"You there, boy."
The sword had spoken to him, the young child could have sworn it. He'd been exploring around his usual play area, a small field right outside the local high noble's palace where his mother worked as a servant. This was why he tended to play so close to such an elegant place of living, even if the family he hailed from barely ever made enough to make it through the week. Today had been no different than normal, until he'd found a strange building that was a way further off the palace property than he'd normally travel.
Stood at the far end of the field was a building that appeared to be a crypt of some kind, that the boy had initially taken to belong to the noble's estate. This, according to his admittedly abysmal education, was a common practice within the Kingdom of Heroes. It was well known within the nation that the Godking provided protection to the souls who passed on, however this was only given to the disenfranchised, so the nobility buried themselves together. This belief was created when the terrifyingly powerful Godking made the declaration that "those who had it easy in life, should have it hard in death, and those who had it hard in life, should rest easy knowing that I'll protect them."
All that being said, the noble women are all descended from the great king himself to begin with. So they supposedly shouldn't require assistance to pass into the afterlife. The burial grounds were meant for the men who marry into the matriarchal families.
This crypt, however, was different. It wasn't built like the others that he'd seen in picture books, nor like the ones the rich merchants purchased for themselves in the public burial grounds. This one was made of a much older stone, grey, like the rocks in the old cave that the boy would sneak into while his parents weren't paying attention. Vines weaving in and out of the cracks of the stonework and admittedly primitive masonry, seeming to use mortar instead of the more commonly applied cement that had been invented close to fifty years prior to the eight year old's birth.
The boy had climbed down the staircase with a bit of a struggle, noting that even adults might have a hard time climbing up and down the worn staircase. With how long the distance between steps was, and if he wasn't so nimble, he may have fallen and snapped his neck on the way down. He couldn't help but wonder if this was intentional on the part of the crypt's proprietor or the architect who crafted it, not that it mattered in that moment.
As he was about to find out that he might not be the only soul in this place made for the long dead.
"You there, boy." repeated the monotone voice. There was an uncanny lack of inflection or notable accent in it. "What is your name, child?"
The boy didn't know what or who may be speaking to him, let alone how to answer, however, the lack of fear and confidence in the young one's posture made the voice's origin feel slightly nostalgic. Of course, if it could understand humor or laugh, then it likely would have at the confused way the child's head whipped around. Had they not noticed the sword on the altar yet? Apparently not, yet the child had barely started to catch his breath.
"What? Where are you?" The child asked out loud, all thought of exploration in his mind replaced as his eyes eventually landed upon the sword, set atop the central altar. A look of confusion crossed his face as he did. Somehow he knew that this other being in the room was important. But why? What made the strangely crafted weapon?
The sword had one edge to it, but no curve. What's more, the edge itself was oddly smooth, without any blemishes the boy could see. The grip was a simple affair, seeming to just be wrapped in a yet again, strangely pristine cloth. Not to mention the complete lack of crossguard or pommel. Nothing to protect the hand holding the black metal blade, nor the pommel to counterbalance the weight from the sword itself. Why would a smith not complete the crafting of a blade they forged? His father would have been quite displeased if he were around to see the weapon.
"Child," the voice begins again, "won't you please answer my question?"
"Oh!" The child jumps up in surprise, wiping his dirty hands on his admittedly even dirtier pants and offering his hand for a moment like he was taught. Only to pull it back upon realizing the sword wouldn't have a hand to shake. The sentient weapon couldn't help but think that it would have laughed at the black haired boy's awkwardness if he were able. "My name is Cain. Cain Rocksalt. What about yours?"
"Cord, the Blade of Annihilation." The sword replies with the same unsettlingly blank voice from the start. Cain didn't seem to be bothered by the voice however. Causing confusion in the sword, or, what it thinks is confusion. Most people would have attempted to run from hearing a talking sword to begin with. Let alone the admitted uncanniness of its voice. "Have you heard of me, by chance?"
"Well, if you are what you say you are, I've heard about you in the folk tales." The boy replies as he steps closer to the sword. His green eyes shining in the reflection of the sword.
"As well as the little history my mother could teach me."
Another ting of confusion affects the sword. What could this child mean? The combination of the words "little history" and the information that he was taught by his mother perplexed the sword. Is this boy claiming that he had no tutor? No way of acquiring a formal education?
