Morning came softly over Mentliway, spilling sunlight across the rooftops and glittering on the damp cobblestones. The forge was quiet for once, the hammer cold on the anvil. Darren had promised his father he would rest, though sleep had been impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it — the sword, glowing gold, humming like a living thing.The voice that had whispered his name still echoed in his head. Darren…He needed air. He needed distraction.So when the sun rose high, he left home under the excuse of meeting friends. His mother smiled and handed him bread for the road, but his father only nodded — the kind of nod that carried unspoken worry.Mentliway was waking up. Market stalls opened one by one; the smell of roasted grain drifted through the air. Darren passed the well where women drew water, passed laughing children, passed the Royal banners fluttering above the town square. Each one bore the same mark — a golden crest shaped like a sunburst.The same mark that now

The next morning came bright and calm over Mentliway. Darren woke early, full of joy and energy. The golden light of sunrise touched his window, and a gentle breeze drifted through the small house. He stretched, washed quickly, and began his usual morning chores.He swept the front yard, fetched water from the well, and helped tidy the small shed beside the house. He moved fast, humming softly to himself, his mind already set on the plans he had made with Joran.When he finished his chores, he wiped his hands on a cloth and looked toward the forge. The tools were still there, the coals cold and quiet from the night before. For a moment, he thought about telling his parents he was going out — but then he shook his head. He didn’t want to delay. He had promised Joran he’d be there early.Without another word, Darren took his small satchel and stepped out quietly. His mother was still busy inside the house, and his father hadn’t yet come out from his room. He walked quickly down the path

As usual, Darren stormed out of his bed before the sun had fully risen. The morning air was still cool, the faint smell of smoke from early fires drifting through the quiet village. Without a word to anyone, he left the house, his steps fast and determined. He didn’t even stop to eat or to greet his parents — something was stirring in him, a restless feeling he couldn’t explain.He followed the narrow dirt path that curved through the outskirts of Mentliway. The ground was still damp with dew, and a faint mist hung low over the fields. He wasn’t sure where he was going, only that he needed to move, to get away from the weight of his thoughts. His mind replayed the warnings from his father, the doubts that had filled the house the night before.And then, up ahead, a voice called his name.“Darren!”He stopped and turned quickly. Out of the fading mist came the figure of the trader — the same man he had met days earlier to discuss selling his sword. The trader’s cloak was drawn tightly

That evening, Darren did not go home. Instead, he walked straight to his friend Joran’s house. The night air was cool, and the village was slowly falling silent as lanterns flickered in the distance. When Darren arrived, Joran was nowhere to be found. He decided to wait, sitting quietly by the small wooden fence in front of the house.Minutes turned into hours. He waited for nearly two hours, the evening growing darker, the air heavier. Then, at last, he saw Joran approaching from the path, carrying a small sack over his shoulder.When Joran came closer, he looked at Darren in surprise. “Darren? What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked. “You should be at home by now.”Darren’s expression was serious. “You shouldn’t be asking me that kind of question,” he said firmly. “I came to see you because there’s something I need to discuss with you.”Joran frowned, a little confused but curious. “What is it? What’s going on?”Darren took a deep breath before speaking. “I heard from the tr

After enjoying the peaceful wind and staring at the beautiful skies, Darren finally went back into the house. He felt calm, yet something inside him wouldn’t rest. He told his parents that he wanted to go out hunting again. His father looked at him carefully and said, “Always be careful, my son.” What his father didn’t know was that Darren had already fought with a monster on his way back home the other day. He hadn’t told anyone about it—not even his grandfather. That secret still burned in his chest. He only nodded to his father, trying not to reveal the truth, then went into his room and took out the original sword—the one connected to his magic, the one he had almost sold to the trader. He held the sword firmly, feeling the faint golden glow pulse beneath its surface. It hummed softly in his hand, like it was alive. Darren wrapped it and placed it on himself, then headed outside, ready for the hunt. This time, his expression was serious—he wasn’t smiling as usual. He went to t