As night yielded to dawn, slumber eluded me still. My mind was ensnared by the evening's discourse with Galterd at the local tavern, the lad as ancient as the highlands themselves. But he bore witness to my former glory and mourned its passing, and still's remained by my side. His reminders of my forsaken oath I bore without ire, for his grief was profound—the loss of his sole heir, a wound unhealed. Daily, he sought his kin's visage in mine, a hope futile and forlorn.
"How long will you tarry?" Galterd's inquiry haunted me, persisting as the sun's rays dared to blind.
Indeed, how long?
To intervene or not, a quandary ever-present. Magic had almost forsaken this vessel, and years of fruitless pursuit had not stirred its dormant power. Strength and wisdom from a life once lived were mine to wield, yet to what end?
Long had I been standing at destiny's crossroads, each new day as aimless as the last. The venison I secured transformed into mere gold coins, their purpose as elusive as companionship. Solitude was my sanctuary, sleep a necessity unfulfilled. For though I lived anew, vitality was singular and precious.
Yet, as I sought rest upon my couch, a peculiar rapping stirred the silence. Not from the door, but from within—a sound known since my last rebirth.
There, cloaked in Shadow, my Sword struggled against its bindings. Its attempts, fervent yet futile, for I had bound it with chains, ensuring it would not elude me again.
But, the more I endeavored to confine it, the more vehemently the Sword rebelled, escalating its own mischief.
Had any soul witnessed its last escapade—soaring through the casement, cleaving the roof tiles asunder—the Councilor's hounds would be scouring the lanes by now.
This obstinate blade, in its zeal, sought to claim any relic of sorcery or antiquity within reach, causing more robbery than any real thief. A timely binding should have been its Fate when opportunity allowed me to catch it back. Now, all I could muster was to shroud it from sight and shield it from capture.
It bore the weight of years, as did I, yet patience was its unchosen virtue.
"Soon," a whisper to myself, a pray oft repeated, yet change remained a stranger to us both. I was ensnared by anticipation, and the Sword, a reluctant companion in this vigil.
Alas, slumber became impossible that night as I had to endure another Sword's tantrum.