The tavern was alive that evening, its rough wooden beams echoing with laughter, clinking mugs, and the endless drone of wild stories. Aric moved through the familiar blur of faces with a practiced ease, pouring ale and gathering coins, his hands working as his mind drifted. Each night was the same, each tale a mirror of the last: a tired old fable of triumph over monstrous foes, slaying dragons, retrieving treasures, surviving lost ruins. All told by men and women who never went farther than the fields beyond the village walls.
Belltown was a quiet place a small blip on a map most adventurers would pass by without a second thought. And that suited Aric just fine. But then, on that particular evening, a stranger strode through the door, cloaked in shadows.
Aric felt his pulse quicken. The man, draped in dark cloth from head to toe, moved with a deliberate calm, his gaze skimming the room before he settled into a corner, silent and watchful. He didn't order a drink, didn't laugh or smile. Instead, he leaned back, tapping long fingers on the table, like he was waiting.
When Aric approached with a hesitant nod, the man's eyes gleamed beneath his hood. "Are you the gambling type, lad?" His voice was smooth, but it had an edge, a razor hidden in silk.
Aric swallowed. "Depends on the wager," he replied, keeping his tone light, though a prickle of unease ran down his spine.
The stranger smirked as if he'd expected that answer. With a flourish, he produced a small, battered chest from beneath his cloak. "One coin," he whispered, pushing it toward Aric. "Just one coin to test your fate."
Against his better judgment, Aric found himself reaching into his pocket, the coin in his hand before he could second-guess himself. The man's grin widened as he slid the coin away, then nudged the chest closer.
"Go on," he murmured. "Draw a slip. Just one."
Aric reached into the chest, his fingers brushing over rough scraps of paper. He pulled one out and unfolded it, squinting in the dim light to read the words scrawled in jagged handwriting: "Congratulations, Hero!"
He looked up, ready to demand an explanation, but the man was already moving. In a single, fluid motion, the stranger reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a long, cloth-wrapped bundle, which he held out to Aric with a strange reverence.
"Your prize," he said, voice barely a whisper, his gaze intent. "Treat it well, for it will bring you more than you bargain for."
The weight of the bundle in Aric's hands was surprising, solid and heavy. When he peeled back a corner of the cloth, he caught a glimpse of an ancient sword its hilt tarnished, the blade dull but faintly gleaming in the candlelight. The metal felt oddly cold against his skin, yet underneath, he sensed a strange warmth, pulsing as if it had a heartbeat.
"Wait what's this supposed to be?" Aric started, looking up, but the stranger was gone. His chair was empty, no sign that he'd been there at all.
Back in his small room above the inn, Aric stared at the sword, turning it over in his hands. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, and yet it filled him with a sense of foreboding, a warning echoing in his mind. He wrapped it back up, tucking it into the corner of his room, but as he lay in bed, his thoughts kept drifting back to the stranger's words.
Sleep came in fits and starts, punctuated by strange dreams. In his mind, he saw flashes of vast, shadowed forests and towering mountains, of fire and smoke and endless darkness. He heard distant whispers, voices speaking in tongues he didn't understand, yet they felt strangely familiar as if calling to some buried part of him.
In the quiet before dawn, he awoke with a start, heart racing, his mind filled with fragments of forgotten dreams. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the feeling, but a soft rustling in the corner made him freeze.
When he looked over, he saw two glowing eyes watching him from the shadows.
Aric sat up slowly, his pulse quickening. The creature stepped forward, into a sliver of moonlight, revealing itself: a fox, small and sleek, its fur an unusual blend of dark gray and silver, shimmering as if it were made of smoke. It tilted its head, regarding him with an intelligence that was far too knowing for a simple animal.
"Who… are you?" Aric whispered, half-expecting the fox to vanish.
But it didn't vanish. Instead, it took a few steps closer, eyes fixed on him with an almost impatient expression.
"You ask a fox its name before you ask it what it wants?" The voice echoed in his mind, low and sly, carrying a hint of amusement.
