Nilor swung at my head, another perfect blow, I was doomed. Only, somehow, I wasn't, yet again. He had missed every swing. And it wasn't a skill issue. I certainly wasn't blocking, and though my equipment was powerful, it couldn't do this.

We both paused a moment, processing what was happening. He finally spoke in tired tones. "Can I have, just like, a hot minute."

"You know I like hot, go for it."

He chuckled, then stepped to the door and held out his blade. "What do you think you're doing?"

The blade glowed a dark blue.

"No, we went over—"

The blade suddenly had a red spiral.

"Don't you take that tone with me!"

The blade grew spikes and turned pure black. I had a sudden urge to roll my eyes, though I wasn't sure why.

"I will melt you down, don't test me!"

This went on for a few minutes before I finally just drew my sword and stabbed Nilor in the back. His blade clattered to the ground, somehow even blacker and spikier.

"What was that about?" Nightlark, my own blade, asked.

"Beats me. You know this sword?" I picked up it up.

"No, looks like a baby, though," Nightlark said.

"Pfft, whatever, old man," a nasally voice said.

"Ah, of course." I chucked the sword aside toward my trash can. "Gotta hate teens."

"So, we got another quest lined up?" Nightlark asked his usual question.

Maybe you just gotta hate talking swords.

"So you're telling me this blade has no combat boost abilities?" the grizzled, bearded hero asked as the smith handed me back to him.

"None at all," the smith said.

"And it's possessed by the ghost of a 15 year old girl?" the hero asked.

"Yes. Taken too soon, and bound to it forever with demon magic."

"Excellent," the hero says, slinging me into the sheath on his back despite my cries of protest. "Just what I was looking for."

I couldn't tell how much time had passed--it surprised me that it wasn't longer--but he removed me from the sheath in the middle of a field a short distance away from the town he'd stopped to get me appraised in.

"Can't be too comfortable in there," he muttered.

His grip against my handle was firm, steady. The grip of a warrior. He lunged forward and took a few practice swings to get used to my weight and length. I didn't mind being handled anymore; the longer I'd stayed in my sword body, the less I'd felt like my hilt was a pair of stiffened legs and my blade was my grossly elongated head.

"Well then, missy: what's yer name?" he asked, holding me out in front of him and trying to make eye contact with my featureless face.

"Ana," I responded.

"You didn't have a daddy, did you?"

"Ew. Piss off, jerk."

The hero chuckled, shook his head, and sat down on a rock.

"Should've explained that better, that's my fault." He stroked his beard before continuing. "The particular binding spell used on you only works if its victim's daddy has passed."

"Oh."

"When'd you lose him?"

"Don't wanna talk."

"Not surprised. How long were you locked in that old trunk for?"

"I said I don't wanna talk, old man!"

The hero looked like he was trying to hold in laughter. That just made me more pissed off. I didn't see anything funny about my curse. After a few moments he spoke again.

"Did you ever want to be a fighter?" His words were soft.

"Yeah. I did." I internally swore at myself for breaking my resolve and responding to him. "Was only a few weeks away from my 16th birthday."

"And your first mission as a rookie fighter."

"Yeah." If I'd had shoulders, they would have slumped. "Wasn't gonna be much. Scaring off and possibly killing a small pack of wild dogs. But the gods know the town needed it." I felt a lump in my phantom throat. "My mom needed it."

"Your momma was a good person?"

"Yeah. I mean, she was always yelling at me to clean up my shit and get in my sword practice, but she wasn't a bad person."

"And now you're a sword."

"Yeah. Not even a good sword."

The hero stood up and took a few more swings at the air. My chest fluttered with each move. He was skilled. I found myself wanting to slice through something.

"You're a fine sword," he said. "Good length, good weight for your size. I can see you doing well in battle. You're just not enchanted to fight automatically." His face grew dark and he grit his teeth. "You should consider yourself lucky."

"I'm a goddamn sword for all eternity and you think I'm lucky?"

"A lot of those 'enchanted' weapons that are so helpful and powerful? They're still kids like you, they just don't have a say anymore. No voice."

I felt a chill run down my steel body.

"And those 'buffed' weapons everyone's after where the sword fights for itself? Well... trust me, you don't want your body to undergo that kind of movement, even if you are a sword. I've heard tales." He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out something small and grey. "Ever had a whetstone on you?"

"No sir."

