Beneath The Fallen Sky

"I've got the money, so show me what you're selling."

I had 10 gold to my name. That's how much Caden gave me before he set off to handle other matters. I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for yet, but I needed light armor and a good, reliable weapon.

"Take a look around. What you see on the walls is what I've made."

I was no blacksmith, but I could tell these shabby, dull weapons and worn armor pieces weren't nearly his best work. Not for someone with that kind of arrogance and experience.

"I've already looked around, this isn't what I want. I'm not looking for pawned items. I want what you've made. The real stuff."

The old man let out a loud laugh, holding his belly like it was on the verge of exploding. He wiped the tear out of his left eye and had a mean-looking grin like he was ready to show off. He slowly waddled over to my left and bent down to place his hand on a handle on the ground. He let out a groan and joked about his old age. I was nervous, but out of excitement.

What kind of masterpieces was he going to show me? Would I even be able to afford anything of his caliber?

I could see all his muscles tense up to lift the handle, like he was pulling up the whole floor. That's when I saw it. A hidden platform rose, revealing five relics bathed in the soft glow of emberlight.

"Y-you made… these?"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Just who in the hell was this old man? And why was he working in such a hole-in-the-wall shop?

At the top left sat a towering shield, its dark alloy gleaming like polished obsidian. Jagged edges spoke of both defense and destruction, and at its heart, a single blood-red gemstone flickered like a dying star. It felt as heavy as a fortress itself.

To the right of it, a tall, deep crimson cloak floated in place. Golden embroidery traces intricate patterns along its edges, sigils of forgotten kingdoms, each stitch woven with an unnatural precision. The material is impossibly soft yet unnervingly heavy, as if draped in the cosmos itself. When the air stirs, the cloak moves with an eerie grace, resisting the wind rather than flowing with it.

Next was the necklace-ring duo. The necklace is a thin, almost fragile chain of blackened silver, carrying a pendant unlike anything I've seen before. A smooth, onyx gemstone sits in its center, encased in jagged silver-like grasping claws. When I stare too long, I swear the stone shifts—like an abyss blinking back at me. The ring matches its design, a simple band of the same dark silver, but when I bring it closer, an invisible pressure surrounds my fingers, as if it's deciding whether or not I'm worthy to wear it.

Then, there was the staff. Its wooden shaft was of an emerald color, with veins of silver branching like lightning through a storm. The head of the staff holds a crystal, cracked and imperfect, yet still seething with a deep, slumbering power. Strange symbols coil around its length, shifting when viewed from different angles. When I step closer, the air around it grows heavier, pulsating with restrained energy, waiting for a master to awaken it.

And then, my gaze locks onto it.

A sword of absolute darkness—its blade a flawless abyss that doesn't reflect light but devours it. Midnight black, with edges so sharp they seem to cut through the air itself. The hilt is wrapped in interwoven strands of deep, silver-threaded leather, worn smooth from time but still firm beneath my fingers. Unlike the others, it doesn't hum with power, doesn't whisper in forgotten tongues—it simply exists, waiting, its presence undeniable.

I instantly knew. This is the one.

My fingers stretch toward the hilt, drawn by an instinct I don't fully understand. The sword feels like it's calling to me, waiting. But before I can touch it, a firm hand clamps onto my wrist.

I turn, startled, to find Vorn watching me with a grave expression. His previous easy demeanor is gone—no smirk, no casual indifference. He isn't angry. He's warning me.

"That's not a sword you pick up on a whim, boy," he says, his voice low and steady. "It's alive."

I frown, glancing back at the blade. Alive? The thought unsettles me, but I don't pull away.

"What do you mean?"

Vorn exhales through his nose, his grip tightening just slightly before he releases me.

"That thing doesn't just cut flesh. It feeds. It latches onto its wielder, drawing from them—strength, will, life itself. If you're not strong enough, it'll hollow you out from the inside, like a slow-acting poison."

His eyes narrow.

"You touch it without knowing what you're doing, and it won't kill you fast. It'll make you think you can handle it… right up until it drains you dry."

The sword sits there, silent, unmoving, but I swear I feel it watching me. Waiting.

I swallow, flexing my fingers.

"And if someone is strong enough?"

Vorn studies me for a long moment, then sighs.

"Then it becomes something else entirely."

He steps back, crossing his arms.

"If you think you can take it, prove it. Otherwise, walk away."

The moment my fingers graze the hilt, the world shatters. Darkness swallows me whole, and suddenly, I am elsewhere. A vast, endless void stretches around me, thick like ink, suffocating and endless. My breath catches in my throat—not because of the void itself, but because of the thing inside it. A towering shadow looms ahead, its form impossible to fully grasp. Its shape writhes, shifting, as if it's something that shouldn't exist in this world. At its center, a monstrous mouth gapes open—rows upon rows of jagged teeth stretching into the abyss. And then, there are the eyes. Dozens, maybe hundreds of them, glowing a sickly yellow, were all trained on me.

My body refuses to move.

The thing leans forward, eyes narrowing, studying me like prey.

And then—

It smiles.

A low, guttural chuckle echoes through the void, reverberating in my skull. The sound is ancient, hungry.

I think he's testing me.

My vision warps, my head pounds, and before I can react—

Everything goes black.

A sharp inhale. My eyes snap open, and I'm lying on the cold stone floor of the forge. The dim ember light above swims in my vision as the world slowly pieces itself back together.

"He's awake," a voice says—familiar, relieved.

I blink, trying to sit up, but my head throbs like it's been cracked open. Caden is kneeling beside me, concern written all over his face. The rest of the party is standing around, tense, like they just watched me drop dead.

"What the hell was that?!" Caden asks, his voice sharp with worry.

"As soon as we walked in the store, you dropped dead on the ground."

I swallow, my throat dry.

"I… I saw something. The memory of those countless eyes sends a shiver through me. I glance at the sword—it's still resting on the display, untouched."

I force myself upright, inhaling shakily.

"When I touched it, I wasn't here anymore. It was like my mind got pulled into… somewhere else."

I hesitate, trying to find the words.

"There was… a creature. A massive shadow. Too many eyes, too many teeth." I shake my head. "It looked at me. It smiled."

A heavy silence follows.

Then, Vorn exhales through his nose, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Hmph. So that's what happened."

I look at him sharply.

"You expected that?"

Vorn doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he steps toward the sword, gaze lingering on it before he finally speaks.

"You survived." He exhaled. "That means something. That thing inside the sword... it saw you and didn't consume you outright. That doesn't mean you've won it over. It means you're worth watching. A sort of light acceptance, if you'd call it."

Caden stares at him.

"Accepting? He just passed out! How the hell is that acceptance?"

Vorn gives a slow nod.

"It didn't kill him."

The room goes quiet.

Vorn continues, his voice firm.

"Most people who touch that sword don't get a warning. They get consumed."

He looks back at me.

"Whatever you saw in there—that's the will of the sword. It acknowledged you. But it also rejected your current state."

His eyes narrow.

"You're not strong enough yet. If you try to wield it as you are, it will devour you."

I exhale, my hands clenching into fists. The weight of his words sinks in. The sword is alive. It recognized me. But it also saw my weakness.

Caden huffs.

"Then that settles it, right? He just doesn't take it. We move on."

But I don't respond.

I can still feel it—the weight of its presence, the way it looked at me in the void. I should walk away. I should leave it alone and listen to reason. But the memory of those eyes lingers. The way it smiled—like it was waiting for me to return. I tighten my grip. No. I won't back down. I don't care how long it takes. I will make it mine.