Major Ben Low was to Jessi Bellows, a hero amongst the soldiers. He had an unwavering patriotic vision of this country and had won many battles. To Omari though, he was another pain in the ass.
Ben Low was a middle-aged old fart that had an obnoxiously high and mighty personality. He was so annoying- he just- you know what? Just read a conversation he and Omari had.
"So you're the chosen one that is supposed to save all of Malta, huh?" Ben Low would sarcastically say.
Omari rolled his eyes, "Yeah, sure."
"Got some attitude for such a young kid," he scoffed.
Omari's eyes squinted at him, "I'm twenty-six."
"Yeah, well at this age, anyone younger than me is a kid," he huffed.
Omari watched any respect for this man slowly dwindle away.
"Now listen here, kid," he cleared his throat. "This old coot is supposed to train you in the ways of combat. Heard you got some in your time spent in the military, but being a nurse, I bet you were some weak limp fighter. I'm here to put in all my precious time and energy, and make you an expert!"
Jessi, who was on the sidelines, eyes lit up and called out to Omari, "He's a real good professional, Omari! He can teach you how to wield a sword properly!"
"Oh yeah?" Omari clicked his teeth, glaring at the man. "I'm sure he just knows everything."
"I'm a close second," he stated, clearing his throat and said, "But now! Let me see that little blade you got there."
Omari sighed. He pulled the thing out of its newly made sheath and the man eyed the sword.
"Mm, mm, I see, I see," he nodded and smirked. "I'll be teaching you proper form with a steady hand. You'll become an actual warrior when I'm done with you, unlike those ugly Hóngyèse. Do you hear me, soldier?"
He grimaced. Omari hated being addressed that way.
"I said do you hear me, soldier?!" Major Ben Low barked.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Omari groaned.
Ben Low's brow raised, "You certainly have a sharp tongue. One that likes to talk back! I suppose I can also teach you some manners too!"
Yep, Omari hated him. Hated all of this.
-
Yes, the major taught him how to handle the sword more, how to swing it or whatever, but did he really need the most infuriating instructor there was? But he supposed not many in the high ranks of the Maltan army was any better. He thankfully watched Jessi cut their session short when she couldn't sit by any longer and begged the major to show her some of his moves.
Omari broke away after that, hiding out in his room. Major Ben Low said it'd only be a matter of time under his tutelage that Omari would need to learn the way of the sword and they'd ship him off to war. But the poor nurse would make sure to drag his feet on learning anything. It's best that he played dumb with this guy too so he didn't have to quickly rejoin the army and meet even more stupid guys like him.
But Omari's eyes lowered with an ungrateful distaste for it all. Even if he slowed the process down as much as possible, it was inevitable to be shipped off. Especially when you have the king's watchful eyes looking over you.
Sitting in his room, he reflected on everything. Then Omari gazed down at the sword, it resting in his hand, and his brows furrowed. He threw it across the room and barked, "I don't want to kill anyone!" He stood up and yelled, "I'm not some tool you can use whenever you please! And I'm certainly not going to stain my hands with blood because of you!"
Omari huffed, throwing himself onto his bed and curling into the tangled blankets. He grunted, "I've had to defend myself a lot… And yeah… I know I didn't come out of every encounter with clean hands… But… I don't want to be forced to go out there and kill people for them! I don't want to be their slave! Their dog!" His eyes became heavy with sorrow, "But what choice do I have? The king will deem me as a traitor and get me killed. Or maybe he'll just straight up execute me. But…" His teeth gritted, "I don't want to die. I want to live! I guess… I'm selfish that way."
He peered over to the blade that had fallen to the ground. He stared at it, began to shiver, and whispered, "I'm sorry… I really am. I don't want to kill anyone."
Omari gazed at it for a second longer then stood from his bed and picked it up. He gently rested it on the side and said, "Listen… I don't know if you're sentient or not. You seem to make your own decisions on things when I definitely didn't call for them. So… if you are alive…" He flicked off particles of dirt from the sword, "Sorry for throwing you. I just… I don't want to be used as an instrument of war. Clearly… I don't want to kill. I'm a nurse… I'm supposed to heal… Not kill."
