The light disappeared with a snap, the intensity of its glare replaced by utter stillness as silver threads vanished.

Leaf charged, knowing that was the signal.

“You bastard!”

Marcus lunged at Helbram, a feral look in his now brown eyes and hair as a snarl ripped from his lips. Leaf intercepted him, catching the young man at his hips and throwing him to the ground. Were he without the fatigue of battle, the action would have been a simple one, but now it took everything to keep the man restrained. His arms flared as he pinned Marcus’s hands down, fighting against the man as much as he did his own failing muscles.

Still, he kept pushing, he had to.

“When I grab the Sword, you need to keep Marcus away,” Helbram had told him.

Leaf had seen the look of glee in the man’s face as he held the Sword, the clear euphoria that must have flowed through him as he wielded power that many could only dream of. The want for it, the need for it was written across all of Marcus’s features, and that desperation had given him a strength that drained Leaf of everything.

“He was just waiting for this moment, wasn’t he?” Marcus spat, “Waiting for the perfect moment to take it.”

Leaf knew that the man’s words were fueled by base instinct, a desire that he could not control.

“The coward.”

But that did not stop the flare that burned at Leaf’s chest.

The anger had given him a newfound strength, enough to allow the archer to strike Marcus across the face. He grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him up before slamming him back on the ground, glaring into his eyes until Marcus’s expression faltered.

“What is going to happen to you?” he had asked Helbram.

“That does not matter, just get the people to safety,” his companion had told him, eyes alight with resolve.

“Do not test my patience further,” Leaf growled at Marcus as he rolled him over, pinning his hands behind his back.

“The boy is right,” a man said, a tremble to his voice.

Leaf looked up, seeing one of Southsheer’s guards approaching Helbram, spear in his hands. There was hunger in his eyes, and he licked his lips as he approached the warrior, weapon trembling.

Elly and Jahora stepped between him and Helbram. The women swayed as they stood, the fatigue of all their spellcasting pressing down on their slumped shoulders. Still, they remained fixed in place, with Elly clutching a sword in her hand while Jahora kept a spear pointed at the approaching guard, propping it against the ground in such an angle that it allowed her to remain standing as well. He knew neither of the women knew how to wield their chosen weapons, but they held them up as threateningly as they could.

“The man stands to take everything from us,” the guard said as he continued to step forward.

Marcus started to fight back against Leaf’s hold, and it took everything he had to hold the desperation back. More people, adventurers and fellow guardsmen, started to follow the guard, weapons in hand. All held the same expression, the look of vacant desire that chilled him to his bones. He grit his teeth, the options available to him vanished before he had a chance to consider them.

“How dare he,” the guard growled, “such peace, such serenity, and he would choose to steal it from us?”

“Peace in what? Subjugation?” Elly asked, sword pointed at the man, her feet shifting as she imitated a stance that Helbram would always take. The movement gave the approaching crowd pause, the act providing only a moment’s reprieve as they started to approach again.

“He is doing this for you,” Jahora pleaded, her hands still wrapped around the spear.

“You all must have felt it,” Elly said, sweeping her sword between the people that started to get close, “all your thoughts, all your desires, your dreams. Washed away and leaving nothing behind.”

“The Sword has granted us peace, true peace.”

“If that is peace, then I want nothing of it,” the Weaver said, her eyes alight with fury.

“The Sword would have puppeteered all of you,” Jahora said, “in your peace it would guide your hands to its whims, its ambitions,” she jut her spear in front of her, finding new strength in her legs, “you would dance to its strings in bliss, its song robbing you of what makes you… you.”

“So what?” a woman said, shaking in her armor as tears streamed down her face, “I saw a beast rip my husband’s throat out right in front of me,” she clutched her head, as if her fingers were trying to dig into her skull, “he was scared, he wanted my help, he was crying. Crying and in pain, so much pain,” she shook her head, “I want to forget, I want to forget, I want to forget, I want to-”

Her trembling speech was cut off as a pair of arms wrapped around her. Sophia held the woman close, her silver hair was noticeably duller, and when she opened her eyes to examine the guard, gone was its silver glint, replaced by a bright hazel.

