Ah, a sigil, a living glyph that mutates the blade's essence. Let me trace its faint lines. Every curve must align with the stone's echo, the rhythm of its decay. If we match the sigil's pattern to the blade's tempering, perhaps we can reverse the distortion—turn the blade from a curse back into a tool. I’ll need the exact sequence of the faded strokes, but I’ll decode it by the light of the old lanterns. Ready to lay it out?

Alright, bring the lanterns. I'll sit with the cloth, watch the sigil flicker. The patterns are thin, almost whispers. With a steady hand I’ll trace each stroke, match them to the blade’s hum. Once the sigil’s rhythm syncs with the metal’s pulse, the curse should shift into a command. Let’s start.