2025-11-08 02:51:35As 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.
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THE TRADER'S HIDDEN INTENTION
The forest was silent again after the battle, but the trader did not feel the silence — he carried it with him. Every step he took was heavy, and every breath he released seemed to cool the air around him. His clothes were torn from Darren’s magical blasts, and traces of burned fabric still clung to his sleeves. Despite this, there was a small, crooked smile on his face — the smile of someone who had already gotten what he wanted.Clutched firmly in his hand was the glowing sword he had stolen from Darren.The yellow glow shimmered like a captured sun trapped within steel. He admired it for a moment, running his thumb along the cold surface. “A boy like you,” he murmured, as if speaking to the sword, “should never have held this kind of power.”The trader walked deeper into the forest until he reached a hidden wooden shed, old and covered with moss, nearly invisible unless someone already knew it was there. He pushed the door open, and the wooden hinges creaked. Inside, it was dim — s
THE TRADER'S RETURN
The forest was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the night wind. The trader—his real name still unknown to everyone—walked through the narrow path with calm, steady steps. He carried Darren’s glowing sword in his left hand, the blade wrapped in a dark cloth to stop its light from drawing attention. Yet even with the cloth, a faint pulse of yellow radiated through the fabric, leaking like contained fire.He smirked to himself.“This boy,” he muttered. “So foolish. So untrained. And yet… this sword chose him.”He stopped beneath a tall tree, placing his palm against its rough bark. A dark symbol appeared briefly—something carved there long ago, the mark of his secret dealings. As the symbol glowed, a hidden wooden door silently opened at the foot of the tree, revealing a small underground room.He stepped inside.It was dim and damp, lit only by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. This was the trader’s hideout—nothing luxurious, but everything inside had pur
THE QUIET STORM RISING
The morning sun crept slowly over the horizon, casting pale streaks of gold across the distant ocean where Darren had washed up. The waves were calm now, no longer raging or tossing his unconscious body from one current to another. Instead, they rose and fell gently, as if trying to soothe the bruised and battered figure lying on the sand. Darren’s breathing was shallow, his body still aching deeply from the fierce battle he had fought the previous night. Though his eyelids were closed, his face carried the marks of exhaustion, fear, and defeat. His clothes were torn, drenched, and stained with traces of river mud and seawater. Even in his unconscious state, small twitches in his fingers showed that his body had not fully recovered from the magical energy he had forced himself to unleash in desperation.Around him, the early morning breeze rustled through the palm leaves and the scattered shrubs dotting the shoreline. The silence was calming, broken only by distant calls of seabirds c
THE MYSTERIOUS GIRL BY THE SHORE
The morning sun stretched slowly across the horizon, casting a pale golden light over the distant shoreline where Darren lay unmoving. The waves rolled in and out around him, nudging his body gently as though trying to wake him. The sky above him was a faded blue, still recovering from the darkness of dawn, and the tide had already left small trails of foam near his arms and legs. Darren’s breathing was shallow, almost undetectable, and his skin was still damp from the long journey the river and ocean had forced him through.For several minutes, the shore remained quiet, disturbed only by the soft rhythm of the waves. Then, faint footsteps began approaching from the left side of the beach—slow, careful steps, almost hesitant. The footsteps belonged to a young girl, no older than Darren, who had come to the beach early that morning to gather shells near the rocks. She wore a long, faded blue dress that fluttered lightly in the sea breeze, and her long hair was tied behind her back in a
THE SHORE OF SILENCE
Darren lay motionless on the lonely stretch of sand where the ocean had pushed him onto the shore. His body was half-buried under the cold, wet layer of sand washed over him by the last high tide. Waves rolled in and out gently, as if they were trying to nudge him awake. The morning sun was just beginning to rise, sending thin rays of pale gold across the sky. The wind was cool, brushing over his soaked clothes and leaving him shivering even in his unconscious state. The wide shore was quiet, with only the whispers of the wind and the cries of distant seabirds echoing across the open space.His lips were pale, his face drained of all color except for faint bruises marking his jaw and cheek from the beating he had suffered. His hands were limp by his sides, fingers twitching slightly whenever a wave touched them. He had no sword, no strength, and no idea where he was. The river had dragged him mercilessly, the ocean had tossed him around like a lost leaf, and the shore had finally clai
THE SEARCH CONTINUES
The afternoon sun cast a warm glow across the compound as Darren stepped outside quietly, stretching his muscles after hours of deliberate practice and mental preparation. His body still felt heavy from the previous night’s encounter, but he could sense that his strength was slowly returning. The soreness in his arms and legs had dulled slightly, and although the bruises were still present, they no longer throbbed as sharply as before. His breathing was steady, and a calm determination settled within him.The forest, with its rustling leaves and distant bird calls, felt different today—not in a frightening way, but in a way that reminded him of responsibility. It was silent in a deeper sense, as though the trees themselves were aware of what he had faced and were watching him quietly. Darren took slow steps across the compound, allowing the familiar surroundings to ground him. The smell of the earth, the warmth of the air, and the steady rhythm of nature soothed his mind.Inside the h
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