Wands vs Swords

The Village Beyond the Mountains

The village had no name.

At least, no name that William could pronounce. The people spoke a different language—older than the Wand tongue, rougher, filled with sounds that didn't exist in Veridias City. They looked at the two strangers with suspicion, but not fear.

The elder was a woman with skin like leather and eyes like flint. She met William at the village gate, a staff in her hand, her gray hair braided with feathers.

"You carry death," she said. Her accent was thick, but her words were clear.

William looked at his sword. "I carry steel."

"Steel that has tasted blood. Steel that hungers." She touched the black blade with her staff. The sword hummed. She did not flinch. "The Saint's blade. We thought it had been destroyed."

"It was hidden. In Veridias City."

"The city of magic." The elder spat on the ground. "They brought nothing but pain. The Saint. The Council. The Rust." She looked at William's face. "But you are not them."

"How do you know?"

"Because you came alone. Because you did not bring an army. Because you stopped at our gate instead of breaking it down." She lowered her staff. "Come. Eat. Rest. Tomorrow, you leave."

---

The village was small—maybe fifty people, living in stone huts with thatched roofs. They had no magic. No Rust. No swords. Just hands and tools and the land.

William sat by a fire in the center of the village, a bowl of stew in his hands. The meat was unfamiliar. The vegetables were root vegetables, tough and bitter. He ate anyway.

Julian sat beside him, his bowl empty, his eyes watching the villagers.

"They're afraid of us," Julian said quietly.

"They're afraid of what we represent."

"And what's that?"

"The world they left behind." William looked at the elder, who sat across the fire, her flint eyes fixed on him. "The Saint came from this region. Before the Council. Before the Rebellion. He was one of them."

"He wasn't one of us," the elder said. Her voice carried across the fire. "He was a warrior. A killer. He left the village when he was young and never came back."

"But you remember him."

"We remember what he became. A monster. A curse. A warning." She pointed her staff at William. "You carry his blade. His blood. His legacy. Will you become what he became?"

"I'm trying not to."

"Trying is not succeeding."

William set down his bowl. "What do you want me to say? That I'm different? That I'm better? I don't know if I am. I only know that I'm trying."

The elder was silent for a long moment.

"Good enough," she said. "For now."

---

That night, William dreamed of the Saint.

Not the monster in the chains. The young man who had left the village. He stood on a mountain peak, looking out at the world below. His face was unmarked by Rust. His eyes were bright with hope.

"I wanted to save them," the Saint said. "My family. My village. My people. The Wands were crushing everything. Taking everything. I thought if I could just be strong enough, I could stop them."

William stood beside him. "What happened?"

"The Council happened. They killed my wife. My children. My grandchildren. They erased their names." The Saint's voice cracked. "I stopped fighting for my family. I started fighting for revenge. And revenge is a hunger that can never be filled."

"You became the monster they said you were."

"I became worse." The Saint looked at William. "Don't make the same mistake."

The dream faded.

William woke with the sunrise.

---

He found the elder waiting by the gate.

"You dreamed of him," she said.

"Yes."

"He comes to us sometimes. In dreams. In nightmares. He is sorry for what he did. But sorry is not enough."

"No. It's not."

The elder studied his face. "You are leaving today."

"Yes."

"Where will you go?"

"East. The old empire. I want to see what remains."

"The empire is gone. Only ruins and ghosts."

"Then I'll see ruins and ghosts."

The elder nodded. She reached into her robe and pulled out a small stone—smooth, black, warm.

"The Saint's first blade was forged from this stone. Before the steel. Before the Rust. Before the madness." She pressed it into William's hand. "Take it. Maybe it will remind you of who you were before the sword."

William looked at the stone. It was ordinary. Plain. A rock from the mountains.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Thank yourself. For coming. For listening. For trying."

William tucked the stone into his pocket.

He and Julian walked through the gate and onto the eastern road.

---

The old empire stretched before them.

Ruins dotted the landscape—crumbled walls, fallen towers, roads that led nowhere. The grass grew tall between the stones. The trees had reclaimed the land.

"It's beautiful," Julian said.

"It's sad."

They walked in silence.

At midday, they found a grave. Not a proper grave—just a pile of stones with a wooden marker. The writing had faded, but William could still read it.

Here lies the last king of the empire. He died alone. Forgiven by no one. Forgotten by everyone.

"Who buried him?" Julian asked.

"I don't know. Someone who cared enough to mark the spot."

William knelt and placed a small stone on the pile.

"What are you doing?" Julian asked.

"Remembering him. Even if no one else does."

They walked on.

---

The sun set over the ruins.

William and Julian made camp in the shadow of a fallen tower. The fire was small, fed by dry wood and old memories. The black sword lay across William's knees.

"Do you ever think about going back?" Julian asked.

"To Veridias?"

"To the way things were. Before the Council. Before the Saint. Before the Rust."

"No." William looked at the fire. "The way things were killed my parents. The way things were killed your mother. The way things were killed Thomas." He paused. "I don't want to go back. I want to go forward."

"To what?"

"I don't know. But I'll know it when I see it."

Julian was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I'm glad I came with you."

"I'm glad you came too."

They sat in silence, watching the stars appear.