[ His smile slips; replaced first by a look of confusion, then slowly by one of wonder. The crystal below her neck seems to glow brighter at the mere mention of it, beckoning for him to lay his hand upon it. ]

Wield you?

[ He whispers the words. How wrong they feel. His mind supplies that it should be reasonable for a tool to be wielded. And yet . . . Berkut shakes his head. ]

No . . . You may have been born a weapon, but that's not all you are to me. I wish for you to stand by me . . . not to own you like I do my lance.

[ But he fears that he might have just offended her with his refusal. What does a mortal know of what she has in mind? Still, as a human being, he would never dehumanize Pyra or Mythra so. ]