STRANGE MAGIC

THE SWORD

When Darren stepped inside the house that night, the air felt heavier than before. His parents were still seated by the table, the faint glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the room. He could sense their unease the moment he entered, but this time, he decided not to hide anything.

He cleared his throat softly. “Father, Mother,” he began, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

His father looked up slowly. “Go on.”

“I’ve made a connection,” Darren said. “Through a stranger — a trader that Joran knows. He’s agreed to buy my swords. Tomorrow, I’ll be taking one to show him. If he likes it, we’ll begin trading.”

His father didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, staring at Darren with eyes that seemed both proud and troubled. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “That’s… good, my son. You’ve worked hard for this. But be careful. The world outside Mentliway is not as kind as you think.”

Darren nodded. “I will, Father.”

But before he could say more, his father leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “Still… I’m worried. I’ve heard some rumors lately — about the king’s guards.”

Darren frowned. “What kind of rumors?”

“Rumors that they’re looking for swords made with special metals,” his father said. “Swords that aren’t ordinary. Some say they shine with strange colors, that they were forged with power forbidden by the Royal Bloodline.”

The words hung in the air like smoke. Darren’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his face calm. “That sounds like superstition, Father. Probably just stories.”

“Maybe,” his father replied quietly. “But I know this city. I’ve seen things that were once called superstition, and they turned out real.”

Darren’s mother looked between them nervously. “Let it rest for now,” she said softly. “You both look tired. Eat something and sleep.”

But Darren wasn’t ready to let it go. “Father,” he asked suddenly, “you mentioned the Royal Bloodline. What did you mean when you said the metal was connected to them? And what is this strange magic everyone talks about?”

His father hesitated. His eyes darkened, as if shadows passed through them. “It’s better you don’t ask about that,” he said at last. “That magic belongs to the Royals alone. No one outside their bloodline should have it. If someone else… somehow does, it’s considered a curse.”

“A curse?” Darren repeated. “Why?”

His father shook his head slowly. “Because such power can’t be controlled. It consumes those who try.”

Silence filled the room again. Darren could hear the faint crackling of the fire and the distant hum of night insects outside. His mother looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.

Finally, his father stood. “Forget the rumors,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’ll take your sword to the trader. Just… stay careful. Don’t let anyone see the one that glows. Keep it hidden.”

Darren nodded slowly, though his thoughts were far from calm. He excused himself and went to his room. But once the door closed behind him, he didn’t rest. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands.

Strange metal… forbidden power… Royal bloodline.

The words kept echoing in his mind.

He looked toward the corner where the golden sword was wrapped in cloth. Even covered, he could feel its presence — warm, faintly pulsing, like something alive. He swallowed hard and walked closer.

As he reached out, the faint hum began again. The blade shimmered softly beneath the fabric, a golden light bleeding through the threads. He froze, his breath caught in his chest.

“Stop,” he whispered to himself. “Not now.”

But the light grew stronger. The air around him tingled with energy. He could feel it calling to him — not with words, but with emotion, with something deep inside him that responded instinctively.

Then, just as suddenly, he yanked his hand away. The glow faded. Silence returned.

Darren stood there, trembling slightly. “What’s happening to me?” he murmured.

He couldn’t understand it. The sword felt connected to him somehow — as if part of his very being was trapped inside the metal. He wanted to believe it was only his imagination, but deep down, he knew better.

Unable to stay still, he rushed out of his room and went straight to his grandfather’s small quarters behind the house. The old man was sitting near a small fire, carving wood with a dull knife. He looked up as Darren approached.

“You’re still awake?” the old man asked, his voice calm and steady.

“I needed to talk to you, Grandfather,” Darren said, his voice low. “About the sword… and something my father said.”

The old man nodded slowly, as if he had been expecting this moment. “Sit down, boy.”

Darren sat beside him, the firelight flickering across their faces. “Father told me about swords made of strange metal,” he said. “He said they’re connected to the Royal Bloodline — to magic. He said people like us aren’t supposed to have them.”

The old man’s hand stopped carving. His eyes met Darren’s. “And you have one, don’t you?”

Darren hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. It glows — golden, like the sun. I don’t know why, but I can feel something from it. It feels alive.”

The old man let out a long sigh and placed the knife aside. “Then it’s true,” he said quietly. “I had hoped this day would never come.”

“What do you mean?” Darren asked.

The old man stared into the fire. “That sword isn’t just metal, my boy. It’s part of you. The reason it glows is because it responds to your spirit. That light is your power — the same magic the Royals claim as theirs.”

Darren’s heart pounded. “But… how is that possible? I’m not one of them.”

“That’s what everyone believes,” his grandfather said. “But there are things about our family you don’t know — things your father has kept hidden for years. The magic in you isn’t a curse, Darren. It’s a gift. But it’s also dangerous.”

The old man leaned closer. “You must be careful. Don’t let the guards find out about it. Forget the trader. Forget the sword sale. If they discover your power, they won’t see you as a blacksmith — they’ll see you as a threat.”

Darren’s mouth went dry. “Then what should I do?”

“Learn to control it,” the old man said firmly. “Hide it until you can understand it. Because one day, that magic will either protect this city… or destroy it.”

Darren stared at him in silence, the weight of his words pressing heavy in his chest. The fire crackled softly between them, throwing long shadows across the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through the cracks of the old house. The lamps flickered, and for a brief moment, Darren thought he saw the reflection of golden light in his grandfather’s eyes.

Then it vanished.

“Go,” the old man said quietly. “Rest while you can. Tomorrow will not be as peaceful as you think.”

Darren stood slowly and turned toward the door. But as he reached for the handle, the sword back in his room began to hum again — softly, but steadily, as if it had heard everything.

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