe a student. A young one whose youth brought in a stronger depth to the piece, tempered by his mentor. Do you see now?"

Xander cocked his head. "Apologies. I do not."

"Perspective. Circumstances. The coming together of this lyre was a miracle. It travelled from another world, held by the hands of a mighty player, sold to a merchant, sent off in a blip, and then brought here to me. This lyre had no master before me. It had been used and tested: taken care of like a child. Yet when it found me, it knew. It just knew. I could feel its soul."

Myth played light strokes and then pointedly gestured at his chair.

"It experienced the inexperience and respect of its creator, the strength of a player, the air of many worlds, and the soul of a master. Tell me, Xander, that chair of yours." Myth pointed with a lazy arm. "Do you know how it came to be?"