Elara's POV
The katana feels cold in my hands, even through my white display gloves.
"This is my favorite piece," I tell Morgana and Richard, holding up the ancient Japanese sword. The blade catches the light from my museum's chandelier, making it gleam like frozen moonlight. "Fifteenth century. The edge is still sharp enough to—"
"To cut through bone?" Morgana laughs, sipping her champagne. Her red dress swishes as she walks closer. "You always say the creepiest things, Elara."
I smile. I can't help it. Tonight is perfect. I just sold three swords to a collector in Tokyo for two million dollars. My business partner Morgana is here. My fiancé Richard is here. We're celebrating in my private museum, surrounded by my beloved collection of ancient weapons.
Life is perfect.
"Show us the dangerous one," Richard says. He loosens his tie and grins at me. "The one you said could kill a person with one cut."
I carefully place the katana back on its stand. "You mean this one?" I lift a black-bladed sword with a red edge. "The Blade of Remembrance. Legend says it remembers everyone it kills."
"Spooky," Morgana says, but she's smiling. She refills my champagne glass. "Drink up, partner. We're rich!"
I take the glass. Something feels weird. The champagne tastes bitter, but I don't want to be rude. I drink it anyway.
"Elara," Richard says softly. Too softly. "We need to talk."
My head feels fuzzy. The room spins a little. "What? Richard, I don't feel good."
"That's because we poisoned your drink," Morgana says. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes anymore. "Just a little. Enough to make you clumsy."
I drop my champagne glass. It shatters on the marble floor. "What? Why would you—"
"Your collection is worth fifty million dollars," Richard says. He's not smiling now either. "Morgana and I are tired of sharing it with you."
My heart pounds. This isn't real. This can't be real. "You're joking. This is a sick joke."
"No joke, sweetheart." Morgana walks behind me. I try to turn, but my legs won't work right. The poison is making me weak. "We've been planning this for six months. We're getting married next week—to each other, not you. And we're taking everything you own."
"You... you love me," I whisper to Richard. My vision blurs with tears.
"I love your money," he says.
Then Morgana pushes me.
I stumble backward. My arms windmill, trying to catch my balance. But the poison makes me slow. So slow.
I fall onto the sword display.
The Blade of Remembrance pierces through my chest.
Pain explodes everywhere. I can't breathe. Blood pours out of me, hot and fast. I'm dying. I'm actually dying.
"Oops," Morgana giggles. She doesn't sound sorry at all. "Accident, right, Richard? She tripped during our celebration. So tragic."
Richard nods. He's already pulling out his phone. "I'll call 911. We'll wait exactly ten minutes before we call. Long enough for her to bleed out."
I try to speak. Try to scream. But blood fills my mouth.
Morgana kneels beside me. She's careful not to get blood on her dress. "You were always too trusting, Elara. That's what made you so easy to fool. Thanks for the swords. We'll take good care of them."
She kisses my forehead like I'm a child.
Then they walk away. They leave me dying on the floor, a sword through my heart.
My last thought before everything goes dark is: I trusted you.
---
But death isn't darkness.
Death is... cold.
I open my eyes—except I don't have eyes anymore.
I can't see, but I can sense things. I feel Morgana and Richard standing over my body. I hear them talking to the police. "It was terrible, officer. She tripped and fell on her own sword. We tried to help, but..."
Lies. All lies.
I try to scream, but I have no mouth.
I try to move, but I have no body.
I'm trapped. Stuck. Where am I?
Then I realize the horrible truth.
I'm inside the sword. The Blade of Remembrance. The sword that's still stuck in my dead body.
No. No, no, no, no, NO.
I'm consciousness without a body. A mind without a mouth. A soul trapped in metal.
Morgana was wrong. Death isn't an ending.
It's a prison.
And I just got sentenced to forever.
---
Three Hundred Years Later
Time means nothing when you're a sword.
Days blur into weeks. Weeks blur into years. Years blur into centuries.
I'm still here. Still conscious. Still screaming inside this blade, even though no one can hear me.
The world changed. I'm not on Earth anymore—somehow, I'm in a different world. A world with magic. A world where my museum became a legend, my collection scattered across kingdoms.
I've been moved from place to place. I've been stolen, sold, locked away. I spent the last three hundred years in a cave. A dark, silent, lonely cave.
Other people tried to pick me up. I tried so hard to talk to them. Please! I'm here! I'm trapped! Help me!
But no one ever heard me.
Until today.
Today, I sense someone new entering the cave.
Someone running. Someone bleeding. Someone desperate.
A man's voice echoes off the stone walls. "There has to be something here. Anything. Please..."
I gather all my strength. Three hundred years of rage and loneliness and desperation. I push it all into one single word, screaming it directly into his mind:
"HELP!"
The man freezes.
"Who's there?" he whispers into the darkness.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
He heard me.
Someone finally heard me.
"Please," I whisper into his mind, softer this time. "Please pick up the sword. I'm trapped. I've been trapped for three hundred years. You're the first person who can hear me. Please. Please."
I sense him moving closer. His hand reaches out.
His fingers touch my hilt.
And everything explodes into light.