Aric blinked, sure he was imagining things. "Did you… just speak to me?"
The fox sighed a deep, theatrical sigh that seemed far too human. "I didn't exactly expect a genius. Yes, I spoke to you." It cocked its head, studying him. "Hero, they call you? I expected someone a bit… taller."
Aric stared, utterly lost for words. "I didn't ask to be a hero," he mumbled.
The fox gave a soft huff, its tail flicking in exasperation. "No one ever does. Fate has a way of dumping the unwilling into the most inconvenient of destinies. Now, if you're done gaping, we have work to do."
Aric frowned, finally finding his voice. "And why, exactly, is a talking fox in my room?"
"Because I'm here to make sure you don't die, mostly." The fox's eyes sparkled with something between pity and amusement. "Someone's got to keep you from walking into walls and getting cursed by every enchanted twig you stumble across."
Aric raised an eyebrow. "So… you're my guardian?"
The fox gave a soft snort. "'Guardian' is a bit generous. I'm more… an unwilling companion, let's say." It circled him, sniffing the air around him as if searching for something hidden.
"What's your name?" Aric ventured, trying to keep up with the fox's pacing.
The fox paused, glancing back with a smirk. "Names have power. You can call me Ember."
"Ember," Aric repeated, the name feeling strangely right. "And what exactly are you?"
Ember tilted his head, his amber eyes gleaming. "Something far older than a fox, but not quite as wise as I should be, given the company I keep."
Aric took a deep breath, feeling a mix of irritation and strange comfort. "So, what now?"
Ember's gaze softened slightly, though his voice held a trace of urgency. "Now, hero, we get you out of here. You've made enemies by claiming that sword, and they'll come looking sooner than you think."
A chill ran down Aric's spine. He thought of the stranger's warning, the eerie presence of the sword. "So, what happens if I just… put the sword down? Walk away?"
Ember's laugh was soft, almost pitying. "Walk away, and it'll find you again. That's the nature of curses they never leave until they've taken what they want."
Aric shivered, glancing at the sword in the corner. "And… what does this curse want?"
Ember's gaze darkened. "It's not just a curse, hero. It's a calling. But what it wants… that's something you'll have to discover for yourself."
With that, the fox turned toward the window, looking out into the dark woods that stretched beyond the village. His tail flicked impatiently, signaling for Aric to follow. "Now, are you coming, or are you planning to wait here until the hunters find you?"
Aric grabbed his things, heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement he'd never felt before. As he slung the sword over his shoulder, he realized there was no turning back. Whatever awaited him, he would face it with a sarcastic, mysterious fox at his side.
He stood for a moment, his fingers still wrapped around the hilt of the cursed sword. Ember's impatient tail flicked once more, the swish of it breaking the silence that had settled in the room. The fox's amber eyes never left him, unwavering, as if he were the one who had the choice to make, even though Aric felt like the choice had already been made for him.
"Well, hero?" Ember's voice was sharp but tinged with amusement. "We don't have all night. Those who wish you harm are getting closer by the minute. The cursed sword has a nasty habit of making people come looking for it."
Aric exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the sword settle more firmly on his shoulder. It felt heavier than before as if the blade were testing his resolve, whispering of ancient things he didn't understand. The thought of running of pretending he hadn't accepted this fate sounded good. But as Ember had pointed out, the sword wasn't going to just leave him alone. And neither, it seemed, was Ember.
"You sure you're the right companion for this?" Aric muttered as he moved toward the window, pulling the shutters aside. "I mean, no offense, but you're a fox. You're not exactly a mighty warrior."
Ember's fur rippled, his body giving off an odd shimmer as his eyes narrowed in mock offense. "I may be small, but don't let the size fool you, lad. I've been around longer than you can imagine. I know things that even the brightest minds can't comprehend. Besides, what good would a mighty warrior do you if they ended up dead?"
