The Sword Room was silent, its walls glowing faintly with ancient runes as Samuel entered, carrying the heavy key that only he possessed. The three swords rested in their glass cases, each alive with its own power. For a moment, Samuel stood still, his eyes fixed on them, as if weighing the cost of what he was about to do. Then he called softly, "David, come." His younger brother stepped inside, hesitant, his gaze darting nervously between the glowing blades. Samuel lifted the glass from the Sword of Lightning, sparks crackling in the air, and turned toward David. "This sword will be yours now," he said firmly. David's eyes widened. "Mine? Brother, you know I have no gift for swords… I am not like you. I will only disappoint you." Samuel placed the hilt in David's trembling hands, his voice calm but commanding. "The sword is not given for skill, David. It is given for heart. And though you may doubt yourself, I do not doubt you. Protect it well, for in your keeping it will be safe." David clutched the weapon, still uncertain but touched by his brother's trust, and nodded. "I will try… I promise." Samuel's eyes softened for a moment before he turned back to the remaining swords. His hand rested briefly on the glass containing the Sword of Soul. No word escaped his lips about the Curse Garden, for that secret he carried alone—the witches, the protection spell, the knowledge that only he could break it. Finally, his gaze fell on the Sword of Past, dark and gleaming, and he whispered to himself, "This one shall remain with me." Then, looking back at David, he spoke more firmly. "Remember, not a soul outside this room must know what has passed here tonight. Guard the sword as though you guard your own child, for it is the life of Veridia itself." David bowed his head, gripping the blade more tightly now, his voice quiet but steady. "I will not fail you, brother."
The palace of Liora shimmered with life that night. Golden banners draped the towers, lanterns floated above the courtyards like drifting stars, and music filled every corridor. It was a day of great joy—twenty years of King Samuel's reign. Peace had endured under his rule, and the people of Veridia had come in their finest clothes to celebrate.
King Samuel stood tall in the great hall, Queen Sophia beside him, her smile radiant. Their daughter, young Ava, laughed as she darted through the crowd, her green eyes bright with delight. The air carried the fragrance of roses, the sound of violins, and the joy of a kingdom united.
Samuel raised his goblet high.
"My people," he said, his voice carrying warmth and strength, "for two decades we have walked together in peace. This day belongs not to me alone, but to all of you who make Veridia a land of love and strength."
"Long live King Samuel!" the people roared in unison, their cheer shaking the very walls.
David, standing close with Emily, smiled.
"Brother, you always make it sound as if you did nothing," he said. "It is your courage that brought us here."
Samuel chuckled, clapping his brother's shoulder.
"And your wisdom, David—though you doubt yourself—has guided me more times than you realize."
Emily crossed her arms with a playful smirk.
"If he is wise, then I am the one who taught him."
Laughter followed her words, rippling through those gathered.
Just then, Ava tugged at her father's robe.
"Dad, when you are finished with speeches, will you dance with me?"
Samuel bent down and kissed her brow.
"For you, my little star," he said, smiling softly, "always."
The crowd cheered again as the music swelled, nobles clapping in rhythm, children twirling across the floor.
But in the shadowed corner of the hall stood Zarthus Nightshade. His goblet remained untouched, his gray eyes colder than stone. He forced a smile when greeted, yet bitterness churned within him.
"Twenty years," he muttered under his breath, unheard by the joyful crowd. "Twenty years of him on the throne… and still they cheer his name, never mine."
And as the laughter grew louder, Zarthus slipped further into the shadows, the envy in his heart darker than the night outside.
The night after the grand celebration, when the music of the palace had faded into memory, Zarthus Nightshade extended an invitation.
"Come, Samuel," he said with a smile that hid his intent. "You and your family must share a quiet dinner at my home. Let us celebrate not with nobles and crowds, but as friends."
Samuel, ever trusting, agreed. And so, the Blackwood family arrived at Zarthus's estate—an elegant manor built of dark stone, its halls lit by silver lanterns that gave the place an almost otherworldly glow. Queen Sophia marveled at the carved arches, Ava's laughter filled the corridors as she explored, and David, with Emily at his side, seemed at ease for once. The long table was heavy with dishes, fruits, and goblets of sweet wine, and as the family ate, Samuel's voice was warm.
"Zarthus, only you could turn a simple meal into a feast fit for kings."
Zarthus bowed his head humbly. "Your words honor me, old friend. To serve you is joy enough."
But while the family dined in merriment, far from their notice, Zarthus's plan was already unfolding. In the courtyard, he summoned his most trusted guard—a tall, scarred man with eyes as sharp as steel.
"Cairn," Zarthus whispered, his tone low, "the time has come. Tonight, you will slip into the palace. Do not take anything. Do not disturb a soul. You will only look… only learn. I want to know where the swords lie."
The man bowed, a grin flashing across his scarred face. "As you command, my lord."
And so Cairn vanished into the night, swift and silent as a shadow. Hours passed, and while laughter rang in Zarthus's hall, Cairn crept through the sleeping palace. At last, his search led him to Prince David's chamber. His eyes widened as he saw the Sword of Lightning, its sparks faint but alive, resting near David's bed. The guard did not touch it—he only memorized the sight, the location, the truth of it—and then vanished before dawn.
The next morning, when the Blackwood family had returned to the palace, Cairn reported in the secrecy of Zarthus's chamber.
"My lord, I found it. The Sword of Lightning rests with Prince David."
Zarthus leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. "I knew it," he said softly. "As I am an old friend of Samuel, I anticipate that one sword will be with him. And I guess the last sword is kept at the Curse Garden—the place where he and I once went to hide the most important things. So I think the last sword is at the Curse Garden.
His hand tightened on his goblet, his gaze dark with ambition.
"Now," he murmured, almost to himself, "the path is clear. Soon, the three shall be mine."