Night sets upon the world as the boy travelled into the city of Pralis, a major city in the kingdom of Brenmir.
From what I knew, Brenmir was still at the height of its power. It had been that way for some time now. For longer than I could remember.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask the boy as he walks down the dark, cobbled streets.
The boy shrugged. "Just walking."
"Don't you have anywhere to be? Parents? Family? A home?"
The boy scoffed. "A home? If only life were that kind, Sword. You'll see what I'm talking about soon enough."
"Stop calling me Sword. That's not my name," I say with frustration.
"Then what is your name?"
We turn down another alleyway, and I realize just how dark it's gotten. Even I, with senses beyond sight, can barely see ahead. But the boy continues forward as if he's still in broad daylight.
I pause for a moment, racking my brain. Of course, I don't have a brain. I don't have memories of anything before becoming a sword. And the only names I've ever had were given by my wielders.
"I never decided on one," I say.
"Why not? All things need names. It gives you humanity."
"Well, if you can't tell, I'm not human," I say. "I'm just a piece of metal."
"Maybe," the boy responds. "But you sound human."
No. No, that wasn't true. Was it? I think of something snarky to say back, something to defend myself. But I'm at a loss for words.
After a few more minutes, we enter an old, seemingly abandoned building. The glass windows are cracked, wooden boards rotting. Everything is open. Not a single door, no furniture, no sign of life.
He sits down against a wall and stares up at the decaying wooden ceiling.
"What's your name?" I ask, trying to break the silence.
He doesn't answer immediately. Just keeps staring up at the ceiling, as if the cracks had answers for him.
"Don't have one," he says finally.
"What do you mean you don't have one?"
"People called me things. None of them were names."
He smiles, but it's small and tired. The kind that hurts to look at.
"Idiot. Failure. Thief. Sometimes worse. I guess 'boy' stuck the longest."
I'm silent. What could I say to that?
The boy shrugged. "Not that names really matter. People forget them. They only remember what you were to them."
So that's why he calls me Sword. That's all I am to him.
We sit in silence, and rain begins to patter on the broken ceiling. Every now and then a massive drop makes it through and hits my blade.
I better not rust, I think bitterly.
"Why are we here? What is this dump of a place?"
"My home, thanks for asking," the boy says, his tone sharp with irony. "Well, it used to be my home."
"What happened to it?"
The boy unbuttoned his coat and revealed his shoulder. Branded there in dark ink was a circle of roses that surrounded a dagger. It was the sort of sigil marked into coins and banners, not bare skin.
"That's a nice tattoo," I say approvingly. The boy's nose wrinkles in disgust. He doesn't like my joke. "Sorry. It looks like a family sigil. You've been marked by someone powerful?"
"Marked," he says bitterly. "Thorne's mark." He spits it out like a curse. "Lord Silas Thorne. To the public? He's a benefactor. He rebuilds the docks, funds the orphanages, keeps the streets clean, and provides food for the hungry. He sponsors the arts. He smiles for the right people." He gestures with a bitter twist of his hand as if pushing a facade aside. "He's everything the newspapers print."
I hum with interest. "And behind the curtains?"
The boy's face tightens. "Debts. Disappearances. Men who owe him and never wake to meet a new day. Families sold into service." His fingers toy with the edge of his sleeve; a nervous habit.
"My family worked for him. My mother washed his linens. My father hauled his crates. We owed nothing, at least not at first. Then the Thorne home was robbed, and they blamed my parents."
The boy choked up and then stiffened. "After my parents were gone, I had no other choice. It was either work for him or starve. So, I worked. I ran his errands, sold his products in the streets. And most importantly, I held his secrets."
I don't say anything, I'm invested now.
The boy chuckled, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. There was a different air around him now. An anger. "I got away. Just last night. I ran until my legs gave out, and then I kept going. I had no clue where I was headed, just away from here."
"Why are you back?"
"Fate has a terrible sense of humor. I found you. A talking sword in a field of grass. I think it is a sign."
"You want vengeance," I say.
"I'm going to make him pay," the boy says.
Oooh, I think with excitement. Things are starting to heat up.