Well, after that torturous and never-ending side quest, I'm really keeping my fingers crossed for a good wielder this time.
I mean, not that I actually have fingers, but y'know, metaphorically.
Fate always brings someone along into this meadow when they need a sword the most. I'm hoping somebody's going to come soon enough. I hate waiting.
A couple days went by in a blur, and nobody ever came past. The field became quiet, leaving just me and my thoughts, which is an objectively terrifying combination.
In order to entertain myself, I sort through all my memories like they're books in a library.
Each volume is a different wielder. Each chapter is a different scene in their lives.
Some are only one very, very short chapter.
Others, like Reginald, are thousands of pages of never ending sentences. The type that would put you to sleep at night even if you weren't tired.
Those weren't the ones I usually liked to revisit. After all, I couldn't really sleep. So, they were of no use to me.
My favorite of all time was a woman. She treated me with kindness, but was also the most ferocious thing you'd ever lay eyes on. She wasn't the kind of person who just swung me. She used my strengths and made them her own.
Talia. That was her name.
The book of Talia is not very long, unfortunately, though it's at least novel worthy.
She had some good moments before the end.
The only problem with using me as your weapon, and it's a big problem, is that I tend to draw strong enemies. The stronger my wielder, the stronger I am, the stronger the enemies.
Maybe that was why Reginald never got into any fights. He was just too damn weak.
I like to think of myself as a kind of minor deity. I mean, come on. A talking sword? With powers? How much better can it get?
So when someone lucky enough finally gets to pick me up, I think they should treat me with respect and honor me. Is that really too much to ask?
I'm over halfway through my memories of Talia when I feel something. The pull.
It's a feeling I'm used to now. A warning that someone is coming. It always starts the same. A faint itch at the base of my hilt. Then, the tremble of the dirt around me as the footsteps approach.
Here we go again, I sigh. Please don't be like Reginald. Please. Please. Please.
When he finally crouched in front of me, I got a good look at his hands. Calloused. Dirt under the nails. Not a stranger to hard work or worse things. He reached out, fingers hovering just over my hilt.
"Go on," I said, not that he could hear me. "Pick me up. Let's see what you're made of."
My blade is pulled from the dirt, and a young boy flips me around, examining my steel like it's the first time he's ever seen a sword.
Dammit.
It is his first time seeing a sword, isn't it?
Looks like my bad luck is just going to continue.
He swings me through the air, and that's when I feel it.
A pulse of energy. Not magic. Not the curse. This was a connection. And when there is a connection, I can finally speak.
"Interesting," I say, and I come to a stop mid-air.
He heard me.
"What the hell?" he asked, flinching and examining me.
"Language," I warned. "I've been stuck in this dirt for days. The least you could say is hello."
The boy did exactly what I expected.
He dropped me.
The nerve, right? Like, at least set me down carefully. Don't throw me like I'm just some inanimate object. I hate being treated like that.
I lay there, facedown in the dirt, stewing in centuries of accumulated resentment and a new layer of shame. I've been dropped before. Just recently, I was thrown like a boomerang. But this? This felt personal. I didn't deserve to be treated like this after everything I've been through.
He doesn't run, though. That's new. Most of them run when I speak.
This one just stares. His mouth opens and closes a few times as if he's in shock.
Finally, he speaks. "You...talk?"
"Congratulations, genius. Pick me up again and we'll see what other obvious facts I can confirm." Though this time he probably can't hear me. We have to be in contact for that to work.
There's a long pause. He glances around like someone else might be watching this moment and judging him, which they probably are. I know I am.
Hesitantly, he picks me up.
"Hello?" he asks uncertainly. "What's your name?"
"Oh, we're doing introductions? Wonderful. Well, I don't exactly have a name. I've never really thought about that one. Usually my wielders just call me whatever they want.
"Hmmm…maybe…," he says, scratching his head.
"Might I provide some suggestions?"
He perks up slightly. "Yes! Please."
"How about, Doombringer? Or Shadowfang! Ooh maybe Voidweaver?"
"Yeah…no. Those won't do. Too complicated to remember all that."
What? It's like 10 letters. How hard can it be?
