Hmmm… Do I choose to stoke the fire and make Gael more angry? Or do I use my years of learned patience and be the bigger person?

I pondered a good moment before making my decision.

You know what? Screw being the bigger person! I am a sword! And what do swords do? Fight! And I chose to fight with fire!

Just kidding. I needed Gael's help, so I used my years of experience to calm Gael down.

“Alright. Alright,” I said. “You’re right. Nothing good comes out of war. Unless you’re the winner.”

“Why don’t you get it? There are no winners in war!” Gael shouted again, motioning his emotions through a frustrated, downward whisk of his hand, and leaving it wide open as if asking, why?! “Ugh! Why am I even arguing with a sword? You know nothing of the history of Regalia!”

Breathe. I told myself. Phew. In and out. In and out. Calm... Calm yourself. Don’t fight the youngster.

Gael may have complained about arguing with a sword, but did he stop? Nope, he kept hammering away at me. In fact, he completely forgot about the thin walls of his rented lodging and his worry about others overhearing us. But I expected as much from the stubborn Artificer.

“Gosh, darn it!” Gael grunted, unable to hold himself back.

He then proceeds to furiously wave his arms around in the air, lecturing the supposedly clueless me who lived for thousands of years.

“The accumulated knowledge and wisdom of four great ages were burned to ashes by the last devastating war. Countless people died! All civilizations- No, the entire planet backtracked to an age of rudimentary magics and medieval technologies! Mythical techniques, the epitome of our ancestors’ achievements, are forever lost! Can you even understand that?!”

Panting to catch his breath, I took a moment to collect my thoughts and cool my emotions before responding.

“Yeah, I do understand. More than you will ever know, actually. But you’re right. The war led to devastating losses. However, I’m not arguing about the events that passed, and along with it, the losses and wins-“

“Wins?” Gael scoffed. “Did the alliance of Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and Halflings gain anything in the end? As the survivors of the Fourth Age, do you think us descendants won anything? Halfway through the Fifth Age, and we are still dealing with the catastrophic aftermaths of war! Do you think the manifestation of Dungeons and the constant Dungeon Outbreaks are good things?!”

“Can I finish? I said I’m not arguing about any of that.”

“Then who was the one ready to start a war in their own honor, huh?” Gael snapped back.

Got me, Gael did.

“…Okay, fine. I admit I said that. Half-jokingly, alright. But I-“

“War is no joke.”

“Alright, fine. You’re right. War is no joke. I apologize,” I said, acquiescing to the much-too-serious Gael. “But all else aside, you know what? Learning to loosen up would do you good.”

Gael glared daggers at me. “That’s where you’re wrong. War and the ever-growing Dungeons are no matters to ‘loosen up’ about.”

“I’m not- Haaaa… That’s not what I’m getting at. Just listen for the sake of listening. Okay?”

“Fine,” Gael said with a grunt, but he crossed his arm as if ready to deflect anything I had to say.

“Thank you. I can tell you from personal experience that taking everything too seriously will rot you inside out. After millennia of being unable to do anything about the ways of the world, you’ll go mad or turn evil yourself. The world is inherently flawed and plagued with unrighteousness and unfairness.”

Gael scoffed, “Psh. I don’t know what you’re implying, but the Great Spirit created us with the ability to make our own decisions. We can choose right over wrong.”

I snorted at the naivety, painfully twisting my hearing.

“Oh, to be young and du-“ Catching myself, I tried using a better word. “…Delusional. I like your ideologies, kid. But reality is never ideal.”

Gael gave me the eye, but I shrugged it off. “Don’t take my word for it. As you age, witness for yourself. There are various shades of good and evil—even a middle ground where both right and wrong are both correct. But there are some things we cannot do anything about.”

“…” Gael went silent as if my words triggered a personal memory frozen in time.

“Seems like you already may know some of what I mean. Since you gave me a history lesson, let me give you a generic one back.” Swishing in the air, I pointed my sharp tip at Gael and gave him a piece of my profound wisdom. Courtesy of my benevolence, of course. “The hard and rigid will crumble under the heavy pressure of reality. Be flexible and laugh at the fallacies of life. You’ll withstand the trials and live longer as your true self that way.”

Seeing Gael digesting what I had to say, I saw hope for my new owner. “For now, let’s say we’re both right and wrong. Perspective and each unique situation can change everything.”

Gael did not respond, so I kept at it.

“Um, anyways… Greetings to you, New Owner.”

Gael gave me a flabbergasted look—wary and in utter disbelief that I tactlessly greeted him after our heated argument. Lines still scrunched his forehead from our differences. Not the best timing for introductions, I agree. But we needed to get along. I already waited all day. And it was my goal to find common ground in order to cooperate.

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“Ahem,” I said to break the ice. “So… I heard that you’re aiming to be an Artificer.”

Gael tensed up and narrowed his yellow eyes at me. It seems I was not so good at this talking thing. Although nothing in the room changed, the distance between us seemed to expand leaps away. Quickly, I tried to diffuse Gael’s added guard.

“Wait! I’m only saying this because I knew a Master Artificer once upon a time.”

“Ha,” Gael snorted. “Impossible.”

Phew. I breathed in relief. Okay, good. Talking is good. Dialogue is good. Progress can still be made.

“Shouldn’t I be proof enough?” I said, trying to get Gael more engaged. “Me—a talking sword? You know about Saber, the talking piece of armor, right? Well, I know him. That should say more than enough.”

“So? Who doesn’t know of the legendary talking armor? That doesn’t prove you knew a Master Artificer.”

“Yeah, but I know him, know him. I knew Saber personally during the Third Age.”

