My sword, unlike myself, was never granted the grace of rebirth. Each of my returns to life was into a body teetering on the brink of death.
The first was an old lad, his soul departed yet his heart stubbornly beating. There, I was trapped, living out his final days immobile and ignored, until starvation claimed me once more, that I had no chance even to know my own name.
The second life was brief, as either deer or elk, and ended swiftly in the jaws of an unknown predator.
The third life was kinder; I inhabited the body of a young man, the son of a local hunter. This time, survival was within my grasp, and I did not need to conceal my abilities. By some twist of destiny's cruel humor, I bore an uncanny resemblance to Galterd's offspring—a fact that unveiled itself when he mistook me for his kin upon my first foray into his tavern.
Galterd, it seemed, was the true masquerader, having fled the ravages of war to seek refuge here with his kin. He was no mere commoner; his eyes saw through the veils of the world, and with a swift glance, he recognized me for who I truly was.
Throughout my three lives, one relic stood steadfast: my Sword. Bereft of it in my initial two incarnations, I harbored no aspirations for its return. Yet, Destiny shifted on an ill-fated hunt within the enshrouded woods, where I beheld the Shadows converging upon a mound—assailing the man I once deemed father, as if shielding some sacred treasure from his covetous gaze. They were sentinels, guardians of my long-lost Sword, which had lain in wait for me across the eons, through the ascent and demise of empires, and the vanishing of peoples. Enveloped in darkness, it had persevered solely for my grasp. Thus, I forsook the man who raised me, to reclaim the Sword that was rightfully mine.
Reunited, my life transformed. The Sword, now independent, became a source of turmoil. Hiding it was a challenge; it seemed to have forgotten me, or perhaps it resented the long separation. Once belonging to the last purebred Fairy King and then to me, it was a living entity, bound to one day awaken its true nature. For now, it served me, as I served it—a complex bond, especially after rediscovering it amidst the Shadows.
To protect it from discovery, I cast a spell to shield it from human eyes. The young man's body I inhabited was adept at magic, allowing me to easily weave simple enchantments, perhaps still thanks to Galterd son's look, or not… But now, my involuntary indignation and fear of exposure risked revealing my secret to the Counselor.
"I am not young, and my ways are far from noble," I confessed. "Do not judge unless you've walked the path of a hunter."
"Nightmares?" The Counselor probed, only to answer himself, "No, you're not the fearful type."
"Perhaps a Shadow hunts you too, yet cannot claim victory," he mused, his thoughts a potential salvation or doom. As the night wore on, my concern waned.
"Are you ensnared by a spell or curse?" he inquired abruptly. "Could such a thing repel this malevolent entity?" His gesture towards the bed where the Shadow lurked was met with my hesitant admission.
"I'm afraid that won't help…" My words ignited fury in Counselor's eyes.
"I can't kill her!"
His outcry reverberated through the chamber, and the bed's canopy burst open, releasing the enraged Shadow the Counselor couldn't see. It seized him with preternatural speed, lifting the Counselor aloft, his body rigid as if prepared for some grim display. Cursed be the Stars, for this Shadow sought to weave even greater misery into the tapestry of my existence.
The Counselor, once the architect of my soul's demise, now, was facing his own end. His very hands that once endeavored to doom me to oblivion were now themselves fading, his life force being siphoned away by the mere Shadow's insatiable anger. It was an irony not lost on me.
My dark jest played well.