"Child, Cain, would you be willing to elaborate on your statement? Why is your mother teching you instead of a teacher or tutor?"
The boy thinks on the question for a moment. His head tilting to the side as he considers how to answer the sword. He didn't want his new potential friend to believe him stupid, but it felt wrong to lie to the sword, to Cord. After all, the weapon might soon become his partner.
He didn't fully understand why, but he had a certain unshakeable feeling about it.
"My family is poor." The child replies after his short contemplation. "We are peasants. My father, rest him, was a smith in life. Unfortunately, with his passing, my mother is barely able to take care of herself and me. Even working as a maid for the local noble lady." Cord thought on this for a moment. It wasn't enraged, nor annoyed. It had the understanding that a child's education was unfortunately tied to the funding the family had on hand at the time.
Peasantry had always been given the unfortunate situation where they could rarely learn to read or write, often prioritising the future matriarchs' education, and it was common for the menfolk of the lower social ranks to be illiterate altogether, seeing the skills as useless. Not from a lack of trying on the part of the Godking. Cord's previous master had been unable to establish a proper public education for the peasantry, due in part to the haughty nature of the tutors from the Golden Empire and Imperium of the Dragon. His fledgling Kingdom of Heroes didn't have the ability to force the tutors and teachers to teach the peasant folk, and a war with both nations, while not unwinnable for the greatest of kings, would not be ideal after coming off a revolution followed by three expansionist wars.
"That is fine my boy." The sword says, wondering if it had been able to push its pity into its voice. "I am sorry that you're not able to learn like the noble men and women of this nation."
Cain shakes his head. He didn't need the sympathy of stranger's. Though, he did appreciate the sentiment. He was also happy at the admittedly abysmal attempt at putting sympathy into the sword's voice. The boy stepped into arm's reach of the sword, but not daring to touch it yet. No, he knew that if he did so before the blade accepted him, then it would be a violation of their future friendship. A feeling of appreciation from the sword, Cain's beloved sword Cord, flowed through him.
"Don't be." Cain replies. "I can't blame you for the circumstances of my birth."
The sword ponders for a moment. The child had been surprisingly calm and collected in this circumstance. Most adults would panic and scramble to escape the place of Cord's entombment as soon as possible. Not that the sword could blame them for it, completely understanding the instinct to avoid the potential danger associated with the strange sound. In fact, if the child were anyone else, it would likely assume that Cain was deficient in some way for not running away from the strangeness that it understood to be its voice. Especially considering the lack of understanding in the general population of the fact that sentient objects like itself exist.
This child was different though. It wasn't that he couldn't feel fear, digging into the boy's mind as much as the sword could, it could tell that he was just as confused by the lack of fear as it was. The sword made a decision in this moment, fully acknowledging the irresponsibility of what it was about to suggest.
"Cain," it says to the boy, both understanding its intentions, "take me from this altar. I believe you are worthy of wielding me. And if you are not yet, you will be."
The boy, without hesitation, did as Cord demanded. Cain felt this was inevitable, the conversation prior to this just a formality. The sword was seemingly almost meant for Cain to one day hold. Even if Cord knew that Cain was likely intended by the Godking to find it later in life, assuming the deified man even saw this coming at all, both agreed that it would be simpler to cut to the chase. Besides, Cain knew that if the sword spoke the truth, this act alone would allow his mother to stop starving herself just to feed him, and as for Cord, the Blade of Annihilation, favored sword of the Godking, it refused to lie to the person it'd chosen as its master.
As the boy's hand held the handle of his partner, magic filled the room. Pure white energy merged with a deep black, filling the room with a greying light. Cord and Cain's magics merged with one another in a way the sword hadn't expected, the impure of the artificial soul within the sword combining with the purity of the child's melding, merging, and separating for a long while, before finally settling: the energies that belonged to them both returning to their respective bodies.
Cain pulled the weapon from the altar soon after. The tip was wedged, completing the strangeness of this sword's crafting, lending a look more similar to one of the brush clearing knives used by the common folk. Cord's full length was just a slight bit longer than one of those however, and the handle combined with the blade's length seemed to imply that the sword was built to be used in one hand in most cases, but could be used with two if desired. The term he remembered his father using was "hand and a half". Of course, with the size of the child, it would likely make more sense if the eight year old used both hands if he were to fight with this weapon. Not that he had any reason to do so.