Aric grinned, despite himself. "Touché. Alright, I'm coming." He slung the rest of his gear over his shoulder and stepped toward the window, glancing at Ember one last time. "You know, I'd still like to know exactly what I've gotten myself into."
"You're in for a lot more than you realize," Ember replied cryptically. "But for now, let's keep you alive. One misadventure at a time."
Aric nodded, rolling his eyes. "Misadventure? Sounds just about right."
As they stepped out into the cool night air, the village felt strangely quiet. The usual hustle and bustle of tavern-goers and drunken conversations had disappeared, leaving behind an eerie stillness. Aric's boots crunched softly on the gravel path as he followed Ember, the fox darting ahead with his usual graceful agility.
Aric couldn't help but wonder about the stranger, the mysterious man who had given him the cursed sword. Was he an ally? An enemy? Or something far more dangerous, like a puppeteer pulling at invisible strings? Whatever the case, he was already feeling the pull of the sword. It was as if the blade itself had an appetite an insatiable hunger for something Aric couldn't yet fathom.
They reached the edge of the village, where the shadows of the trees stretched long under the pale light of the moon. The forest ahead was dark and foreboding, the kind of place where most people wouldn't dare venture after dark.
"I assume you've never been this way before," Ember said, his voice a mixture of amusement and warning. "If you're hoping for a map, forget it. This place doesn't play by the rules."
Aric raised an eyebrow. "So we're just going in blind, then?"
"Oh." Ember's ears twitched as he gazed into the dense woods. "The best way to learn something is to step right into the heart of it."
Aric's stomach clenched. It wasn't exactly the kind of advice that filled him with confidence, but he had little choice now. With a deep breath, he tightened his grip on the sword and followed Ember into the dark embrace of the forest.
As they walked deeper, the trees began to close in around them, their branches twisting together like gnarled hands, blocking out the moonlight. The air grew thick and damp, the scent of moss and earth overwhelming. Every step seemed to echo too loudly in the silence. Aric's senses were on high alert, his eyes darting around as if expecting danger to leap out at any moment.
"You're nervous." Ember's voice broke through the tension, an almost teasing note to it. "Relax. You're supposed to be the hero, aren't you?"
"Yeah, well," Aric muttered, "heroes don't usually run around in the dark with a talking fox and a cursed sword."
"And yet, here you are."
They kept walking, the deeper they went, the more unsettled Aric became. He had expected the forest to be quiet, but it wasn't there were sounds all around them. The rustling of leaves, the distant howls of creatures, the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. And yet, there was something wrong with it. It wasn't the normal wilderness noise. It was more…alive. Almost as though the forest was watching them, waiting.
"Do you hear that?" Aric whispered, stopping in his tracks.
Ember paused, his ears twitching. "I've heard worse. This is a hunting ground, lad. Nothing here is truly innocent."
Aric glanced around, his heart beginning to race. "What do you mean, 'hunting ground'?"
Before Ember could answer, the shadows seemed to shift. A low growl emanated from the trees, followed by a flicker of movement—too fast to follow. Aric instinctively stepped closer to Ember, who didn't seem perturbed in the slightest.
"Brace yourself," the fox murmured. "Something's coming."
Suddenly, the bushes ahead rustled violently. Aric's breath caught in his throat as the moonlight revealed the source of the disturbance—a large creature, its form towering and massive, charging through the underbrush. It was a hulking beast, a mix of shadow and fur, with glowing red eyes and sharp claws that scraped against the earth.
It let out a bone-chilling roar, and Aric's blood ran cold.
"Run!" Ember shouted, bolting toward a nearby tree. "You've got a sword. Time to use it, hero!"
Aric froze, staring at the creature as it closed in, its mouth opening to reveal rows of jagged teeth. His heart thudded in his chest as the cursed sword pulsed in his hand, its eerie warmth suddenly seeping into his bones.
With a shaky breath, he raised the sword, and for the first time since the cursed gift was thrust into his hands, he felt its power surge, a strange, unexplainable connection between him and the blade.
Whatever this creature was, Aric wasn't backing down now.