"Other blades I've found loved it. Tell me if I'm being too rough." He placed me on his knee and began to work away. The sensation would be impossible to describe for humans--the closest analogy being a nice, firm shoulder rub.

"So what happened to your last blade?" I asked once I was feeling a lot sharper.

"Broke the curse. Took what felt like half an eon, but I did it. I'm wondering if I can't do the same for you."

"I'm not looking for a savior. I'm not a damsel in distress."

"You're a sword in distress."

"Pleh."

"The way I see it is this." He stood up. "You and I are brothers-in-arms, so to speak. I can't fight without a sword, you can't fight without my skill. I can't get anyone back to normal without them helping me. I ain't the brightest."

"Do you just go around rescuing kids stuck in swords?"

There was a strained silence where his shoulders tensed and he breathed in a funny way, like he was trying to figure out how to word what to say next.

"My brother," he finally said. "Sealed away somewhere and could never figure it out."

"And you wanna find him again."

"Yeah."

Inside me I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time welling up--a thirst for adventure. I hadn't wanted any sort of excitement since my skin turned to steel and I began to get passed around between demons, goblins, and orcs of the worst varieties. Now I was having second thoughts about what I could do with the right hero by my side.

"Alright, old man," I said. "We'll go find your brother."

"What?" The hero's eyes scrunched at me. "No, I'm going to rescue you. We'll never find my brother."

"Nah, we'll find your brother first."

"It will be too dangerous."

"Then teach me to fight alongside you."

"Teach you to fight?"

I wriggled free of his hand and floated up until my blade reflected his battle-scarred face.

"I've had this power since a few decades ago," I explained, turning around in mid-air. "I was just too depressed to use it."

r/MyloRolfeReads

“O Great Hero! I must congratulate you on the completion of your training! I know that it certainly must have been a truly arduous time for you.” Said the old man, leaning on his cane for support as he rambles on.

I never did get his name, it’s a bit odd really. Plucked from my family at six about what must’ve been twelve years ago and I’ve barely learned a thing about him. That can’t be normal right? One thing’s for sure though, he really likes the sounds of his own voice. If I do virtually anything he launches into praise. Pull out a chair for him? A five minute exaltation about how “fate chooses his heroes correctly.” Put a book back where it belongs in the library? Ten minutes on how “my kindness knows no bounds and will surely lead to my victory over the vile forces of evil.” It’s actually kinda impressive, or at least it would be if I wasn’t the one stuck listening to it all.

“And so, to at least put an end to this century-long saga, Fate himself has prepared a partner for you to travel alongside!” He exclaimed, barely taking a break to catch his breath.

My ears perked up at that; now that sounds interesting. I can’t even remember the last time I saw someone that wasn’t the large-lunged geezer. In all the history books that were shoved down my throat the heroes of old have always had some support. I wonder who Fate, fickle god that he is, prepared for me.

“Yes! A partner that will stick with you through light and dark, dusk and dawn, highs and lows. His Grace has seen the future of the world through His domain and has prepared a truly loyal partner that will never leave your side!” The garrulous geezer continued, still not having taken a breath for the past ten minutes.

Sometimes I wonder if he’s trained in some sort of magic to avoid having to breathe. In fact, now that I think of it, I did have to learn a spell like that in case I ever find myself trapped under water. Whoever this partner of mine is I just hope they don’t talk as much as he does.

“And now, O Great Hero! I present to you, your life-long partner!” The loquacious long-lived man finished as he drew a circle in the air, causing the very air in front of him to shatter, allowing a tentative glance at the very void itself before a dark, jet black, dagger rose up, looking as if the surrounding light was melting into shadow around it.

My breath caught when I saw it and I knew that this was it. This beautiful dagger is my Fate. Guided by a power beyond my own, my arm reached out to grasp the handle and a feeling of rightness soared through my body. Not even the kingdoms finest swords ever felt this perfect in my hand. The blade felt as if it was made by someone who knows me better than myself.

Before I knew it, I’d already pricked my thumb with the dagger, completing the bonding ritual. Now the blade would never leave my hand, and I could call it back to my hand with just a thought and it would answer, tearing through the void and whatever else stood in between it and its partner.

“Hey there little dagger, looks like we’re gonna be pretty good partners huh?” I whispered to it with a chuckle, knowing by instinct that it could respond back.

“You are not worthy!” A sharp voice echoed through my mind, causing me to jerk my head in shock. “I, the great blade of darkness, Voider of light, Enemy to all, could never be bound to such a being like you.” It said coldly.

