"Is this a grand relic?"—the question Taako didn't ask.
Of course it wasn't, there wasn't anything grand about it. When they had aquired (or at least, approached) the Pheonix Fire Gauntlet, there was absolutely no doubt about the craftsmenship of the real relics. And when touched, he could hear them. They whispered, pleaded, lulled and charmed. Begged to be kept close, to be desired.
And yet, denying them that request was as easy as denying a handshake from a stranger.
But this thing, it held him from the moment he took handle in hand. Accepted no one else but him. He couldn't say that he treasured it, but he never kept it more than a foot away, at most. Strapped to his back, its connection clung deep, beyond than anything physical. It had no voice, but still spoke to him. It didn't have to whisper, didn't have to plea. It just was.
Part of him, part of his heart.
Still, the warmth of its magic, the shape of its carve, the weight of familiarity, all lingered two steps from the places of his memory that fizzled out into nothingness. That feeling made him wary enough to wonder. But if the Bureau never asked it of him, never suggested that they destroy it as well—he for damn sure would never bring it up.
He could watch the other relics get blown to smithereens any day of the week. But this....this he would never let come to harm.
"Damn, the make of this thing is pretty good," Taako said, admiring the umbrastaff for the fifth time since Lup had shown it to him. "Is this what you're going to put your section of the light into?
No," Lup replied. She watched him twirl it over his shoulder with a smile. "I like it too much. What if the relics don't work? We'd have to destroy them too. I just think it would be a waste."