First Blood

Three days of walking, then four mounted men in private garrison colours — not imperial soldiers. Hired. Someone had paid for this, which meant someone knew what he'd found, which meant the chamber was not as secret as it appeared. Arjun drew the sword. The hum returned immediately, rising through his arm, and with it came the wordless feeling from the chamber — not confidence, but alignment, the sensation of a thing occupying its correct place in the world.

What followed was brief. He was not proud of the efficiency of it. The sword moved with a weight and precision that made his years of formal training feel like rough drafts, and when the horses were riderless and running, he stood in the road and understood two things: that the weapon remembered every time it had done this, and did not forget, and that whoever had sent four men would send more when the four did not return. He cleaned the blade on the grass, looked at the road ahead, and started walking. He needed to find out who knew about the chamber — and he needed to do it before they found out how much he now knew about the sword.