Marcus stopped struggling when he saw the Maiden, the calm that settled over her features somehow more serene than when the Sword’s aura flowed through her.

“I know it’s hard,” Sophia told the guard, holding her closer, “it is a pain that is not easy to mend, but you must take solace in that you were with him in his last moments,” she placed her forehead against the woman’s, “it is selfish for me to ask you of this, but you must not forget him, for the moment you do, he is lost forever.”

The guard’s trembles slowed, but did not calm completely. The woman stepped back and fell to her knees, softly weeping as her shoulders shook. Sophia pat her shoulder, then looked back to all of the other soldiers, who had stopped their advance at her appearance. She walked through them, placing herself between them and Elly and Jahora.

“Stop this, all of you,” she said, “what drives you is nothing more than base instinct,” she swept her gaze over the crowd, “You know I speak true, for I would know this more than anyone.”

“And what, we just let him take the Sword?” the leader of the crowd, the guard from earlier, said.

Sophia pointed back, directing their attention back to Helbram.

Leaf followed their looks, jaw clenching when his eyes fell upon his friend.

The warrior stood still, expression vacant, posture frozen as he stared at the sky. His hair remained unchanged, eyes still keeping their dull blue as his hand wrapped around the handle of the Sword. His broken arm hung limply at his side, but even with all that was happening around him he showed no reaction to it. Were it not for the slight heave to his chest, Leaf could have mistaken him to be dead, but he was not sure if his companions' current state was any better.

“If he was partaking of the Sword’s power, then he should be alight with its magic. He is resisting it, with all of his might,” Sophia said.

“But why?” the guard said, “like you said, you know of the Sword’s power, of the strength that it can give him, the serenity that it could give us.”

“That is precisely why I know his reasons. Even now I feel echoes of its power, a void that fills my entire being, demanding to restore what was lost,’ her hands started to shake, “It felt as if I could do anything, become anything,” she clenched her fists, “anything that the Sword wanted me to be… gone was my core, my essence.”

Her eyes narrowed, the furrow to her brow breaking the calm that she carried.

“Your memories, your hearts, the very things that make you, you, gone as you surrender to blind bliss. Tell me, is this what you wish for?”

None answered her.

After a moment, those from the crowd joined Sophia at her side. Darin and others from the guard formed a wall between the crowd and Helbram. They said nothing, but purpose was clear in their eyes.

The leader of the mob snarled, “So, what, do we just watch him stand there and waste away then?” he said in a mocking tone.

As he spoke, Elly gasped as she saw Helbram twitch. The warrior’s face did not change, but his body started to move. It was a slow, plodding pace, his foot dragging behind him as he trudged forward. The Sword hung at his side, but Leaf could tell that the man’s grip on the handle was ironclad.

Marcus went still under Leaf, and when the archer checked on the younger man he saw that he was looking at Helbram, pity in his eyes as the warrior continued his blind march.

Elly placed a hand on Helbram’s shoulder, but he showed no response to it and continued forward.

Eyes empty, body broken, Helbram kept walking.

___

Helbram once again stood in the void; its black, endless depths stretched out around, suffocating in its vastness. He’d stood here many a time when his dreams taunted him, a manifestation of all of his failures taunting his every effort. Eventually, they stopped, in part due to his own resolve but mostly due to the presence of his companions, friends that he sorely missed as he stood alone. A small, loud part of him would have preferred the usual manifestation of his dream to appear, a faceless warrior who would defeat him time and time again, reminding him of his weakness, his powerlessness.

It was far better than what was to come.

“Curious,” a voice said, his tone calculating as it echoed around Helbram, triggering gooseflesh across his skin, “your desire, your ambitions, rang true but now I feel… restraint.”

The Sword manifested in front of him, taking the form it held when it last reached into Helbram’s mind, that of the man in silver armor. He stepped back, finding that the burden of his wounds had not followed him to the void.

“I want to discuss terms,” Helbram said, “It is only fair if we are to work together for the foreseeable future.”

The Sword rubbed his chin, “Fair enough, what is it that you wish for?”

