On my back, the reaper hummed with power; like a wild dog, it wished to be unleashed, to roam the land in search of a battle worthy of its creation. Even though I held the strength requirements, the damn thing felt like I was carrying around a log on my back. Each false step brings the damn thing banging against the back of my neck with a thump.

Cursing each time, I itched to go back to the elegant daggers that never bit back. But daggers wouldn't scratch at what the reaper could accomplish, that I knew.

I thought of the burden of strength or the burden of weakness. Like a coin tossing in the air, I didn't know which side had landed in my case.

It only took a few miles of walking for us to realize that the weapon's sheer presence unleashed an aura that forced low-level mobs to flee in terror and attracted unique and epic mobs to search for the force that called for battle.

Within two miles, we were met by two separate, unique mobs, frenzied and bloodred, roaring to fight. It would have been great if we had the time to farm, but as it was, we were running late.

It's that damn ax, captain.

Shadeo instantly caught his tongue between his teeth with a snapping sound. But it wasn't out of fear for me; looking over, I saw the reaper reverberate with power.

He was scared of this damn ax. Well, shit, I was kinda scared of it myself. Even though the system claimed it had been purified, like a wild horse, I didn't even begin to think it had been tamed. Yes, I had the requirements on paper to wield it. But was I worthy?

Did it satisfy its inner hunger?

I wasn't quite sure.

Rafael was quick with a suggestion.

I have some sacred linen. I didn't know what we would need, so I packed sporadically. I can combine the linen with the highest-level allusionary spell I am capable of. While wrapped tight in its folds, it won't wholly diffuse the radiating aura but would at least condense the radius and potency.

Taking a rest, we stopped alongside an embankment on the side of a small but steady stream. Quickly, we removed our travel boots and soaked our feet in the cool current of the stream as Rafael got to work concealing the reaper.

He looked odd as he worked on the monstrosity that was the weapon. Like a tinker, he adeptly began to wrap the linen around the shaft of the blade, slowly making his way up with the care that a religious student would be a holy relic.

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Captain, look at Shadeo.

Rogers's words broke my thoughts like a rock does a stream.

With a pointed finger, he motioned over to an odd sight. Shadeo was perched upon an oddly large stone adjacent to the riverbed. From atop his new seat, he held out a rather crude-looking fishing pool. It was more stick than rod and more awkward than finesse.

Shadoe had a strong frame. From his side, I made out a burly figure. The only thing slender about him was that braided ponytail that swam down his back and now rested on the cold boulder like a pet, a companion by his side. The way he sat tapered against the backdrop of the river with the goblin forest under the realm's forever-changing afternoon light was a sight to behold.

Dazzling, breathtaking, immortal came to mind.

These are fantasies, romanticizations of a life that wants to be more than mundane. But then again, who dictates what life can be? Who marks a life as standard, rare, epic, or a legend in the making?

My thoughts had run away with me as if they had fallen into the river that currently wiggled between my twos and drifted off into the end of the realm, to the eye of the world itself.

Shadoe, I didn't know you were a fisherman.

I'm not, as you could tell from the piss poor stick I call a pool. This is the starter one, after all.

Then, shaking with the heft and jolly that big men do, he laughed.

This here, captain, isn't as peaceful as I thought. But back there.

Pointing massive fingers out and away, beyond the trees, farther than the sea, and past its walls, his point rested on the shattered lands.

Back there, I promised myself: I'd pick up this hobby here, push through, and be like my father, a solemn man who searched not for fish but for the peace that came with it. And now I feel silly. Here I'm back. But father, where's the peace in this? All that I get from this is more turmoil. Inside, the quiet doesn't bring silence but racing thoughts that leave worry and doubt behind, not tranquility.

Watching his eyes, I found them honest and accurate behind their brown freckled pattern. His words weren't simply taking up space or thoughts shared to pass the time. Shadeo gave us a fragment of himself, his purpose, and what makes him move forward. For that, I couldn't help but grin. And it must have been the look of a madman for the way Shadeo's face turned sour, as if he thought I was mocking him.

I shouldn't have shared; it's foolish, I know…

Cutting off his words, I leaped into the river before his words could be any worse. After a few seconds of digging with my hand, I came back up with what I wanted.

Holding it up like some trophy, I held out a blue-scale carp. Nothing spectacular, no rare drop, simply a fish that, if prepared correctly, could ease one's hunger over a warm fire.

This is all I know about fishing. On those shattered lands, I learned to hunt fish with my hands like a savage, so even that fishing pool you call a stick is an advanced technology to me.

With that, I laughed, and thankfully, Shadeo shared my mirth. His eyes were no longer somber, and touching the tips of his mouth in a large gin, he let out that bellous laugh.

This felt like the real reward. Adventuring was more than loot, gold, and everything I had once taken for granted.

Rodger remained silent from the sides as if testing the waters of our interaction. After he determined that Shadeo was not upset, he joined us in the river as we all went on the hunt for dinner.

*****************************************************************

I may have only gotten two but look at the size of these suckers.

Rodger's voice was filled with a delusional nature that told me even he believed his outright lies. He held up his catches in each hand, held to his sides—two puny things barely old enough to be considered fish.

Those are damn near eggs, boy.

Shadeo retorted as his catch dangled from the net he carried over his back. The man was a natural, even with the beginner fishing rod. Maybe he took after his father, after all.

I had caught a handful but decided to perch myself on the rock and watch the sun as it sailed across the sky. I was lost in thoughts that were better lost, yet like the foolish man I am, I searched for them anyway. After only an hour or so of finishing, we prepared a campfire to cook our haul. By this time, Rafael had finished covering the blade and returned to me what looked more like a mummy than a mythic weapon.