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There once was a kingdom, the mightiest of them all,

None ever dared to challenge them,

for their champion remained undefeated.

There once was a sword, the finest of them all,

Commissioned to the blacksmith, by the king, for his son.

The sword of Will.

It was the last sword forged by the old blacksmith before he passed.

A very ordinary blade, mounted on a flamboyant golden hilt.

The king, after looking upon the mighty weapon once, worried it would be too ordinary for his special boy.

The Blacksmith assured:

"No sword will ever suit your son better,

Its blade shall pierce through thick as if it were thin,

with it, he shall take down the most vicious enemies with ease,

For as long as his will remains unscathed, so will the sword’s blade.

The king, satisfied with his answer, took the sword from the Blacksmith’s hands.

Before letting go, the Blacksmith revealed,

“However, my king, you must beware;

If your son shows even an ounce of doubt before striking his enemy,

The blade is to shatter.”

The sword was gifted to the prince on his fifteenth birthday.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Bravery was all he was known for. The sword was, indeed, a perfect match, for he had never doubted a thing in his life. He was a skilled swordsman, and he knew it.

Once granted the mightiest sword, he became his kingdom’s greatest champion.

He was tasked to slay the most terrifying creatures, to frighten off armies, and he did so brilliantly.

One day, though, disaster struck.

Nothing ever shook the young man’s heart, nothing ever troubled his mind, so, when a massive dragon flew over the city, perching on the castle’s highest tower, he showed not an ounce of fear.

The young champion sprung up the tower’s stairs, reached the balcony, and fought the beast with bravery.

He climbed its back and took it down. The dragon crashed in the middle of the town’s square, the prince still clung on its back.

He rose his sword above his head with both hands, eyes fixed with the beast as he brought it down to its chest.

The young champion’s eye twitched,

The sword shattered.

Everything else happened in a blur,

The boy was flung away by the creature,

sent crashing into a wall, fell to the floor.

It approached him, slowly, under the peasants’ horrified screams.

All he could feel was its warm breath, then…

It flew away.

...

“Horus?”

He opened his eyes, then shut them even tighter, a sharp pain rushing through his bones. Horus knew pain.

Pain was an acquaintance,

Pain was so familiar,

it may as well have been a friend.

Horus never let it show, it felt great, when the world believed him to be as indestructible as his sword.

But it shattered… He opened his eyes again, facing his father, surrounded by their subjects.

His eyes avoided his fathers’, got lost in the crowd. He smiled at them sheepishly.

A smile which, for a reason unknown to all, only ever left his lips during battle…

A smile which had the same effect as a soldier’s frown, for it was empty, it was shallow,

It had no purpose, no cause,

It was just there, plastered on his face, mismatched with cold piercing eyes.

“Horus, what have you done?”

What has he done? He wonders as well.

Shattered the sword,

Shattered his father’s trust,

Why did it shatter?

“The dragon escaped, what have you done? When it comes back, it will destroy our city, slaughter our people… Tell me, what are we to do, with a shattered sword and a scared little boy? Is that all you are, now?”

Is it? Horus didn’t feel scared,

Not laying there, defeated

Not back then, sitting atop the beast.

No, he was not a scared little boy.

A prince, a knight, a champion,

that is who he was, that is all he will ever be.

Horus stood up, limping closer to the crowd, wearing his shallow smile. They made way for him to reach where the dragon had crashed, where his sword had shattered.

He dropped to his knees, and gathered the remaining shards. When his hand brushed the hilt under the debris, he picked it up, feeling the weight it lacked, the missing weight of the blade which now laid in pieces before him.

Here lied his glorious purpose. Horus didn’t let go of the hilt. He won’t let go of it. It was too late, he knew it, yet he held on tight.

An idea sparked through his mind. The dragon won’t reach town again, it won’t destroy their city, it won’t slaughter their people. He’ll slay the beast, he’ll do it all without the mighty sword,

for he was mightier than that,

he was mightier than all,

He was Horus, Prince, knight, Champion. Covered in glory since birth,

Covered in praises since he had been old enough to hold a blade,

Burdened with duties since his fifteenth birthday, the day he first held the sword,

Burdened with duties until he’ll shatter in turn.