Cain flipped the sword into a reversed grip. Helpfully, Cord had relayed to him that, while still concerning to approach with an unsheathed blade, an inward grip was generally less threatening to trained soldiers than an outward one when it comes to swords. Cain, lacking any kind of sheathing for his new sword, and wanting to be able to present his findings in a relatively unaggressive way., chose to listen. It also helped him avoid stabbing himself as he returned to the field and began approaching the palace.
At least, he would have started approaching the palace, if it weren't for the concerned mother nearly tackling him right back down the stairs he'd spent so much effort ascending. The suggestion from the blade kept her from unintentionally impaling herself on the weapon she wouldn't have expected her eight year old son to be holding. The sword wished it could escape almost as much as the boy in this moment; both of them understanding the frantic worry that was about to spew from the mother's mouth.
"Where have you been!?" she nearly shouts at Cain, a couple of knights attempting to hold in their laughter. Cain assumed they were ordered to help his mother find him. The boy wondered how much of a scolding he'd get with the knights right there. "I called and called, and you didn't even answer! You never don't answer!" Better than he was expecting. "I thought a wolf or bear got to you!!" The woman was nearly in tears from the worry she felt. Cain did feel bad, but he knew he wasn't gone for long. Perhaps his mother went to be with him for a time as her services weren't needed? He didn't know. "And where did you find that weapon, young man!?" Oh! Perfect! She had noticed Cord. "You'll get such a flogging when we get home!!!" Oh, wait, maybe not so good.
"Hold on mother!" the boy says as he shows her the blade, ignoring her reddening face as he'd clearly interrupted her. "Apparently, this sword is Cord, the Blade of Annihilation…"
He could tell that she was about to speak up and say something, only stopping when Cord confirmed what Cain said.
It did not take long for the guards, with the boy and his mother in tow, to rush back to the palace in which the high noble woman lived. The gardens are filled with flowers of the finest quality and rarest types. Some flowers seemed to almost be made of pure gold or silver, looking almost fake with the metallic sheen of the petals. Inside, long, stone walls with chandeliers placed almost excessively in any place that would fit them. The interior seemed to reflect the noble woman's excessive want for all things jeweled or shiny, as though attempting to mimic the Golden Empire's propensity for all things glittery and shiny while still attempting to, rather poorly, intertwine the Kingdom of Heroes' practical building schemes.
Cain never really liked it in here. Too many things to break on accident and get scolded by his mother. It was why he preferred to play out in the fields and meadows while his mother worked, even with the noble woman's insistence on him playing within the palace. She claimed it was because he was the only child her daughter's age within miles, but the servant gossip talked of her want of a son as well. The idea made Cain uncomfortable. Why would he want a mother other than his own? She was perfect in his eyes. The best there possibly could be! He didn't exactly understand that the woman didn't so much want to replace his mother so much as spend time with the child.
Cain, as per usual when he saw the woman, gasped rather loudly, before looking away in embarrassment as the noble woman chuckled at the young boy's reaction. Knees were taken, respects were given, respects were returned by the noble, and then, the explanation was given. All the while, as Cain told her this fantastic story, a smaller, near clone of the high noble, watched through the slightly ajar door. Curiosity filling her brilliant blue eyes.
That was another reason why he didn't like seeing the nobles, the fact they were quite pretty in the boy's mind. Long, silky, golden hair, eyes so blue that the sky and seas almost seemed dull in comparison. Beauty was a staple of the nobility and royalty of the Kingdom of heroes, the daughters of the Godking being crafted from the initial inception to be gorgeous by the kingdom's great leader himself. Uncanny beauty was synonymous with the nobility of these women.
Yet remarkably, there had never been a case of successful assassination or coup since this kingdom's inception. It helped that the noble women, all of which being direct descendents of the Godking, were notoriously hard to kill. That, combined with the not-so-well-kept secret corps guarding them, made any such attempts the bane of foreign political enemies. Local politics viewed it as too much trouble to even try for the same reasons.