On this peculiar morning, Roy sat down to enjoy his breakfast, an indescribable sensation gnawing at him. It was an inexplicable unease, a feeling that had him befuddled. His gaze wandered to the corner of the room, where his sword lay. But something was amiss; that wasn't its usual spot. Panic gripped him at the thought of his parents stumbling upon it.
"Come on, back to your place," he muttered to the sword, scooping it up and hastily returning it to its sanctuary under his bed. With his sword safely concealed, he descended once more to the ground floor to tend to the remnants of his breakfast before joining his parents in the fields. However, the unsettling feeling persisted, an enigmatic message he couldn't decipher. It was as if someone or something was knocking at the door of his consciousness, yet he couldn't quite open it. He resolved to discuss it with his mother later.
Yet, as he reached for his boots by the back door, he froze in bewilderment. "What in the world..." There it was again, his sword, propped up against the door. "This isn't where I left you! Someone's bound to notice you here," he chastised it. As he approached, it seemed as if the sword were attempting to communicate, but its voiceless metal form was incapable of speech.
"What's the matter?" he inquired of the sword. "Do you have something to tell me?" He chuckled at the absurdity of expecting a sword to respond verbally. "Perhaps that's it," he mused aloud to the empty room as he picked up the sword and pressed it against his forehead. "Show me what it is."
In an instant, a vision unfolded in his mind, initially blurry but gradually sharpening. It was a café, a terrified girl about his age, and a menacing, imposing figure. They left together, and he led her to a desolate, foreboding place. "Is this girl in trouble? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" he inquired of the sword. "We need to help her," he determined.
The sword whispered faintly in his ear, limited by its foresight, as the events had not yet transpired but were imminent. Securing the sword beneath his belt, it concealed itself beneath his clothing, and he bolted out the door.
With a clear purpose and destination in mind, he sprinted toward the town, leaving his perplexed parents in his wake. They would have words with him later, but the urgency of his mission took precedence. He navigated the streets, traversed a park, and followed a meandering path overgrown on both sides, eventually leading to a formidable, barbed-wire-topped fence.
Though there had been a gap there previously, it had been sealed shut. He drew his sword and, with a single, resolute strike, severed the metal obstruction. Squeezing through the gap, he pressed forward into a place he had never ventured before—old, rusted, eerie, and unsettling, with a distinct scent of dampness, rust, and the faint odor of a swamp.
Guided solely by the instructions of his sword, he heard muffled cries in the distance, a faint glimmer of light beckoning him onward. Fear gripped him, and he confided in his sword, "I'm scared." The sword returned to his forehead, and he closed his eyes.
It whispered courage into his mind. "Be brave. We'll see this through together. That girl needs your help, and we're her only hope." The fear receded, replaced by determination, and Roy charged forward.