The twenty four year old half alien pilot throws her an exasperated look. “I was giving an option. I don’t know you and no one should be forced to fight if they don’t want to.” He reaches down, patting his side and finds the familiar shape of one of his knifes. “Since you’re staying, I only have knives on me in this dream and this,” he shifts the Bayard sword slightly.

He pulls the knife out and the glass-like blade catches the faint light from his sword. He angles his blade away from it and flips the weapon, offering it to her hilt first. “This thing in the real world can cut through rock. Light enough to throw if that’s in your skill set. Should still work the same way.”