“Again, impossible,” Gael confidently stated while shaking his head under the black cloak. “Everyone knows of the Ten Talking Swords of Power and the accompanying Sheaths made by the mighty Artificer Groland, the Master of All Crafts.

With complete certainty, Gael proclaimed, “And there is no eleventh talking sword.”

I trembled upon hearing Father’s name once again but shuddered at my truth. True, there was no eleventh talking sword made by Father. At least, not talking until now, that is.

“Then you know not of the greatest Artificer's magnum opus,” I muttered back.

“H-How do you know that!?” Gael shouted, faltering about what he believed about me. Seemed like Gael somehow knew about me yet not knowing who I was.

“You want to know how I know?”

“Of course! How?! Why do you know about that failed piece!?”

If I could scowl, that would be exactly what I would be doing to Gael right now. “Failed, huh? Says who?”

“Not many know this, but Great Groland wrote it himself in a rare, surviving journal. A select few directly related to the Great Artificer also hinted at the possibility as well. But probably most well known, are the various, exaggerated rumors spread by the ten talking armors. Some, even from the ten talking swords.”

“Oh?” I said, my voice lowering two octaves. “Even the ten swords, was it? That’s news. Even Helios? He said that, too?”

“You know the true name of the Golden Radiance? The great sword of the Elves? Who are you?!”

Elves? When did that happen? But this Gael… He somehow knew much more than he should. Was it because of the journal? Father’s personal journal? Why did Gael have it? But I want it!

Gael did not answer my first question, so I did not answer his either. Instead, I asked him a question of my own.

“My turn. We’ve established a few things. One, for certain, you are an aspiring Artificer who knows a bit of history. And two, I know many, many more things than you think. Maybe my knowledge can even help you on your journey. Do you want to find out?”

“…I don’t know… Words are tricky. I need more concrete information to judge. Tell me who you are.”

Not about to lose the opportunity, I questioned, “Okay, but first, can I ask why you chose such a difficult path in this current day and age? Not only are required resources lacking, but the previous techniques used to craft items to qualify for the class ranks are lost.”

Gael glared at me, but his eyes seemed more hurt than angry. With deep yellow irises that seemed to penetrate past my metal casing, Gael blinked, sighing before relenting to a civil response.

“To rebuild my family’s name. That’s all I’ll say for now.”

“Oh,” I said, freezing midair as a million possibilities came flooding to mind. Not wanting to offend Gael, I kept my thoughts to myself.

What does that mean? How should I proceed? Can I indirectly poke around for more? What should I ask?

“My turn,” Gael said. The next words came sharp and heavy. “I still don’t fully trust you. Are the Dungeons now capable of making talking swords?”

Guess Gael doesn’t believe me. Or he’s probing me. Gael presumed a few things, which were all wrong. But, not going to lie, it was funny.

“Made by a Dungeon? The great me? Haha! Oh, that's a good one!” Seeing Gael frown, I stopped laughing. “But with my twisted fate, sometimes, I think it would be rather nice to be made by those mysterious but malicious youngsters.”

“Young? The only ones capable of making such advanced weaponry would be an older Dungeon such as the massive Twilight Dungeon in the middle of Dwelf City. It’s grown, consuming people and knowledge, and has existed for many hundreds of years. Maybe even a thousand years!”

“Mere Hundreds is young, my skeptical new owner. Even a thousand years is nothing.”

Gael gave me a dubious face.

“Should I dispel some of your doubts? It’s pretty simple math, actually. Each era is roughly a thousand years, give or take a few hundred years. And Father and his ‘talking series’ are from the Third Era, a minimum of over two thousand years ago. So you see, hundreds of years—even a thousand years is nothing to us.”

“…Father? And to you?” Gael said, now understanding my true greatness. “I knew you were special just by recognizing some of the mythical alloys in your blade! But… No way…”

“Way, my guy. Indeed! T’is, I-“ I paused, well, because I did not have a true name. No matter! Another to-be nickname will do! “Prostrate before the Greatest Sword of All Time!”

Frowning while scratching the hood on his head, Gael said, “But Master Groland wrote that you could not speak nor fly. He only mentioned that the failure was the biggest regret-“

My new owner truly knew how to break a talking sword's heart. The spoken words tore open old wounds that never fully healed. I drooped lifelessly down from the air like a deflated hot air balloon and hid myself in the bottom corner of the room, tucked beside a drawer with a mirror and a thin wall.

“Pi, ri, pu!” Nuria was with a cute each behind Gael’s head.

“Okay, okay. I was wrong, alright?”

To Nuria’s scolding, Gael tiptoed over on the floorboards.

“Hey… I didn’t think before speaking,” Gael said to me, trying to appease me.” You know, I didn’t mean anything bad by what I said.”

“Mm,” I mumble back.

“Are you crying?”

“Oowoowoo…”

“Pu, pi, pu!” My trusty Nuria reprimanded, yanking on Gael’s ear.

“Ow, ow. Alright, Nuria. I’ll apologize.”

My ploy worked. I earned Gael’s sympathy!

I resiliently popped back to life, flying through the air to the center of the room. Hovering near the glowing ceiling crystal, I zipped around, shrugging off Father’s accursed words. They still plague me from time to time, but it’s been a couple of millennia since I last heard Father’s contempt for me. And a few millennia was too long to let a bad experience rot my core. So what if Father did not want me? So what if others did not either?

I’ll show everyone they were wrong. I could now live my life as I should have. Destiny awaits!

“Gael,” I said, hovering right beneath the light, and making sure the glow caught my best angle. Like a benevolent holy being descended upon the black cloaked Gael, I continued, “I forgive you for your abrupt words. But since you wanted to apologize, how about analyzing what my new found body can do?”