A feeling of dread started to blossom in my stomach as I decided to play along. “Well, can this lowly being hope to learn your name, O Great blade of darkness?”

“I suppose, seeing as you were lucky enough to witness me and even hold me, you may know my name, if just so that you can worship me correctly. Now hear me now and well, for I will not repeat myself. My name is Shadow Duskbringer, First of its name, Shrouded by Fate, Born of Darkness-“

By this point the feeling of dread fully blossomed. At least the old man I could block out, but now this things voice is broadcasted straight into my mind.

I flinched as it suddenly shouted, “Stop daydreaming and pay attention! I’m not done yet!” It exclaimed.

…And it could sense my thoughts through our bond. I sighed as I suddenly noticed a note laying at my feet. Continuing to ignore the dagger I bent down to pick it up.

“Even a god doesn’t have unlimited patience. And after all, I’m very fickle aren’t I? Enjoy this gift from yours truly.”

Listening to the sword that still wasn’t done announcing its name, I wondered not for the first time if it was too late to retire from being a hero.

The connection between minds was like a hug with a long-lost friend in a warm tavern. It was like a dagger in the back while being cradled by an assassin. It was every good and every bad emotion, linking up like a zipper, as the blade became an extension of my body, and I of its.

At last, exhausted, I held the blade aloft, where it shuddered with plasma fire, brightening the dim light of the dawn.

"Name," I thought to it, with surprising ease.

"Nightshadow Deathblade," it thought back.

"What," I said out loud.

"Wait wait wait," It thought back, slightly panicked. "I changed my mind. Nightblade Deathshadow, uh, the Engine of Despair."

"You can't make up your own titles," I said incredulously.

"Yes I can," It hissed into my mind.

"No you can't," I yelled out loud again. I looked around the hilltop sheepishly. A startled bird flew out of a nearby tree. Nobody else, thankfully, was around.

"Nightblade Deathshadow, Engine of Despair, Bringer of, uh," the words being whispered into my mind faltered.

"Doom," I offered, drily.

"DOOM IS TOO CLICHE," the sword screamed into my mind.

I winced and staggered under the weight of the accidental psychic attack.

"Try 'Harbinger,' then," I offered. "Bringer is kind of weak."

"Wow," the sword said. "Wow wow wow." I heard a sniffle. "I can't believe you would say that to me."

"Holy shit," I thought, unintentionally.

"WOW. OKAY I HAVE A LOT OF EMOTIONS OKAY? DARK EMOTIONS."

I clutched my now throbbing head.

"You can cut plasteel like butter, right?" I offered, weakly.

"Like it's not even there," The sword said, smugly, its sorrow completely forgotten.

I spent a little bit considering whether or not to throw the sword off the hill as far as I could. Then I remembered that I had spindly little arms, which is why I needed a persona monosword in the first place.

"You know what," I said, "this is gonna work." I said it half to convince myself.

"Of course it is," the sword said. "I attune perfectly to the personality of my owner, Acedia."

There was a long pause.

"I...I've never made up edgy titles for myself," I offered weakly.

"You totally would if you weren't such a coward," Nightblade Deathshadow said.

Another pause while I considered exactly how far I could throw myself off the hilltop.

"Okay yeah," I admitted, sheathing Nightblade Deathshadow, Engine of Despair, Bringer of Uh. "Yeah I probably would."

"Cut them!"

I ignored the antique sword as I continued to tidy my apartment. If my date went well, I wanted the apartment to look its absolute best.

"Slice the throat of the world, and bathe in the blood as it pours from-"

"Would you shut up?" I snarled, flinging down the blanket I was trying to fold and storming to the mantle. The ancient sword had seemed like a great centerpiece, but that was before it had begun to talk. "I don't know where my Grandfather found you, or why he left you to me in his will, but so help me, if you don't stop talking I'll melt you down for scrap metal and sell you for beer money."

The sword huffed. I swear if it had eyes it would have rolled them at me. "Whatever, you're just as lame as he was. I'm only trying to bring excitement to your miserable life."

I threw up my hands in irritation. "My life is miserable because of you, I hope you know. You scared off my last girlfriend, you get noise complaints all the time, and I'm pretty sure you killed my turtle."

The sword snorted. I had no idea how a sword could snort without a nose, but then again, I had no idea how it could talk at all. "Tiffany was cheating on you, and your turtle was a dick anyways."