Helbram crossed his arms, “Total control, this awakening of the strength you saw lies within me and the power that you yourself possess.”

The Sword snorted, “Those are quite heavy terms.”

“You deemed me the most suitable,” the warrior explained, “would it not be best that you trust my judgment?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Were I a simple tool, perhaps, but I am certain a man of your perception can tell that I am far more than that,” the Sword said, “Furthermore, the magics that I possess are under my command. The mental effort required to control them is far too much for any one man, and thus some measure of control is needed.”

Helbram tilted his head, “Is that so? What I witnessed was certainly impressive, but I have seen far more impressive feats by others, those that did not possess weapons such as yourself.”

He kept his voice calm and inquisitive, but Helbram could see there was a slight twitch to the Sword’s brow.

“You do forget that Marcus possessed little experience or power. All of what he did was due to me,” the Sword said.

“I am well aware of that, but again the abilities that you demonstrated are within the scope of training.”

“For others, perhaps,” the Sword walked around, “while the power that you possess within is quite formidable, you require my help to reach out to it.”

“That does not mean there are no alternative methods,” Helbram said with a shrug, “Tis a vast world out there.”

“One that you have already scoured quite the score of,” the Sword said, “you forget that I have already looked into your memories, and you were most forthright with them when you grabbed me just now.”

“Then it is redundant of me to tell you that I am a cautious sort,” Helbram countered, “relinquishing even the slightest bit of control of my agency is not something that sounds appealing to me unless the benefits truly do outweigh the risks.

He stared at the Sword, eyes relaxed as he searched for any betrayal of emotion behind the calm mask it wore. To the weapon’s credit, he betrayed nothing more and stepped back, drawing a sword from his waist, one that reflected his actual appearance.

Silver light surged from him, the burst of energy forcing Helbram to cover his eyes. The air started to feel cold, carrying a crisp, biting scent that banished the fatigue that clutched to every part of his body. He moved his hand from his eyes, feeling them go wide when he found himself standing at the top of a cliff, looking off towards a mountain range, the largest of which pierced the heavens themselves. The Sword stood at the edge of the cliff, blade held out towards the distant peak.

“Imposing, is it not?” The Sword said.

Helbram nodded.

“Such obstacles prove to be the ire of many a man, preventing them from their goals,” he continued to explain, “with the strength that you possess, in addition to what I can grant you such things are…”

He swiped his sword through the air, a soft, casual motion like he was conducting a symphony. As he did, a line of silver light, following the arch of his slash, flew from the Sword’s blade and towards the mountain. When it struck, Helbram stumbled back as he watched it start to slide. The mountain crumbled to stone as its upper half split from its base, the sounds of crashing boulders were like thunder in the distance, yet they were deafening all the same.

“Trivial,” the Sword finished. He swept his hand back, the mountains in the distance fading away as a raging sea took its place. The crisp mountain air was replaced by the smell of lighting yet to be released, and a torrent of rain poured over them, though the Sword remained untouched.

“Even the sea itself, its vast depths bottomless to the eyes of many men,” The Sword swept its blade upwards, sending forth another slash of its light.

The sea split as its waters were struck, parting as the Sword’s power ripped a gouge into its depths. Even from the cliff Helbram could see down to its bottom, the mass of sand and stone that lay beneath the water, bare as the waters that covered it trembled from the Sword’s might.

“Torn asunder by your strength, by our power.”

The Sword snapped his fingers, returning them back to the void. Helbram still said nothing, and continued to observe the weapon as he walked past him.

“But raw power is only one facet of my creation,” he explained.

As the Sword walked, scores of people appeared behind him, apparating in at such a rate that Helbram found himself trapped in a crowd in a near instant. He pushed through, joining with the Sword at the center of the crowd.

“With such power, and with the courage you have displayed time and time again, the people will see you as a hero,” the Sword said, a hint of pride to his voice, though Helbram could not tell if it was for him or of the weapon’s own power.

The crowd cheered, their voices blending together at such a volume that individual words were lost. He could see the adoration in their eyes, the glee at which they regarded him. A selfish, small part of him swelled for a moment with pride, an emotion that he quickly suppressed, for as real as it felt, he knew it all to be an illusion.

