The reason I pulled this sword free was simple: I wanted to wield it—not just as a weapon, but as a means to protect the world.
This blade had been forged in pain, tempered by loss, and now it was mine to carry.
Yet, even as I gripped it, I knew it wasn't just mine. It was a legacy, a reminder of what had been lost and what still needed protecting.
As a gift, I would give Mora my old blade. Perhaps she would learn to wield it, perhaps it would teach her how to protect.
Or perhaps it would simply be a reminder of what she could one day become.
Either way, it didn't matter.
I turned back to the stone, the memories of my past swirling in my mind. Slowly, I knelt before it, laying my hand on its weathered surface.
For the last time, I offered it a song—a song not for me, but for her.
"Peaceful water, calming sea,
Dreadful past, remember me.
If she still wanders, maybe I'll cry,
She's my mother; let her die.
Peaceful water, calming sea,
Striving for peace, yet I can't breathe.
Oh, if she cries out, let me see,
My mother is peaceful, so let her breathe."
The final note faded into the stillness of the forest, and I closed my eyes. The song wasn't just a farewell—it was a promise, a prayer, a piece of my soul left behind.
I rose, gripping the sword with newfound resolve. This blade wasn't merely a weapon. It was a part of me, a piece of my journey.
The forest paths gave way to cobbled streets and the bustle of the town.
The familiar sights and sounds stirred something in me, a quiet pang of nostalgia for the fleeting moments of peace I'd found here.
I made my way to the modest home Mora and Virtue shared. It felt oddly distant, as if it were already a memory I'd soon have to leave behind.
Mora sat at the table, carving an intricate design into a block of wood. She glanced up, her sharp eyes softening when they met mine.
"You're back," she said, her voice casual, but I could hear the relief beneath it.
I unsheathed the old sword, its worn blade catching the light, the years of use evident in the nicks along its edge.
"This is for you," I said, placing it gently on the table before her.
Mora frowned, pausing her work. "You're giving me your sword? What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Learn to use it. Learn to protect yourself," I said. A faint smile tugged at my lips, but it didn't reach my eyes. "You're stronger than you think. This sword was my beginning. Maybe it can be yours, too."
She picked it up, turning the blade over in her hands with a quiet reverence. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice filled with quiet determination. I knew she'd make good use of it.
Before I could say more, Virtue entered, her presence filling the room. She glanced between Mora and me, her brow raising slightly, eyes flicking to the sword on the table.
"What's this?" she asked, her voice a mix of suspicion and amusement.
"Just a gift," I said, stepping back. "And a goodbye."
For a brief moment, her expression faltered, something flickering in her gaze. "You're leaving, then?"
I nodded, the weight of the moment settling deep in my chest. "It's time."
Virtue crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You always were stubborn," she teased, though her voice softened. "Just… don't forget this place, alright?"
"I won't," I replied, meeting her gaze a moment longer than necessary. An unspoken understanding lingered between us—something neither of us dared to voice.
I turned to leave, but Virtue's voice stopped me. "Be careful out there."
I glanced back at her, offering a fleeting smile. "I will."
I didn't linger. The path ahead was clear. Time to move on. South, to the capital.
The guardhouse loomed at the edge of town. I entered without hesitation, and there, waiting for me, stood Greymont.
His sharp eyes took me in, his usual scrutiny apparent.
"So, you've made up your mind," he said.
I nodded. "Yes. Enlist me."
Greymont didn't waste time. He moved to a desk, picking up my silver card and marking it with a soldier's badge.
The action was simple, but it carried weight—this was no longer just a token; it was my entry to something much larger.
"Your first stop is the capital," Greymont continued, his voice steady. "It's a place of opportunity, but it's not easy. You've been there before, so you know how long the journey is. Even with Navatar, it'll take at least a month. And once you're there, you'll be tested by the royal guard. Don't expect anything grand at first—low-level missions, probably scouting, maybe worse. Prove yourself, or you won't last."
I took the silver card from him, its weight now carrying a new significance. It wasn't just a piece of metal—it was my future, my purpose.
Greymont's eyes locked onto mine. "Watch yourself. The capital isn't kind to newcomers, especially those with big dreams."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, tucking the card away.
Without another word, I turned and left the guardhouse. I walked through the town, heading south.
The road stretched out before me, the familiar buildings and faces receding behind me with each step.
The capital lay ahead, its promise a beacon on the horizon, but the journey would take time.
I moved quickly, setting my sights on the trail ahead, following a well-worn path.
As the sun began to dip low in the sky, I felt the weight of the journey settle over me.
Even with Navatar, it would take at least a month.
I reached the edge of the forest, the trail opening up into a wider stretch of road.
I called for Navatar, and the deer made of Song appeared from my palm, its iridescent form shimmering in the fading light.
I mounted the creature, feeling the connection between us as its hooves beat a rhythmic tattoo against the earth.
The path ahead was long, and the road would be hard. But for now, all I could do was ride.
This journey was going to take a long time.