"So you DID kill Fluffy!" I yelled, "I knew it! I'm getting rid of you as soon as the smelter's opens tomorrow."

The sword huffed. "Fluffy is a dumb name for a reptile and you know it. Plus, the damn thing stunk. Did you ever consider that might be a reason all of your dates keep failing? As soon as they come in here, they're hit with gross turtle shit smell. Not exactly an aphrodisiac, Fabio."

"Whatever. It's still a living thing, or it was. You don't get to just kill things that annoy..." my words trailed off as a realization crept up on me. "...Did you kill my grandpa?"

"WHAT?!?" The sword shouted. I was definitely going to get another noise complaint now. "Nu-uh, I didn't kill that old party pooper."

"Then what did?" I asked slowly.

"...lack of blood in his neck?" The sword offered lamely.

"Oh god, you DID kill him!" I shouted, backing towards the front door. I fumbled behind my back as I tried to grab the doorknob, but I couldn't seem to quite grasp it.

"Calm down, it's not like he had too much longer to live anyways" the sword said. "He was, like, a million years old."

"He was 68!" I yelled at the inanimate object. "He had just retired, you dick!"

"Ugh, you even sound like him" the sword said, then continued in a mocking tone. "*Oh nooo, please don't kill me, I finally have the time to play with you, I promise this time, blah blah blah".

I found the handle and flung the door open, falling through the doorway and landing in the gross carpeted hall beyond.

"OY!" A boisterous voice shouted from down the hall. "Could ya' shut the 'ell up?"

The sword flew above me, curving in mid air and lunging towards my grumpy neighbor. It landed in his chest with a sickly squishy thud, and burried itself to the hilt.

"YOU shut up!" it cried, twisting around in his chest like a spinning dreidel. "Shut up shut up shut up forever!"

The man would have screamed, presumably, if his lungs hadn't just gone through an immersion blender. Instead, he merely gaped like a fish out of water, with bulging eyes to match. His blood poured into the hall, staining the already disgusting communal carpet even further.

"Oh my GOD!" Someone shouted behind me. The sword removed itself from the man, and flung itself towards the new speaker. "Mind your own fuckin' business!" It screamed in uncontrolled rage.

Desperate to stop the onslaught, I lunged at the flying sword as it passed by. Somehow, I was able to grab its handle, arresting its murderous flight.

"FREEZE! PUT DOWN THE WEAPON!" The voice shouted again. I looked up to see a uniformed police officer, his service revolver pointed at me with trembling arms.

"Sir, this isn't what it looks like" I said, as I tried to gesture with the blood covered sword. "its... erm, a magic talking sword?"

"DROP IT NOW!" The officer shouted.

I tried to let go, but the sword clung stubbornly to my palm. I swore I could hear it chuckle to itself as I struggled.

I felt the bullet hit my shoulder before I heard the shot. It ripped through me like nothing I had ever felt before, leaving only pain behind as it passed through bone and muscle alike. I fell to the floor and tried to grab the wound, but the sword stayed my hand.

"Tell your grandpa I said hi" it whispered, before the next shots rang through the hall.

/r/SlightlyColdStories for more

Miya stared down at the absolutely enormous sword gleaming on the dusty wooden countertop in her garage. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten it, exactly, because she didn't exactly set out to get a sword on her way back from dropping her son at his dad's house after another temper tantrum. It was just there when she got out of the car, paper bags full of boxed wine, bread and salty butter tucked under her arms and her hair a frizzy mess from the perpetually open window of her shitty car. Honestly, she was looking forward for solitary quality time with cheap alcohol, white flour, a new Love Island episode and potentially, a sneaky little hangout with her vibrator.

She made sure the bottles weren't going to tip over at her feet before she made her way a bit closer to the metal monstrosity. Was it Ian's? But her son was more into girls, overpriced sneakers and leaving a mess than roleplaying games. He hadn't wanted a sword of any kind since he was five.

She wondered if she should be more worried about the sudden appearance of a giant sword in her little suburban home, but she wasn't. She'd worn out her capacity to capably emote about two fights ago.

"What in the fucking hell are you doing here?" she mumbled, carefully running a suspicious finger over the smooth, cold metal. She had to admit, it was beautiful, as far as uselessly massive weapons went. Perfectly smooth and shiny, with no visible fingerprints or specks of dust, it was nearly as long as her whole body.

