The prince wakes up with a lingering pain from his ribs to his spine, and a hazy memory of the day gone by.

In a failed attempt to sit up, he catches a glance of someone fleeing the room.

“Where are you going?” He attempts to ask in an assertive tone, but his voice shakes and breaks and the words barely leave his lips. He bites his cheek and does his best to keep face when the servant turns back to him.

“I was to inform the king you woke up.”

“Could you ask him to come by?”

“I’m afraid not, your highness. His majesty is hearing the People’s grievances in the throne room.”

“Oh… Okay.”

“Do you wish me to stay, your highness?”

“No. You can leave.”

The servant does as told. Horus turns to the wall, holding onto his ribs. He shuts his eyes tight, recollecting memories to distract from the pain.

The wall collapsed. The room was plunged into darkness. The knights screamed, the dragon roared. The ceiling collapsed…

When the prince opens his eyes again, it feels like a few minutes have gone by, but the sun is already setting.

As he closes his eyes again, to let the night go by, a rocky voice echoes from the other side of the room.

“Have you recovered, Horus?”

He tenses up, takes a breath, and turns to face his father.

“I thought you were busy.”

“I am. I still have work to do, I won’t be here for long.”

“Oh… okay.”

“What has gotten into you, son? You break the sword, you go on a quest without receiving orders to… I was told you were not wearing any armor.”

“I did not have time to-”

“You could have gotten yourself killed.”

The boy averts his eyes. He sits up on the edge of the bed.

“… Where is Azaïd?” His father remains silent, only acknowledging the question with a frown. “Was the dragon slain, father?”

“No. It has been captured. You shall deal with it once you have recovered.” An elusive smile replaces his father’s usual stone-cold frown. “The blacksmith has a surprise for you, Horus. You shall pay him a visit soon enough. Once you’ll have slain the beast before the People’s eyes, their faith in you will be restored.”

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“That is… Great.”

“You seem troubled, son.”

“Azaïd, the dragon… He is human, father. He was cursed.”

“No matter, you protect our kingdom of all threats, Horus. You have taken down many more men.”

“Where is he? We could find out who cursed him, if we break the curse, he-”

“Sorcerers and witches are creatures of infinite wisdom, son. They don’t curse fools in vain. If he was turned to a beast, that is what he must be.”

“Where is he, though…? I can-”

“Horus! Son. My boy…” The king sits beside his son, embracing him with one arm. “You are a hero, but most of all, you are the Prince. You have our People to look after… When your sword shattered, so did their faith in you… We do not want our People thinking their prince is a scared little boy, who’d rather trade their lives for that of a cursed fool now, do we?” Horus leans against his father’s shoulder. The king immediately stands back on his feet, bringing his arms under his long cloak. “You will pay a visit to the Blacksmith tomorrow, Horus. You will be thrilled."

Horus sleeps in, the next day. In the afternoon, he gets dressed, puts on his armor, and visits the Blacksmith, per his father's request.

Horus stands at the forge’s door frame. He watches as the Blacksmith works, unaware of his presence.

It’s not in the prince’s habit to quietly await to be noticed, but the boy had always been shy around this man. He recalls the day he was gifted the sword of Will. He recalls shying away behind his father much like he does now behind the door frame.

“Come in, your highness.” The Blacksmith greets the prince without facing him. He remains focused on his work. “How are you, Horus?”

The prince blinks, and expands his smile.

“I’m great.”

“And tell me, how do you feel?”

“I’m… Great?” Horus' brows furrow, but he keeps smiling. “Father told me you had something for me?”

“I do, yes. The sword of Will, I have mended it for you.” The Blacksmith announces as if it was a novelty.

“You could do that all along?” The prince calmly asks, feeling his jaw clench. “I thought it was gone, forever. I cared that it broke, what was the point of it all if it can just be fixed?!” He raises his voice without realizing it.

“Oh, it isn’t the same sword, Horus, it never will be. Nothing will ever be the same once it breaks” The older man finally turns to face the young prince, the sword in hands. Horus’ eyes lock on the blade. “My question is to you; Is it still your sword?” As he speaks, the Blacksmith presents the sword to the prince with both hands. Horus slowly raises his dominant hand above it, letting his fingers linger on the blade. He inspects it closely, paying attention to each mended cracks. Then, he takes it from the Blacksmith’s hands, feel its weight, swings it around with caution. He dreads to swing it too abruptly, as though it would shatter once more at any given moment.

“Father says I’ll slay the dragon… Is that why you mended my sword?”

“They tried to put down the beast while you were unconscious, but they could not. Their blades couldn’t pierce through its skin. This one can.”

Horus’ gaze follows the blade’s cracks again. He frowns, unaware by that point that he had long-lost his smile.

“What if I doubt? Again…?”

“Nothing is ever the same once it breaks.”

“You have said that already. What about the prophecy?”

“Ah… the prophecy… A true hero knows doubt to be the compass of the heart, Horus.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And perhaps, you never will. Only time will tell. Fortunes and premonitions, they aren’t as simple as fate engraved in words, your highness. If it were that simple, there would be no such thing as inner and outer conflicts… But there is, and when time comes for doubts, you are given a choice.” The Blacksmith notices the anguish in the Prince’s eyes. There is a mix of Playfulness and compassion in his own. “Once you’ll have slain the beast, you won’t face doubt ever again. And this sword, you shall keep it from that beast’s last breath to yours.”