The Sword That Chose Its Master
720 Words
Steel clashed against stone.
The Guardian of the Ruins swung its enormous sword, forcing the soldiers of the Order of Ash to scatter. The impact cracked the ancient floor, sending fragments of rock flying across the chamber.
The scarred commander remained still.
He watched the battle with unsettling calm.
“So,” he murmured, “the Guardian still recognizes the blood of the First Crown.”
The Nameless One struggled to his feet, his hand gripping the ancient sword the guardian had entrusted to him.
The blade hummed softly, as though it were alive.
“I don’t know how to use this,” he whispered.
The Guardian glanced at him without turning away from the enemy.
“The sword remembers… even if you do not.”
Three soldiers charged at once.
The Guardian blocked two attacks, but a third soldier slipped past its defenses and rushed toward the Nameless One.
Instinct took over.
The young man raised the sword.
The moment the blades met, a burst of silver light erupted from the ancient weapon.
The soldier’s sword shattered into dozens of pieces.
Both men stared in disbelief.
“I… I didn’t do that,” the Nameless One gasped.
“No,” the scarred commander replied with a grin.
“The sword did.”
He stepped forward at last.
“My name is Commander Varek.”
His black armor bore the symbol of a silver eye surrounded by thorns.
“I’ve searched seventeen years for you.”
The Nameless One tightened his grip on the sword.
“Why?”
Varek’s smile faded.
“Because if you live, everything we built will fall.”
Without warning, he attacked.
His speed was terrifying.
The Nameless One barely raised his blade in time.
The clash sent a shockwave through the chamber.
Varek’s strength forced him backward.
Again.
And again.
Within seconds, he was driven against the shattered throne.
“You have royal blood,” Varek said coldly.
“But blood alone does not make a king.”
He raised his sword for the final strike.
At that instant, the mark on the Nameless One’s hand blazed with brilliant silver light.
The ancient sword answered.
Symbols appeared along its blade, glowing like stars.
Time itself seemed to slow.
A calm voice echoed inside the Nameless One’s mind.
“Do not fight with fear.”
“Fight with truth.”
Without understanding how, he moved.
He sidestepped Varek’s attack with effortless grace.
Then, with a single swing, he disarmed the commander.
Varek’s black sword spun across the chamber, embedding itself in a stone pillar.
Silence fell.
The soldiers froze.
Even the Guardian stared in astonishment.
The Nameless One looked down at his own hands.
“I… how did I do that?”
Varek slowly stood, breathing heavily.
For the first time, fear flickered in his eyes.
“The Royal Technique…” he whispered.
“It was supposed to be lost forever.”
Before anyone could react, a deep rumble shook the ruins.
Cracks spread across the ceiling.
The ancient chamber was collapsing.
The Guardian turned to the Nameless One.
“Go!”
“But what about you?”
The giant warrior gave a faint smile.
“My duty… was never to survive.”
It planted its sword into the ground.
Blue energy erupted from the blade, holding back the falling ceiling long enough to create an escape.
“Run!” the Guardian roared.
The Nameless One hesitated only a moment before sprinting toward the staircase.
As he reached the entrance, he looked back.
The Guardian stood alone against Varek and his soldiers, surrounded by falling stone and blazing blue light.
Then the ceiling gave way.
The ruins collapsed into darkness.
Outside, the Nameless One stumbled into the forest, coughing through clouds of dust.
Tears filled his eyes.
The Guardian had sacrificed itself to save him.
But before he could gather his thoughts, he heard a voice behind him.
“You survived.”
He turned.
Standing at the edge of the trees was a young woman dressed in a dark blue cloak, a long sword strapped across her back.
She looked no older than twenty.
Her sharp amber eyes studied him carefully.
Then she knelt on one knee.
“My name is Aria,” she said.
“My master has waited seventeen years to meet you.”
- Writer