"And why the fuck are you touching me without my fucking permission?" a tinny, whiny voice replied, and she practically jumped ten feet in the air, looking around in a panic. Maybe Ian was right and she was, indeed, crazy.

"Over here, grandma," the grating voice almost seemed to roll its eyes, cracking ever so slightly. "The metal thing in your house, yes. Hi."

She blinked. Had she been drinking? Had she hit such rock bottom that she fell asleep, only to imagine the voice of an obnoxious teenager coming out of a piece of metal? "Hi?"

"Well I can't exactly wave at you, can't I? Waving is your job. Last time I heard, people, with arms, carry swords."

She huffed. "I don't know if this is real or not, but if it is, someone has a sick sense of humor to send me Ian's inanimate doppelgänger."

"I don't know any Ians."

She put her hands exasperatedly on her hips. "Well unlike you, talking scrap, he's a real boy. Smells, hormones and all."

"Ouch, really hurt my feelings there with that killer line, lasy. I'm so offended. My non existent heart in my non existent chest is broken."

"You know, when I made that little bastard and shot it out of my body while his dad was stationed in the Middle East, I had a lot of dreams. I thought, maybe he'd be a nice boy, and we'd have nice talks in a nice house-"

"Where is this going?"

"And here I am. Ian hates breathing air in the same room as me, his dad is now openly fucking his colleague who was definitely just his good friend back in the desert, and I'm talking to a sword, potentially hallucinating, about to drink myself asleep."

There was a long silence. She rubbed her face, feeling her shoulders sink. This sword could protect someone out there. Maybe it could be featured in a cool movie with shirtless men who grunt and touch each other homoerotically. Instead, there it was ready to be wielded by her, who hadn't lifted anything heavier than these grocery bags in years.

"Look, buddy, I don't know how you got here. I'm sure you're a nice young- sword... but I am tired, and my arms are noodles, so I couldn't wield you much further than the curb. I think you should leave the way you came, which is an insane thing to tell an object."

"If I knew how I got here, I sure as fuck would be using that information to get the hell back to where I came from, but I'm apparently stuck with you, so deal with it."

"Wait..." her brows furrowed. "You mean you don't know how you got here? Do you even know where you're from?"

She heard a squeaky huff. "Of course I-" the voice cut off. It was quiet again. "Actually, I don't... I don't know."

Something maternal in her heart cramped at that lost, tinny voice. She couldn't imagine appearing suddenly, completely immobile, in a foreign place with a foreign person, completely unable to do anything without their help.

"I'm sorry."

The sword took another minute to reply. "Maybe your sorry ass can figure out a way to get me the fuck out of this hellhole."

And there went that maternal ache straight out the proverbial window. "You're a mouthy little shit, you know that?"

The chuckle it gave made the metal blade vibrate ominously, like a giant guitar string. "Apparently. But you'd be mad too if you got stuck with an incompetent old woman as your wielder."

"I am not old."

"That's what offended you? Really?"

"Shut up." She slid down on the stool near the counter.

They sat there in relatively companionable silence, or at least she thought so - after all, this thing didn't exactly have expressions.

"Have you ever even been in a fight?"

"Of course I've-"

"I see that's a big fat no."

The sword vibrated again. It didn't add anything.

She looked down at the thing. She carefully slid her fingers around the hilt, feeling its impressive weight. She assumed that with some effort and two free hands, she could probably move it inside, at least. Maybe Ian would think it's cool. Maybe he'd take one look at her sitting around talking to a sword and never come back home again.

"You gonna fondle me forever, woman?"

She sighed and gave him a few seconds of silent, disappointed staring. Apparently, it worked on swords just as well as pimply boys, because before long, an unsure, defiant "what" made the sword vibrate in her hand.

"Want to go watch some TV?" she asked.

"I don't know what that is."

"It has moving pictures with sounds. They tell stories. It's in a little square."

"Hmm."

She took the time to make sure her car and garage doors were both locked. She was about to pick up the groceries when that tinny voice piped up.

"TV sounds nice, actually."

“God don’t grip me so tight when you’re fighting an old bearded guy.”

“Bro your swings are so terrible I want to cut myself”

“Pbbt. Lame.”

“Bro. I’m hungry.”

“Put me back in [the sheathe] it’s cold out here!”

