I
The sword came to be known as many names across history. Excalibur to some, Durandal to others. Now it waited deep in the cavern system under Redfield Island in total darkness, its names eroded to legend. Waiting for its destined wielder. No. It waited for the seed it planted to sprout. The sword had no mind of its own, but instincts lay inside the black blade, forged into it by the creators. And they forced the sword to act. It already lay the groundwork to create a wielder whose dreams matched its own.
A wind stirred deep in the caverns, cold, holding back the heat generated by the laboratory equipment abandoned inside. The sword slept among them, sharing the dream with the poor child destined to awaken it. A cruel fate awaited him, sealed away from humanity's curious eyes. But in the winds the charged fragrance of change rode, twisting into a crescendo as it traveled through the open fields and deep forest of the island, reaching the Stronghold, where the child dreamed of a pillar of light shattering the skies.
Soon, the broken sword would be whole again. The missing piece turned in his bed, clutching a toy, whispering for his father. Can a cold piece of steel have feelings? If not, then why did the sword feel a chill running across the blade? A human might call it pity. Others, hope.
Energy coiled around the sword for a split-second. Then it was quiet, once again slumbering.
Waiting. Praying.
II
Hector Days, the man who ended the world, watched as a group of Scavengers struggled to climb out of the cave. They dragged bags as beaten as their clothes and carried swords as bent and rusted as their spirits. Nothing more than rats scurrying after his crumbs. He smiled, sipping his wine, feeling the breeze on his face.
His masked and cloaked puppets worked fast, shadows emerging from the forest to surround the Scavengers — two women and an older man. The Scavengers screamed and drew their weapons, but it was too late. His soldiers ripped the Scavengers apart with rusty swords and twisted spears, no words spoken, no warnings given.
One of the women saw him, her eyes wide. She had blonde hair and pale skin, now tainted with the blood of her companions. She glared at him, perhaps realizing who he was, then died with a spear in her back.
Wind stirred, and the call of birds echoed, mixed with a faint laughter from the deeper woods. Hector walked to the corpses and nodded at his puppets, who stepped back. Even if they were still too young — the same age as his masterpieces that were stolen long ago — the Legion served him well. They wore masks stylized like dark skulls and hid them under dark cloaks, just to add a layer of mystery.
"I'm not sure I like them," Charles said. He was dressed in that heavy parka of his, all dark, with a cloak over it that obscured his face in the forest gloom. A faint mist swirled around him. Durandite. Hector's biggest creation, even more so than the new world they walked.
"They'll be useful," Hector said. He handed over his wine cup and fixed his tie, then brushed dirt from his suit. The Legion began to tear open the Scavengers' bags. "Think of them as well-trained hounds."
"They look like human children to me," Charles said. "Just like him." He sighed and shook his head, walking closer to squat over the blonde woman. He ripped an iron insignia from her tattered uniform. A cross with a sun over it. Charles grimaced and pocketed it.
"They will help with both our search and building projects," Hector said. "That's all that matters. And I am working on their upgraded version."
Charles stood and shrugged. "I don't know, I don't care, to be honest. Let's just get out of here. These freaks make me sick."
"Thank you."
"The hell you thanking me for?"
"They are meant to be unnerving, so I'm glad you noticed. Children with cold, dead eyes and blood on their hands. Almost a cliché, I'd say, but an effective one. Their job is done, but we still have things to do. Move." Hector turned back to the forest. He did have a lot of work to do, because the world was not quite as perfect as he would have it be, and for that, he needed to find the key that let him rebuild the world in the first place.