Omari delicately spoke to the blade, "You are super powerful. If you could just help me reach that potential power somehow, I'd be forever grateful. Then… no one could tell me what to do. The king can't command anything from me and I can just fly away. Fly far away from this hot mess of a war."
He peeked at the weapon and saw… nothing. Nothing changed.
Omari clicked his teeth and moved on, telling himself how foolish he was.
-
He escaped sword training another day. Able to haggle his way out of it. What was the point of going out onto the training grounds at this time of the year anyway? The winter was in full force and the snow was extremely heavy. Hopefully, if they have enough snow days, then he could delay his impending departure even further.
Omari hummed to himself while eating an apple. He traveled down the halls, with not much to see, but eventually found himself in a very warm entrance. He peeked inside and saw a lush greenhouse. It was filled to the brim with strange glowing plants. Some of them moved on their own and some showed a bright iridescent shimmer. He fell in awe at seeing such a splendid place but then noticed that someone else was in there. Omari turned to see a young man, a witch it seemed, levitating a water pitcher to pour into a pot dangling high up above their heads. The pitcher slowly came down and that's when Omari got a good look at this witch. He wore a see-through orange hat that sparkled and was dressed in purple gardening gear.
He possessed a gentle face to himself, but also had very dark black skin and a shaved head. The stranger also had white glittering freckles. The witch looked to whoever entered the greenhouse and pleasantly smiled, waving, "Hello!"
"Uh… Hi," Omari unsurely waved back.
The magic-user hummed, swaying their hands that brimmed with magic which brought over a small bag of fertilizer, "Come on in. I don't bite."
"R-Right," Omari nodded. He eyed their interesting collection of exotic and mesmerizing foliage, wondering what properties they could entail. He shook his head then introduced himself, "I'm Juma Omari."
"I know," the witch replied. "The famous hero." He plopped the bag down next to an odd-looking venus flytrap and lifted a hand up for Omari to shake, "Tutzi Benz."
Omari took the hand and shook it once, but pulled it back to see that it was covered in manure. He grimaced, but it wasn't like he hadn't gotten poop on his hands before. He was a nurse after all.
The witch made an awkward chuckle and went to wipe the fertilizer off with a handkerchief, "Sorry about that. Being in the garden can get a bit poopie."
"It's okay," he responded and asked, "So… you're a… gardener witch?"
"A green witch," Tutzi explained with a giggle. "This is where I practice all sorts of spells of botany."
Omari's eyes lit up, "Really? Like what?"
"Like to help a seed grow," he hummed as the witch waved a hand over a barren pot, but then magic bloomed from the soil and Omari watched a small plant emerge. He gasped in amazement as Tutzi grew it more and more until it became a very recognizable tomato plant. Tutzi plucked a freshly ripened tomato and handed it to Omari with a clean hand. "Here you go."
Omari gazed with wonder at something that would have normally taken months to grow; to be grown in a matter of seconds. He stared then bit into it for a taste test. To his delight, it was so sweet and plump. He grinned, "I love it!"
"Thank you," Tutzi nodded. "I honed my magic for years to create the perfect crop."
"What for?" Omari awaited the answer in anticipation.
"Well… the army sometimes has food shortages," Tutzi explained. "My magically infused super crops should be able to feed them. I have harnessed the correct spells and Black Gold to-"
"Black Gold?!" Omari gasped. "Wha-?!"
"Oh, you're confused," Tutzi noted. "It's alright. Most non-magic users are. But we can donate our monthly Black Gold tax to different sections of the military. Me and all my friends donate it to the architecture facilities, to grow an abundance of crops to feed not just our soldiers but to civilians too."
"Oh," Omari blinked, surprised that this was a thing. "So you can choose where your Black Gold goes?"
"Sure can!" Tutzi beamed.
"Ah... " Omari muttered, he was happy to hear that the military wasn't all too crooked when it came to the handling of Black Gold.
Tutzi gazed at Omari and then asked, "So… what brings the Great Hero Omari to this humble greenhouse?"
Omari's shoulder's briefly flinched at that but he managed to play it off, "Oh-um! You know, sword break! Can't overwork myself or I can't fight for Malta."
Tutzi smiled and straightened up, "Then let's both work our best for Malta."
He felt a little defeated, but just decided to agree, "Uh-huh."
