The sun was high already, pouring golden light over the forest like a sneering reminder that the world had moved on without him.
He groaned, rolling on the hard ground just past the wreckage of where the cave had been. His neck ached, his body screamed, and his mouth tasted like he’d been chewing stale socks. "Perfect," he muttered, holding up his hand to shield his eyes. "Make it through being buried in a falling cave and die from having bad breath. Grand final act to my heroic epic."
Blindly squinting against the light, he moved to his feet—and hesitated.
Tiny motes hung suspended dimly over the wreckage, glowing in the light like fireflies. They moved slowly, flashing in and out of reality. Luther’s brow furrowed. "Great, that doesn’t sound threatening at all. Glowing particles suspended in the midst of destruction. Complete and total safety. Absolutely not cursed."
Even his own irony couldn’t escape curiosity, and his hand climbed involuntarily. One mote dropped like waiting for him. He reached out with the pads of his fingers—
A hiss of pain coursed through him. "Ow!"
He jerked back, covering his palm. A gentle, warm mark burned against his skin. It was not so much a wound, but it burned like one. The form was nearly a sun’s shape, its rays etched gently into his flesh before disappearing as suddenly as they had materialized.
Luther blew out a bitter breath, glancing at his hand. "Great. Now I’m branded like a cow. Next thing you know, they’ll be calling me the ’Chosen One’ and sending me on another kamikaze mission."
When the burn wore off, he sat back, taking in the debris surrounding him. The cave vanished—consumed by ash and rock. For a moment, doubt crept in. Was it all a fever dream? The tree, the sword, the voice—
He booted something. He looked down.
"Oh, come on," he whispered. Read full story at NoveI~Fire.net
There, radiating as if placed there intentionally, lay the sword he had pulled from the tree. Only it wasn’t. The choking, evil energy was nowhere to be found. The blade almost. looked lovely.
Black steel shone with flashes of silver, its hilt decorated in fine etchings that sparkled in the sunlight. It looked less a tool of devastation and more something crafted for deities.
Luther stared at it a while. Then he let out a sigh. "Because, of course, the murder sword lived on. Why not? And my lunch is going to be well and truly buried under that rubble. Figures."
With a flick of his fingers, he loosened a blast of air, picking up the blade in his hand. It rested in his palm as if custom-made for it. That merely made him uneasy.
He took it for a test swing.
The nearest tree crashed in two neat halves.
Luther froze. "Yeah, that’s... not scary at all. Nope. Just a friendly sword that slices trees like twigs. I bet everyone has one." He rubbed his temple. "Seriously, why did you even follow me? Couldn’t you have stayed buried as a nice cursed artifact?"
Before he could argue with the sword once more, there was a scream, a scream that was loud enough to send birds fleeing out of the canopy.
His blood halted. Frightened, he wrapped the sword in magic and pushed it down against his belt. When he looked up, two figures ran into the clearing.
Liliana’s braid oscillated back and forth as she moved forward, narrowed eyes filled with concern. Aithur trailed behind her, his ingrained smirk set in place as if he had already practiced an insult.
"Finally, there you are!" Liliana interrupted. "Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for you?"
Luther winced. "Uh. five minutes?"
"Try hours," she snapped, her hands on hips.
He lifted a finger in half-hearted defense. "To be fair, it’s not that unusual for a kid to wander about, isn’t it?"
"This is not a promenade through the bazaar, brat," Aithur drawled, brushing away nonexistent dust from his jacket. "Unless you include cursed forests and man-eating beasts a lovely scenic attraction."
"Great," Luther sighed, rubbing his hands across his face. "I’m waking up between my two overbearing parents again."
Liliana ignored his whining. Her eyes caught his hand, and she grabbed it before he could hide it. She frowned. "You’re hurt. How?"
His throat tightened. The mark. If she saw—
"Oh, this?" Luther forced a laugh. "Yeah, uh... burned myself. Tried to start a fire. Spoiler: I’m not exactly Boy Scout material."
Liliana’s expression softened slightly, though she still glared at Aithur. "Heal him."
But Aithur merely raised an eyebrow. His eyes slipped over Luther—not to his hand, but to his ear. His smile widened. "Where’s your crystal?"
Luther’s hand leapt up to cover the empty space. His mind spun—the motes. They’d done it. He forgot—he forgot.
He strained into a sheepish grin, nervously kicking the dirt. "Oh, uh... that. Dropped off while I was swimming. In the river. You know how it is. Splash, splash—goodbye crystal."
Liliana blinked. "You swam in the middle of the monster-infested forest?"
"Exercise builds character," Luther said brightly.
Aithur hummed, skeptical. His eyes stayed on Luther a fraction of a second longer, but he didn’t ask. He smiled instead. "Somehow, I don’t think it was the river that was drowning."
Before Liliana could ask more questions, Luther waved angrily down a thin path between the trees. "Hey! Look! That leads straight to the center. We can get there before dark if we run."
And with that, he marched away, anxious to dig the exchange under his own forced cheer.
Liliana exchanged a disbelieving glance with Aithur, then trailed after with a sigh. Aithur trailed behind, his smirk never faltering.
The questions were buried—for now.
But Luther, despite his best efforts to keep it all in a light vein, couldn’t shake the cold prickle on the back of his neck.
The debris behind them stirred faintly. Barely.
Something beneath the wreckage moved. Observing. Waiting.
A silhouette lingers at the treeline, unblinking eyes tracking them step by step as they disappeared into the woods.
Luther shivered, muttering under his breath, "Yep. Absolutely fine. No cursed sword, no weird sun tattoo, no stalkers. Just a regular day in paradise."
The woods enveloped their shadows.