Well, after that torturous and never-ending side quest, I'm really keeping my fingers crossed for a good wielder this time.
I mean, not that I actually have fingers, but y'know, metaphorically.
Fate always brings someone along into this meadow when they need a sword the most. I'm hoping somebody's gonna come soon enough. I hate waiting.
A couple days went by in a blur, and nobody ever came past. The field became quiet, leaving just me and my thoughts, which is an objectively terrifying combination.
In order to entertain myself, I sort through all my memories like they're books in a library.
Each volume is a different wielder. Each chapter is a different scene in their lives.
Some are only one very, very short chapter.
Others, like Reginald, are thousands of pages of never-ending sentences. The type that would put you to sleep at night even if you weren't tired.
Those weren't the ones I usually liked to revisit. After all, I couldn't really sleep. So, they were of no use to me.
My favorite of all time was a woman. She treated me with kindness but was also the most ferocious thing you'd ever lay eyes on. She wasn't the kind of person who just swung me. She used my strengths and made them her own.
Talia. That was her name.
The book of Talia is not very long, unfortunately, though it's at least novel worthy.
She had some good moments before the end.
The only problem with using me as your weapon, and it's a big problem, is that I tend to draw strong enemies. The stronger my wielder, the stronger I am, the stronger the enemies.
Maybe that was why Reginald never got into any fights. He was just too damn weak.
I like to think of myself as a kind of minor deity. I mean, come on. A talking sword? With powers? How much better can it get?
So when someone lucky enough finally gets to pick me up, I think they should treat me with respect and honor me. Is that really too much to ask?
I'm over halfway through my memories of Talia when I feel something. The pull.
It's a feeling I'm used to now. A warning that someone is coming. It always starts the same. A faint itch at the base of my hilt. Then, the tremble of the dirt around me as the footsteps approach.
Here we go again, I sigh. Please don't be like Reginald. Please. Please. Please.
When he finally crouched in front of me, I got a good look at his hands. Calloused. Dirt under the nails. Not a stranger to hard work or worse things. He reached out, fingers hovering just over my hilt.
"Go on," I said, not that he could hear me. "Pick me up. Let's see what you're made of."
My blade is pulled from the dirt, and a young boy flips me around, examining my steel like it's the first time he's ever seen a sword.
Dammit.
It's his first time seeing a sword, isn't it?
Looks like my bad luck is just gonna continue.
He swings me through the air, and that's when I feel it.
A pulse of energy. Not magic. Not the curse. This was a connection.
"Interesting," I say, and the connection comes to a stop.
He heard me.
"What the hell?" he asked, flinching and examining me.
"Language," I warned. "I've been stuck in this dirt for days. The least you could say is hello."
The boy did exactly what I expected.
He dropped me.
The nerve, right? Like, at least set me down carefully. Don't throw me like I'm just some inanimate object. I hate being treated like that.
I lay there, facedown in the dirt, stewing in centuries of accumulated resentment and a new layer of shame. I've been dropped before. Just recently, I was thrown like a boomerang. But this? This felt personal. I didn't deserve to be treated like this after everything I've been through.
He doesn't run, though. That's new. Most of them run when I speak.
This one just stares. His mouth opens and closes a few times as if he's in shock.
Finally, he speaks. "You...talk?"
"Congratulations, genius. Pick me up again and we'll see what other obvious facts I can confirm." Though this time he probably can't hear me. We have to be in contact for that to work.
There's a long pause. He glances around like someone else might be watching this moment and judging him, which they probably are. I know I am.
Hesitantly, he picks me up.
"Hello?" he asks uncertainly. "What's your name?"
"Oh, we're doing introductions? Wonderful. Well, I don't exactly have a name. I've never really thought about that one. Usually, my wielders just call me whatever they want.
"Hmmm…maybe…," he says, scratching his head.
"Might I provide some suggestions?"
He perks up slightly. "Yes! Please."
"How about, Doombringer? Or Shadowfang! Ooh maybe Voidweaver?"
"Yeah…no. Those won't do. Too complicated to remember all that."
What? It's like 10 letters. How hard can it be?
"How about…sword?"
"Huh?"
"Yeah, that's your name! I'll call you what you are. Sword."
NO! NO! That's so bad. Please. Please.
That's what I want to say. But this is the first person to pick me up in so many days, and I'm happy to finally find another wielder. Whether or not they survive for very long, they almost always give me epic adventures and fun fights.
And this boy is different. I haven't felt that connection with anyone since…Talia. And she'd turned out to be the best of the best.
Maybe he had more to offer than what he showed. I had to trust the process.
"That's a brilliant idea. From now on, I shall be known as Sword."
"Great! So why can you talk? Are you going to instruct me on how to fight?"
He didn't know how to fight yet? Well, nevermind. This kid was useless.
I wanna ask him to just put me back where he found me so I can wait for the next one, but that seems a little rude.
I just hate it when kids grab me. They always die the worst deaths. It's painful to watch, because they're supposed to have the rest of their lives ahead of them. And maybe they didn't know what they were getting themselves into.
Maybe I should warn him. About what's to come. The pain and eventual death that he won't be able to avoid.
Instead, for once, I stay quiet.
"Sword?"
Right, I need to respond.
"Of course. I'll teach you everything I know. We begin now."