Remoran had always been haunted by nightmares of his family's death. He would dream of the terrible scene, over and over again, reliving the pain and the loss every time he closed his eyes. But lately, his dreams had begun to change.

He found himself in strange and powerful dreams, where he was surrounded by orcs and orc shamans. He watched in horror as they performed bizarre and unsettling rituals, their eyes gleaming with a strange and malevolent light. And always, at the center of these dreams, was the sword he had found in the forest.

In these dreams, the sword was no longer the simple weapon he had found wrapped in leather. Instead, it was a massive, deadly thing, wielded by the largest and most fearsome orcs he had ever seen. The blade seemed to glow with an inner light, and it pulsed with a dark and evil energy that made Remoran's skin crawl.

He tried to ignore the dreams, to push them aside and focus on his life in Sharil. But they persisted, growing stronger and more vivid with each passing night. He found himself waking up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding and his mind filled with images of blood and violence.

One night, as he lay awake in his bed, he heard a voice whisper to him. Remoran's eyes widened as he heard the deep and powerful voice emanating from his sword. It was a voice like no other he had ever heard before, and yet, it felt strangely familiar. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized that the sword he had thought was just a simple weapon was now speaking to him.

Fear gripped him momentarily, but then he felt a sense of calm wash over him. The voice spoke to him of power, of strength, of the ability to overcome any obstacle. It offered him a path to greatness, to glory, to become something more than he had ever imagined.

Remoran hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was ready for what the sword was offering him. But as he thought of his family massacred by the Orcs, he knew that he needed something to help him achieve his revenge. He needed to become stronger, more powerful, and more determined than ever before.

With a deep breath, he reached out and grasped the hilt of his seemingly ordinary sword. He felt a surge of energy flow through him as the sword's power began to merge with his own. He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh of acceptance, knowing that this was the path he had chosen.

The following morning Remoran sat across from Demoris at the breakfast table lost in thought about what had happened the day before with Keth as well as the events of last night with his sword.

At the same time Demoris sat, wringing his hands nervously. He knew that he had to confess to what he had done, even if it meant the end of his reputation and that it may strain the relationship with his son.

"Remoran, I have to tell you something," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I...I had Norlan Swith alter your sword. I had him blunt it and make it look like the one they gave you for the tournament. Then I swapped them before your bout with Keth."

Remoran's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "What? Why would you do that?"

Demoris looked away, unable to meet his son's gaze. "I...I was afraid. Afraid that if you lost, you would lose some confidence and purpose. I mean it isn’t fair how they just decided to give everyone new weapons that they had never used in the past. I wanted to protect your future, no one deserves to be in the Town Guard as much as you."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Remoran's mind raced as he tried to process what his father had just told him. He felt a sense of anger and betrayal, but also a sense of understanding. He knew that his father loved him, even if his methods were misguided.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked, his voice strained.

"I didn't want you to get in trouble and act suspicious with the investigation, better you didn’t know," Demoris replied, his voice barely audible. "I thought I could handle it on my own."

Remoran felt a sense of unease settle over him as he realized the implications of his father's actions. He could feel the weight of the lie sitting heavily on his shoulders, the sense of deceit and manipulation staining his soul.

But at the same time, he couldn't deny the power that his sword had given him. He couldn't deny the feeling of strength and purpose that had filled him during his fight with Keth. And he couldn't deny the deep, powerful voice that had spoken to him from within his sword.

He looked down at the sword, still resting in its sheath at his side. He wondered what other secrets it held, what other powers it possessed. He was fearful, but also curious and accepting of the power it was offering him. He knew that he had to be careful, that he couldn't let the darkness within him consume him.

Remoran couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Everywhere he went, he felt the eyes of the town guard on him, suspicious and accusing. He knew that they were investigating Keth's death, trying to find any evidence of foul play. And he couldn't help but wonder if they suspected him.

His sword, which told Remoran to call it Orkinder, whispered to him in the darkness of his mind, telling him to be wary of everyone. "They are all against you," the sword hissed. "They want to see you hang for Keth's death. You cannot trust anyone."

Remoran knew that Orkinder was right, but he also knew that he couldn't go on like this. He couldn't live in constant fear and suspicion. He needed to clear his name, to prove that he hadn't meant to kill Keth, but how? It appeared everyone had made up their mind already on him being guilty by how they reacted to him.

One day, as he was walking through the town square, he spotted Keth's parents. They were standing by the fountain, whispering to each other and glaring at him as he approached.

"You!" Keth's father spat. "You're the one who killed our son!"

Remoran tried to speak, to explain that it was an accident, but Keth's mother cut him off. "Don't you dare try to make excuses for what you've done!" she hissed. "You are a murderer, and you will pay for what you've done."

Remoran felt a wave of anger wash over him, fueled by the hatred and hostility of Keth's parents. He could feel Orkinder vibrating with energy, urging him to strike. He knew that he could easily take them both on, that his sword would give him the strength to overpower them.

But he also knew that that was not the answer. He needed to find another way, a way to clear his name and make amends for what had happened.

As he walked away, he could hear Keth's parents cursing his name and calling for justice. He felt a pang of guilt and sadness, knowing that he had caused them so much pain and grief.

The town guard continued to be suspicious of Remoran, questioning him relentlessly and following him wherever he went. He felt like a prisoner in his own home, unable to escape the accusations and suspicions that haunted him.

And all the while, Orkinder whispered to him, filling his mind with dark thoughts and sinister plans. Remoran knew that he was losing control, that his sword was becoming a corrupting influence on his mind and soul. But it also gave him a feeling of power and strength that he could not deny.

He needed to find a way to break free, to clear his name and rid himself of the darkness that was consuming him. But he didn't know how.