"How about…sword?"
"Huh?"
"Yeah, that's your name! I'll call you what you are. Sword."
NO! NO! That's so bad. Please. Please.
That's what I want to say. But this is the first person to pick me up in so many days, and I'm happy to finally find another wielder. Whether or not they survive for very long, they almost always give me epic adventures and fun fights.
And this boy is different. I haven't felt that connection with anyone since…Talia. And she'd turned out to be the best of the best.
Maybe he had more to offer than what he showed. I had to trust the process.
"That's a brilliant idea. From now on, I shall be known as Sword."
"Great! So why can you talk? Are you going to instruct me on how to fight?"
He didn't know how to fight yet? Well, nevermind. This kid was useless.
I want to ask him to just put me back where he found me so I can wait for the next one, but that seems a little rude.
I just hate it when kids grab me. They always die the worst deaths. It's painful to watch, because they're supposed to have the rest of their lives ahead of them. And maybe they didn't know what they were getting themselves into.
Maybe I should warn him. About what's to come. The pain and eventual death that he won't be able to avoid.
Instead, for once, I stay quiet.
"Sword?"
Right, I need to respond.
"Of course. I'll teach you everything I know. We begin now."
*******
The sun was starting its descent in the sky, casting golden rays across the meadow, who's grass swayed back and forth in the cool breeze.
I wish I could feel it. The heat of the sun. The light touch of the breeze on my skin.
But I don't have skin. I don't have feelings. I have yet to feel pain ever since I became this damned sword.
No matter how many trees my blade smacks during training montages, or how many bones I've sliced to shreds, or even the time I fell into an active volcano along with one of my wielders.
Even then, I couldn't feel pain.
Pain is what makes people human. What makes them mortal. Without pain, there are no consequences.
Which might sound great, and it is, but eventually you get sick of it.
I just want to feel something for once. My senses have been so numb, and my sword body is so stiff. Even moving would be nice.
Sorry, I'm complaining too much. I'm a sword with powers. What more is there to want in the world?
The boy practices a couple swipes, and I wish I could roll my eyes. He may be even worse off than Reginald.
Which is bad, because that means he lacks strength. And if he lacks strength, I'm gonna be stuck with him until he dies of old age. And once again my time will be wasted.
Still, I can't help but notice the connection between us. It is truly remarkable. I really haven't felt this in centuries.
The feeling is like a steadiness. When past wielders used me, I felt like a wild animal, unable to be controlled. But now, it's different.
Even though this boy lacks skills, he's still able to keep me stable. Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe he's more than I expected.
But I shouldn't get too hopeful. Not after how everything else has turned out.
The boy finishes his pathetic excuse for a swing and wipes sweat from his brow like he just won a war.
"Alright," he mutters, panting. "That wasn't...awful."
It was absolutely awful.
"I think I'm getting the hang of you, Sword."
He's still calling me Sword. I briefly consider vibrating violently enough to leap from his grip and stab myself into a rock out of protest. I manage to hold back. Barely.
Then it happens. A flicker.
Just for a moment, against my sharp edge. A resonance. Something internal. Like a thread being pulled tight between the two of us. A spark.
I haven't felt that since Talia. And I know what that spark means.
Bonding.
Oh no.
Oh no.
This idiot. This untrained, overly optimistic simpleton...is syncing with me. I try to resist it at first, but there isn't much I can do but accept it.
I feel it settle into my core. A tether. Soft at first. Then it grew stronger. Like shackles clicking into place. Like destiny had forced this bond upon us, saying: "You two? Yep. You're stuck together now."
Wonderful.
"Did you feel that?" the boy asks, eyes wide.
"Oh, I felt something," I mutter. "I think it was my will to live dissolving."
He grins, swinging me again with slightly more confidence. "You're funny."
"That wasn't a joke."
"I know."
We're quiet for a moment as he concentrates on carrying out a full arc.
If I'm stuck with this kid, I might as well get to know him. Before long, he'll just be another book on my shelf of memories.
And I realize, despite my better judgment, despite every terrible partner I've had, I'm curious. Maybe even...excited?
Because for the first time in a long, long time, I don't know how this story ends.