The boy awoke to the morning light. It had been a long night. Being a sword, I never slept. So, when the world quieted around me, I meditated. I let my thoughts go and pretended that I was free from this curse.
I tried to be just as at peace as the boy when he slept.
When his eyes finally opened, I spoke. "So, do you have a plan?"
The boy rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Nope. Not really. Sword, I still don't know how to fight. Magic blade or not, I doubt I can swing you without cutting my own leg off."
"You just need practice. Trust me, I've done this hundreds of times. I can teach you."
He frowned. "Hundreds? As in you've had hundreds of wielders? And they all died?"
"Uhh…yeah? But that doesn't mean you will! If we get you properly trained. This Thorne guy should be no problem."
He blinked at me. "So, your pitch is that you'll train me the way you trained all the others. The ones who died?"
"….I mean, technically, yes?"
The boy groaned. "Incredible. Truly inspiring confidence."
He picked me up and began climbing a set of stairs to the second floor. Avoiding the holes in the floorboards, the boy stepped over to a broken window which had a view of the street.
Wooden shutters slammed open along the narrow streets. Merchants rolled carts over cobblestone, their wheels thumping in uneven rhythm. Somewhere, a woman was already shouting prices for fresh bread.
There was a thick layer of fog stretching across the town, casting a depressing gloom over what should have been a nice day.
The boy stretched. "You ready, Sword?"
I sighed. "Yup. Let's get you trained."
*******
"Alright," I said. "Let's get to work. First rule: don't swing me like you're chopping firewood. The swing isn't about power. It's about precision."
The boy held me up with both hands, elbows locked stiff. "I feel like I am chopping firewood," he muttered.
"Loosen your shoulders. Bend your knees," I advised.
We were in the outskirts of the city, standing in the middle of an alleyway. This area didn't seem too busy and was the perfect spot for him to train without drawing attention.
The boy swung the sword. I could almost feel his movements. This connection between us was no joke. "Good. You want to stay balanced. That's the key."
He adjusted himself awkwardly. "If you say so. I feel like a drunk. My movements are just…off."
"But you're a drunk with potential," I said helpfully. "Now, take a step forward. Small. Not a lunge, or you'll fall on your face."
He took a step forward, wobbly and off centered.
I cringed. This was bad.
"Ok. Again."
We repeated. Breathe, step, strike. Breathe, step, strike. Breathe, step, strike.
I taught him how to pivot so he didn't expose his sides. I taught him how to strike and recover from an attack. And he learned how to let momentum work for him instead of fighting against it.
At first, the boy was terrible.
He tripped over his own boot.
He almost dropped me, multiple times.
And once, impressively, he managed to elbow himself in the ribs.
Somehow, through either determination or stupidity, he kept going.
Sweat beaded down his brow. His breath became heavy. There was something stubborn in him, deep within his core. Something fueled with rage but also hopeful of survival.
"Not bad," I said as he managed a fairly clean cut.
He beamed with pride. "Really? It was good?"
"No. Not at all to my standards. But I will say it is an improvement."
He groaned, and for a moment I thought he'd throw me on the ground. "You're impossible, Sword. You know that?"
"I've been told that many times now."
While he was working on strikes and parries, I was working on something else. I had my own training to do.
This was something that I hadn't dealt with since Talia. The only other one who had bonded with me.
There was something I had realized during my time with Talia. A link with my user is the most important aspect between me and a wielder.
With a link to my user, not only can they fight, but I can too. That was what I first noticed with Talia. It wasn't just her performing the actions. We were working together.
I needed to figure out how to work with the boy. Together, we could become an unstoppable force. But it would take time.
Time that we didn't have.
Something interrupted my thoughts. Footsteps. Not far off. Closing in, and quick.
The boy froze mid-swing.
My blade tingled. Recognition hit me immediately. Danger.
"That," I whispered, "is trouble."
Three men entered the alleyway, spotting the two of us immediately.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!" One of them shouted, their voice echoing off the stone buildings.
The boy turned and ran.
He sprinted past crates, down a narrow lane, then burst into a street thick with morning crowds.
People shouted with alarm as he shoved through.
He darted down into a reeking sewer tunnel, the stench hitting us like a punch. His boots splashed through shallow runoff as we made our way through the darkness.
The footsteps behind us never faded.
"Up!" I urged as we reached a ladder.
He climbed one-handed, clutching me in the other, breathing ragged and terrified.
We broke into sunlight again. The footsteps were still there; farther, but relentless.
"Find a place to hide," I said.
He obeyed immediately, slipping into a cramped tools and timber shop.
The owner didn't even look up as he passed.
The boy moved quickly, quietly, slipping past stacks of planks until he reached a small closet in the back.
He closed the door and crouched in the stale darkness, chest heaving.
My senses stretched outward.
Footsteps. Three pairs entered the shop.
"I swear he ran through here," one of them muttered.
I heard the muffled voice of the shopkeeper, but he was quickly silenced.
The footsteps passed the doorway, and the three men continued further back into the shop.
"Search everything. That little rat couldn't have gone far."