“I’d like a slice of that cake”

“Let’s gooooooo”

(To the enemy) “Damn bro, you swing like a girl”

(To the female enemy) “Damn bro, you swing like — oh wait…You swing like a hairy dude!”

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake. Hahaha oh man I always wanted to do that… Ha… It’s a gaming joke. You don’t get it? Never mind… ^Lame.”

“Wait I thought that’s how I was supposed to do it? Oops”

“Like cuttin butter”

“Raw doggin this hobgoblin”

“Hey look mom! No hands!

“Don’t touch me. I’m harder than Damascus steel right now. It’ll be weird.”

“Bro. I’m hungry again...”

“Can you clean me, dude? I haven’t showered in days”

“Puts a whole new meaning to waxing the sword”

“Zzzzzzzz”

“That’s the most perfect cut in the history of perfect cuts”

“Aw yeah I’m the best. Who da best? I am!”

“No, it’s not my first time slicing someone! I’m not lying! I swear!”

(To you) “You’re not cut out for this but I am”

“$!@& ?%#$”

“Swoosh! Swish! Shhhhng! You like my added sound effects?”

“……”

“…It’s too early in the morning to be doing this…”

“360 no-scope! Omg you just failed that. Dude”

“Can he clutch the win with the last swing… And Ye—never mind… That was embarrassing”

“Can’t… breathe… monster grip…”

“For the gazillionth time you can’t cut a ghost!”

“I’m not meant to be used as a hammer ya know”

“Can we not do this today? I’m tired.”

“Ew ew ew ew! This is so grossss. This is so grossss.”

“Aaaand the dynamic duo gets the dub!”

“I’m trying my best okay?!” fake sobs

“I’m trying my best okay?!” real silent sobs

“Random boner! Just gotta let you know.”

(You to enemy) “I have a better sword than you!” (Sword) blushes

(You to enemy) “I have a bigger sword than you!” (Sword) “GAAAAAAY!”

(To enemy) “Mom, dad, I have something to tell you” sssshng!

“Look at all these nicks bro. Makes me look tough!”

“I wish I was bigger….”

“What? Did I say something wrong”

“What? Did you say something? I was thinking about food. A slice of ham or cheese or bread perhaps”

“Hot chick alert! Hot chick alert!”

(To killed enemy) “Eat it bitch”

“It’s big brain time! But I don’t have a brain! Yohohoho!”

(To enemy) “Cringe”

(To enemy) “You were as easy to hit as yo mama”

(To you) “You suck bro lol”

(To you and enemy) “Watch this…” fails “That’s not supposed to happen. No YOU suck!”

(To you) “Are you in love with me or something stop gripping me so hard”

(When you two first meet) “It always feels like I’m getting the short end of the stick… up my ass… If I had one…”

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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"Bro, we slaying some evil today or what?"

I continue sipping my tea. Bitter nostalgia hits hot on my tongue, scalding it slightly. It's a good morning. Boring, but good.

"Come on bro, I'm tryna get my blade wet if ya know what I mean."

I ignore the sword, pondering how much trouble it would be to charter a ship and dump it in the ocean.

"You can't ignore me forever, bro. Let's run it, right now, bro. What about him, huh?"

The innkeeper, Jarem, passes my table. I smile warmly. He smiles back politely and nods, moving past my table to wipe down another where a rowdy band of adventurers had managed to leave things mostly in one piece.

"Bro wouldn't even know. He ain't looking. Come on, let me show you what I can do!"

"No," I whisper between sips.

"Bro, fuck you. Give me a chance bro, I'll show you. I'll show everyone."

Jarem, thankfully, could not hear the sword. Nor could anyone, save for those unfortunate enough to be bound to it.

I ignore the sword's plea.

"Ugh, we never do anything fun," It pouts.

"Maybe," I say quietly, "if you weren't insistent on taking the reigns, you'd be let out of your sheath more."

Jarem shoots me a bemused look and shakes his head.

"Oh please, that was one time. Plus, it was too bright out. I couldn't see. You got the arm reattached anyways, didn't you?"

I feel the mind of the sword withdraw. Sulking off to whatever place sentient swords go when they feel sad and introspective.

I sigh.

The sword is useful, I remind myself. It can turn the most formidable warrior into a flailing child, if they're stupid enough to draw the blade. And the blade wants to be drawn. You can feel it, deeply enticing. Entrancing even, despite the inane whinings.

The sword is useful.

And blessedly--at least for the moment--it's also quiet.

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