-
Omari was alone in the library, watching the snowfall. It was a quiet, gentle fall, each flake slowly sinking softly to the ground. In the dimly lit light of the library, where the shadows steadily encroached onto flickering lamplight, all was still and all was tempered.
He sat there, gazing up at the outside. He had to admit, over the past few weeks of being hit over the head by that major, he had gotten better at swordsmanship. And Omari actually had to pretend like he was listening to Ben Low's instructions whenever the king would come to do his monthly visits. He was afraid that it was only a matter of time before they either realized that he wasn't paying attention or sent him off to the frontlines.
His eyes crinkled at the thought. Omari really didn't want to go… but he didn't want to die either. Probably a more selfless person would have just killed themselves rather than face such an obtuse and looming fate, but unfortunately, Omari was raised to have too much self-preservation. He recalled being conditioned at a very young age with the desperate need to survive. To have that drive to keep on going and living. No matter what.
He felt somewhat nauseous at the thought.
Then there was a creak in the library and Omari turned to see that Jessi was there, two bottles of wine in one hand and two empty glasses in another. She timidly approached him, saying, "Hey…"
Omari stared at her then nodded, "Hey."
She gently placed the glasses and wine on the table and took a seat. Jessi released a breath as she gazed out to the falling snow as well. How it slowly and quietly built onto the windowsill.
Jessi glanced at him and quickly stated, "Heard you've been improving."
"Mm," Omari murmured. Every time his improvement was mentioned, it was like there was this sick prickling in his stomach.
"Major Ben Low told me… probably once spring comes."
Omari sighed, long and heavy.
Jessi stared at her friend then glanced at the sword on the table. It rested there, seemingly unaffected by all the world around it. She slowly reached over and took it by the hilt, flicking it here and there, catching her reflection ever so often. She remarked, "It truly is a beautiful blade…" Her eyes lowered and she muttered, "I wish…"
Omari watched her then added, "That you found the blade instead of me?"
Jessi's shoulders jolted and her face turned to show something conflicted. But she didn't have to be, Omari understood, "Me too. I wished you found it as well. You're the one who wants to fight, who knows how to swing a sword. You would have been a million times more fit to be the partner for that blade."
"I… I didn't want to seem too brazened about it, I guess…" Jessi stated.
Omari looked at her and said, "Jessi."
"Mm?"
"You don't have to be so formal with me," Omari told her. "It's not like I'm mad anymore and even if I was… what would be the point? Only you, me, and Pallavi know the truth. Hanging on to what you've done in the past… it isn't going to help us, is it? With the situation we're in, what's the point of staying mad at you?"
"But what I did…"
"Was monstrous," Omari affirmed. "But neither of us can do anything about it now. We're stuck in this situation… so… we might as well work with what we got. Continuing to be mad at you won't help anything… I think."
"But I was also lying…"
Omari grimaced, then sighed, "I wish you didn't tell everyone that I defeated Tao Liu with a magic sword. But… you were trying to protect me, right?"
Jessi gave a short smile and she replied, "I thought you would quietly hate me forever."
"For a good while there I was going to," Omari confessed. "But you… you are my friend. The one I've had the longest. In a war that has taken away more friends that we have spent less time with, than how long we have known each other. We've gotten this far. Anyways, it's tiring to be angry at things you can't fix."
Jessi peered at him then mumbled, "I'm still sorry."
Omari sighed, reaching out and patting her on top of the head, "It's alright." He removed his hand and continued gazing out the window.
She then turned to the sword again and wondered, "Maybe… Do you think it would have chosen anyone who walked by that day? That if we split off differently in the opposite paths, the ones we took, that if I went your way through the woods, it would have chosen me?"
Omari's brow lifted a bit and debated, "Perhaps. But even I don't know what this thing wants."
"It's so strange," she muttered. "A sword that has some form of… intelligence, I guess. Some will or rules. That has been sealed into a wall for maybe thousands of years. There really is nothing like it."
Omari glanced down at it then whispered, "I'll trade you a chocolate bar for it."
Jessi burst out laughing and playfully pushed his shoulder, "Stoopp. This is serious."
