STRANGE MAGIC

BETRAYAL

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 around his shoulders, and his sharp eyes glinted beneath the shadow of his hood.

“You’re early,” Darren said, though his voice was uneasy.

“I’ve been waiting,” the trader replied. His tone was hard and impatient. “You have the sword with you?”

Darren hesitated, then slowly nodded. The sword was wrapped in cloth at his side. “Yes,” he said. “But I’ve made a decision. I’m not selling it anymore.”

The trader blinked, as if he hadn’t heard him clearly. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m not selling it,” Darren repeated, his voice firmer now. “I changed my mind.”

The trader’s expression darkened instantly. His hands clenched at his sides. “You made a promise to me,” he said in a low, angry tone. “I’ve already told my customers beyond the borders that I would bring them this sword. Do you have any idea what this means for me?”

“I don’t care,” Darren answered calmly but firmly. “I won’t sell it. The sword belongs to me.”

The trader took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t understand what you’re holding, boy. That sword isn’t ordinary steel — it’s made from metal that shouldn’t exist in this kingdom. The king’s guards are looking for weapons like that. Give it to me now before it brings you trouble.”

Darren shook his head. “No. It’s mine, and I’ll never sell it.”

The trader’s face twisted with anger. “You foolish boy,” he spat. “That blade is worth more than everything you own. You’ll lose everything because of your pride.”

Darren tightened his grip on the sword’s handle through the cloth. “I said no,” he repeated. “Leave me alone.”

The trader’s voice rose. “You’ll regret this!” he shouted, and before Darren could react, the man drew his own sword with lightning speed and swung it toward him.

The blade sliced through the air with a sharp whistle. Darren jumped back just in time, the weapon missing him by inches and striking the ground. Startled, he stepped away and quickly drew his own sword.

“Stop this!” Darren shouted, his heart pounding. But the trader ignored him, his face full of rage. He lunged forward again, and the clash of their swords filled the air.

The sound was harsh — steel against steel — echoing through the quiet countryside. Sparks flew as their blades met again and again, each strike heavier than the last. Darren fought hard, his movements guided more by instinct than skill. The trader, though older, was fierce and strong, his attacks wild but powerful.

They circled each other on the dirt path, dust rising beneath their feet. Darren blocked one strike, then another, feeling the shock of every impact through his arms. The trader pressed forward, his eyes blazing. “Give it to me!” he roared, slashing again.

“Never!” Darren shouted back.

The fight seemed endless — a blur of motion, sound, and anger. Both men were breathing heavily, sweat rolling down their faces. Darren’s arms ached, but he refused to yield. He parried another attack and swung back, forcing the trader a few steps away.

Finally, Darren found a moment’s space to speak. “I’ve told you already,” he said between heavy breaths. “I’m not selling this sword! Go away!”

But the trader only sneered, raising his sword once more. “You’ll regret this, boy,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t even know what you’re carrying.”

He swung again, faster this time, but Darren caught the blade on his own and pushed it aside. The trader stumbled slightly, panting. “I will be coming back for you,” he hissed. “Prepare for my return.”

Darren was about to reply when everything changed.

The sword in his hand began to glow faintly — a soft golden light spreading from the hilt to the blade. It pulsed like a heartbeat, brightening with every second. Darren’s breath caught. He had seen the sword glow before, but never like this — never this strong.

The trader saw it too and froze, his eyes widening. “What— what is that?” he whispered, taking a step back.

Before Darren could answer, a sudden heat rushed through his arm. His hand burned, but it wasn’t pain — it was power, wild and uncontrollable.

A flash of golden fire burst from his palm, exploding outward with a roar. The trader screamed as the flames hit him, throwing him backward onto the ground. The air shimmered with heat, and for a brief moment, everything around them glowed with the same strange golden light.

When the fire faded, Darren stood in silence, staring at his trembling hands. Smoke rose faintly from his skin. He could still feel the warmth of the sword, now dimming slowly back to its normal color. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

The trader lay several feet away, his clothes scorched, his sword lying broken beside him. He groaned weakly, trying to lift his head, but his strength was gone. His eyes were blurry, his voice faint.

“W-what are you?” he managed to whisper.

Darren didn’t answer. He didn’t even look back. He was too shaken, too lost in what had just happened. Without another word, he turned, picked up his sword, and began walking down the path.

The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, steady and heavy. The trader tried to call after him, but no words came. His body trembled, and his vision grew darker.

Through the blur, he saw Darren’s figure disappear into the morning mist, the faint golden shimmer of the sword fading slowly out of sight.

And then, silence.