He’d done nothing to earn such praise in the first place.

The Sword did not appear to notice this, and waved his hand over the crowd. Cheers fell silent as all went to their knees, heads bowed to the two men at the center. At least, at a brief glance it appeared to be that way. It was slight, almost imperceptible to those that did not look for it, but Helbram had, and noted that their bows were not directed to him.

Helbram remained silent.

“Such adoration gives birth to drive, drive to help their hero, drive to pursue his vision, his purpose.”

The crowd thinned, only a select few remaining as armor started to appear across their bodies. They stood up and gave salutes, faces hidden behind the visors of their helmets. Helbram thought back to the townsfolk, of the silver light that flowed from their eyes as they fell to their knees, euphoria clear across their faces as the Sword’s power flowed forth.

“You see, power goes beyond just strength, it has many facets, and with my assistance you shall master all its forms.”

The soldiers disappeared, leaving Helbram and the Sword alone.

“I see,” Helbram said, “this is quite a lot to process.”

“I could show you more, but I believe you are sharp enough to extrapolate the rest.”

“Indeed,” Helbram walked forward, creating distance between him and the Sword, “my mind spins at all of the possibilities, the potential that lies before me.”

He turned back to the Sword. He thought he kept his face neutral, but there must have been something to his eyes that made the Sword narrow his.

“More than any of that, however, it is telling me that accepting your power would be a grave mistake.”

The Sword’s brow twitched, “A mistake?” he stepped towards Helbram, the glow of his Aether bleeding from him, “I have shown you strength beyond imagining, power to make the world itself bow before you, and you would call that a mistake?”

Helbram stepped towards the Sword, meeting his eyes, “I would, for the strength that you offer me comes with a certain vice you see. One clamped around my neck, a chain attached to it, held by your hand.”

“The power to crush mountains, split seas, to bring you to heights above all others, a vice? Is it not you that desires strength, desires to step upon a plane that has been forever out of your reach?”

Helbram kept walking towards the Sword, “It is, that I cannot deny. However, for as powerful as you are I am quite surprised at how poorly you seem to understand me,” he held his arms open, “I do not wish to crush the mountains, I wish to climb them. I do not wish to split the seas, I wish to brave their depths. I do not wish to stand above all, I wish to stand with them. That is the strength that I desire,” he snorted, “Had you just offered me such things, I would have accepted in a heartbeat, no questions asked,” he smiled, a soft quirk to his lips as the Sword’s face started to twist in anger, “You truly are unfortunate to have found interest in the likes of me.”

“What foolishness,” the Sword spat, “I offer you a boon far more grand than that of which you wish for. You speak of shackles and yet choose to bind yourself with ones of your own making.”

“Yes, and therein is the key,” Helbram said, “It is of my choosing, not of yours. Should I grant even the slightest bit of control, I doubt that the chain around my neck would remain alone. More would fall under your spell, and in the bliss of your overwhelming strength I would be unaware,” Helbram crossed his arms, “I am afraid that you were just a bit too excited with your display earlier. Those people were not bowing to me.”

The Sword rubbed his brow, and let out a single, short laugh, “You are right. I truly am unfortunate.”

Silver surged from the Sword, his chosen visage shattering from the power that flowed forth, leaving only light in the shape of a human. Its featureless face betrayed no emotion, but the figure’s rapidly expanding size and hunched posture told Helbram all he needed to know.

HOW LONG MUST I SUFFER UNDER THE WHIMS OF FOOLS.

It stomped down, sending forth a shockwave of silver light. Helbram did not move.

HOW LONG MUST MY POTENTIAL BE WASTED BY THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO SQUANDER THEIR STRENGTH.

It struck the ground next to Helbram with its fist. Still he did not move.

FOR A THOUSAND, THOUSAND YEARS HAVE I REMAINED SHACKLED, SEALED BY THE PREVIOUS FOOL WHO DECIDED THAT IT WAS HIS DUTY TO PROTECT HIS PEOPLE. FROM MALICE, FROM ME.