He chuckled, then his eyes turned up to the ceiling, "I wish I could be joking about this." She listened to him, "I wish I could trade spots with you. Cause I'd do it… in a heartbeat! Like if you really wanted it, I'd do it. No matter what it took." He huffed, "It just doesn't make any sense, you know? If this is like one of those 'Chosen Ones' business then why even chose me? I hate fighting."
"You really do," Jessi faced the blade. "Hey sword, did you hear? This guy hates fighting most of all. A real pacifist. You won't like him. He can't slice and dice enemies like I can. I can really get in there and use you for what you're made of. You're a sword, so I'll use you like a sword and cut down all my enemies. I could become the Hero of Malta. Wouldn't you like that? Sword? Come on. Wouldn't you like to be used by someone who knows how to handle weapons? I like magic too. I can learn magic!"
She stared and waited, but obviously, there wasn't going to be an answer. If there wasn't an answer when Omari talked to it, then what luck does she have? She sighed, "So… Do we know if this sword is like… living yet? Does it have a soul or a brain?"
"Nope," Omari replied. "The experts have no idea. It's just a weapon that's really out of our league."
"But it seems to just decide to do things before you even know what's happening," she countered. "I feel like there's got to be something in here. I just don't know what."
Omari gazed at the blade and then held out his hand for it. Jessi hesitated but begrudgingly gave him his sword back. Omari raised it up to look into the reflection and said, "Why did you pick me? Don't you see we aren't compatible?"
"It was desperate," she joked.
Omari snorted.
Jessi frowned then suggested, "Maybe… it wasn't made for killing."
"Huh?" Omari blinked.
"I don't really know," Jessi said. "But maybe a sword like that isn't supposed to be brought into battle. That'd kinda make sense since it chose you, the ultimate peace-mongerer."
"Hey."
"So maybe it's supposed to be a decoration, you found it in a wall after all," she stated.
"Then what's up with its crazy strong powers and why is there probably a person inside of it?"
"Hey, I'm just throwing out theories. One could stick!" she laughed. He didn't find it quite amusing, so she continued, "Listen Omari. Whatever civilization once owned this sword is long gone by now, but there are still plenty of swordsmiths in this world. And I've talked to a lot of those guys. A lot of them agree that some swords aren't made for fighting. Apparently, in Hóngyè, some say they use it for dancing."
"Dancing?" Omari scoffed.
"Right?!" Jessi beamed. "So maybe this sword wasn't meant to go on the battlefield. Maybe it was a gift or something else. Lots of craftsmen say they don't even see swords as a weapon. They see it as an extension of yourself. Like your arm and then you use it for the greater good."
Omari's brows furrowed and he mumbled, "But the king…"
"It's your sword, Omari!" Jessi exclaimed. "You use it. And hell, if you don't want to, don't spread bloodshed. You won't have to kill anyone anyways because out there," she smirked, "I and thousands of other Maltan soldiers got your back!"
Omari stared then smiled. He bopped her on the head with the bottom of the wine bottle and said, "Never get rid of that enthusiasm, Jessi Bellows. It's what keeps us going."
She blinked and grinned, "Truly."
He remained quiet for a moment longer then spoke up, "Jessi?"
"Yeah?"
"I… don't know how to ask you this," he muttered. "I don't know if it's right to either. Since we just reconciled."
"Don't overthink it and just ask."
"Well… Ben Low is teaching me some pretty vicious combat," Omari stated.
"He sure is," Jessi whimsically sighed. "Wish it was me."
"Yeah um… but you know me," he mumbled. "I wouldn't like that stuff."
"I know."
"So…" Omari sighed. "So could you teach me non-lethal combat?"
Her eyes widened with surprise.
"I know, probably not your thing either," he nodded. "But… if I could just learn to disarm the enemy, then kill them… that could help."
Jessi thought about it then murmured, "... Okay, but you didn't learn it from me."
"Right!"
"My reputation would go through the floor if people found out," she said. "But I know some tricks, even though it's not my forte."
"That's fine," Omari replied. "Anything will do."
Jessi peered at him then remarked, "Geez, you really hate violence, huh?"
"I mean… I can defend myself," Omari answered. "But killing… no."
She hummed, "Well this can be my way of repaying you, for shoving you into the sticky situation of 'Chosen Hero'."
Omari chuckled, "Heh, that would help."
They chatted on throughout the night, opening those wine bottles and gazing out at the gentle snowfall.