"Hehehe…" Beatrice cackled as though she had taken a good sip of a good drink. "You really must not be of this world if you haven't heard of the Sword." She leaned back in her chair which, despite being her home, seemed too large for one of her size. "It's told to everyone. Boy and girl. Across the world—translated to every language."

She reached over and snagged her cup of water before resting against her seat again, swirling the contents of her cup and smiling at it. "It'd be harder to find someone who didn't know about the Sword than one who did. It's such an old, silly fable now. But you can't help but feel its strength again when you tell it to the young—when you see how the legend hooks into their spirit and soul."

Rodent started to wiggle in his seat as he felt the energy in the room increase, and despite the shitty time they had moments ago, the air was changing in a good way. "What is the legend?"

"You'd like to hear it?"

"C'mon!" Rodent planted his hands between his legs and leaned forward. "Don't tease me like that."

The old lady grinned in a playfully sinister way. "I must warn you… the legend will raise your hopes… only to crush them."

"Who cares?!" Rodent clapped back while falling back in his seat. "So far, this world's been a bust. At least this sounds interesting!" He struggled to keep still. "I tell stories to sick kids back home. Something like this would drive 'em nuts!"

"Oh? So you think there's a way back home?"

"No clue!" Rodent shrugged without a loss of enthusiasm. "But if I made it here, I can probably make it back there!"

"Perhaps you could bring all of us with you when you do."

"Not sure it would be any better there than here."

"Fair enough!" Beatrice threw back her head and downed the water, shaking her head as if remembering it was just water. Her head shook as she dismounted the chair, heading to the kitchen for a different vase. "Give me a second. A telling such as this requires something special."

Rodent nodded as he dug back into his food, chowing down on the bread and cheese and then going at an apple once he was done. The latter was larger than the ones he was used to, and the taste was almost sour. He ate right to the core as the lady struggled but managed to place the vase full of wine on the table.

"Long ago, when Night was longer than Day, people became shadows when they died... and from those shadows... a great evil was formed... birthing a Monster said to have gripped the world in its claw."

Rodent listened almost like a child—something he had not experienced in a long time.

"The Thing had a name—but it's not dared to be spoken. Not then. Not now. Speaking its name gives it strength." Wine was poured slowly into a cup. "Those who remained served the Monster in a darkened world. Can they be blamed? Even the dying pray to live for a few more seconds."

The old lady stopped pouring.

"One day... a Hero arose... though one that was rather late." She grinned happily, setting the vase back on the table. "And he bore a Sword never before seen. Its surface was like a mirror—rumoured to trap whatever it reflected."

Rodent nodded as he remained silent, a smile still plastered to his face.

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He felt like a kid again.

"The Hero returned light back into the day." Beatrice raised the cup to her lips and siped, slowly and with closed eyes, torturing the curious boy; none listened like him. "He united the world. Faced the Monster—who'd become complacent."

Rodent was still nodding like a child and a fool, not caring as his heart raced and thundered.

"Their battle lasted ten days," Beatrice resumed. "On the ground, the united held back the Deskar." She swirled her glass, sipping—loving its lubricating burn. "The battle remains mostly unknown. Only that, in its final stretches, the Hero cleared the black sky—and reflected the sun into his Sword."

Rodent's lips peeled back as he showed teeth, nearly bouncing in place while cheering as silently as he could, wanting the story to continue without pauses. The old lady was touched by this enthusiasm and forgot what it felt like to tell stories to the younger generations.

"And with the Sun-Sword, the Hero impaled the Monster, slicing away the Deskar with light." Beatrice smiled... though it did not last long. "But time passed. The world returned to how it was. Even though the Hero watched over it... Deskar soon returned."

Beatrice became troubled.

Rodent wasn't as excited.

"The Monster returned, again and again, each time stronger than before." Beatrice looked at the ceiling, seeing something not there. "Soon... the Hero was defeated. The Monster had simply become too strong." Her head shook. "Battle was impossible. It seeped out of its every grave."

Rodent sat in his chair and listened normally.

"In their last duel... the Hero found that... if he sacrificed and infused inside his Sword... he could defeat the Beast." Beatrice looked down from the ceiling. "And so, he drove the Sword into the Beast's chest, driving them to the world's center."

Rodent's head bobbed.

"Together, they were sealed beneath Kularlro Forest." Beatrice's eyes flicked to her drink. "Kularlro Forest is told to be vast and immense. Its ground sinks toward its center—where a downward spiral leads to where the Sword rests."

Beatrice downed her drink and did not do it for the pleasure of the wine's taste.

She finished—and winced.

"Time passed since the event." Beatrice breathed. "The Hero gave himself to seal the Monster, which has not appeared in recent history, causing most to call the legend what it is: simply a legend."

Beatrice poured herself another glass. She glared at its scarlet surface—at her reflection. "Though the Sword still waits."

Rodent found his voice. "For what?"

"For the worthy one." Beatrice glared at her drink. Bubbles nearly formed on its surface. "One who would follow its song to the world's end." She gripped and raised her drink. "Who would be bathed by Deskar and still prevail and with a soul that would not be burned by the Sword's touch."

Beatrice tried to drink from her cup... but could not follow through with it.

"Children at bedtime are told that they will become the next Hero if they become strong enough. That the Sword will call to them. That they will be revered." She still stared at her drink. "Even though there is a Hero among us now... a Hero not deserving of the title... even he does not wield the Sword."

Her head shook. "The original Hero was a nobody that came from nowhere. Hence, everyone thinks that the next Hero could be them."

Angrily, the woman chucked the glass to the side, and the drink splattered, and the cup broke into pieces. Beatrice heaved while staring at it. "That stupid, terrible story, told to children that become soldiers and guards with the notion that they will be the ones to hear the Sword's call. We set them up. Instill them with the notion that they could be the next ones—a notion that never quite goes away."

Her face scrunched. "I hate it! I… hate… it…” Beatrice started to tear up, and then she started to cry. "Why do we keep on telling that story? Why do we keep on telling the younger ones about the Sword? So many want to be the Hero… and for what?"

Her face fell into her palms.

"And for what?"

Rodent didn't have an answer.