The Sword loomed down, its face hovering in front of Helbram. The man stared at the figure, his shoulders relaxing.

I WAS MADE TO CONQUER, AND I WILL NOT HAVE YOU KEEP ME FROM MY PURPOSE.

Helbram looked up to the Sword, meeting its eyeless gaze with impassivity, “I am truly glad that you decided to reveal your true self,” He walked past the Sword’s head, “I was worried that you would be too convincing, give me too much reason to take hold of your strength,” the Sword turned as Helbram kept walking, turn only after the Sword was a few lengths away, “Glad am I that I run into you at the end of your patience, the end of such a long, long time of waiting. Any earlier, you would not have revealed yourself, you would have maintained your subtle deception, and I would have fallen for it. Now, you are nothing more than a starving beast.”

The Sword roared, its sound echoing through the boundless Void.

YOU DARE JUDGE ME? YOU WHO ARE JUST A MAN?

Helbram smiled, “Indeed, I am just a man.”

The Sword brought its fist down upon Helbram. Its size should have squashed him flat, but this was not the material world. This was his mind, his domain. When the blow struck Helbram, the Sword’s arm shattered.

“And in the eyes of this man, you have been weighed.”

The Sword brought its other fist down upon him, it too shattering as it made contact.

“You have been measured.”

The Sword stomped on him, stumbling to the ground as its leg shattered.

“And you have been found wanting.”

Helbram remained still as the Sword shrunk, returning to the size of a man. Its limbs were restored, but it remained on the ground, looking up at him with what Helbram could only interpret as shock. Helbram walked towards the Sword, hands crossed behind his back. The weapon stood up, stumbling as it righted itself.

“Your will is admirable,” the Sword said, its voice controlled but Helbram could sense the anger beneath it all, “but I am afraid that there is one thing that you do not seem to be aware of.” It pointed towards Helbram’s heart, “I have not lied to you about the power that lies within you, a power that continues to grow,” it paced around Helbram, “What do you suppose happens to a vessel that cannot contain anymore?”

Helbram did not respond.

The Sword put a hand on its chest, “The power within you simply needs to flow before it becomes too much, which you know I am capable of.”

It stood in front of Helbram again, composure returned, “What is it that your father said to you?” Its form shifted, and Brom Alligard stood in front of Helbram, a familiar, reassuring smile on his face.

“There is nothing wrong with accepting help, son. Nothing wrong at all.”

Helbram looked at his father’s eyes, and placed a hand on his shoulder. His hand trembled, but it was not fear or sorrow that shook him. It was the anger that burned within him.

He pushed down, shifting the Sword back into its formless form, “Perhaps you are more foolish than I thought.”

The void around them shifted, and they now found themselves back in his old training yard. It was the end of a familiar scene, the rock that his father had brought already split, his hand placed upon a young Helbram’s head.

“There is nothing wrong with accepting help, son. Nothing wrong at all,” he repeated, the familiar tone shaking Helbram’s heart.

His father’s face grew serious, eyes stern as he held his son’s shoulders, “But do not be blind to where it comes from. Above all else, you must remain true to yourself.”

His father faded away, taking Helbram’s younger self with him.

Helbram looked down upon the Sword, “Tell me, do you think me so poor a son that I would forget my father’s words?” his tone was subdued.

The Sword tried to stand, Helbram pushed it back down.

“So what will you do?” the Sword growled, “Place me back in the Tree, seal me once again? What then? You cannot destroy me, and you cannot watch over me forever. Someone will draw me, one day, and you will not be there to stop them. And even if you were, you know that you would not have the strength to face me.”

Helbram clutched his hand, shattering the Sword’s figure and returned it back to its base, silver bladed form. He held it out, hand wrapped firmly around its grip.

“That is true,” Helbram said, “but there is another strength that I have, something that, in this moment, only I possess.”

“And what is that?”

“The strength to let go.”

He released the blade from his grip, the training yard around him shattered, replaced by a cave overlooking the sea.

The cave that the Sword could not reach.

He heard it scream as it fell, a formless sound that faded as it fell to the waters below.

The Sword was swallowed by the Black Sea, and its screams fell silent.