Saira had lived in Weinberg, the most eastern tip of the Suraephem, her entire life. Even though she loved the lush rolling hills and her parents farm she longed for more. On her twelfth birthday, her parents allowed her to relax after finishing her chores. Saira stood with her father’s old sword in hand, listening to the wheat fields. The gentle swishing of the wheat made her feel at peace, and the seemingly endless golden field swayed like the ocean. The seagulls squawking in the far distance and the rhythmic whooshing of the trees leaves made Saira feel almost sleepy, and as the warm summer sun beamed down she started to close her eyes when her senses suddenly picked up on a powerful and condensed aura whizzing right toward her.

She only had a moment to turn around before the powerful energy imbued itself into her sword. Saira felt a radiant zing of energy course through her and she felt almost dizzy from it all. Before she could be overwhelmed by it all, a soft voice spoke to her. Not aloud, though. Telepathically. Saira became very disoriented, and could not settle down, racing everywhere, the voice trying to calm her down and Saira freaking out even more. It was not until she bonked her head on a nearby tree and had to sit down was she able to clearly hear and understand the voice. The soft voice not quite feminine or masculine spoke to her, explaining who it was, and its lack of a name. Saira immediately named the sword spirit Gabriel. 

The spirit was pleased with its new name. The two continued chatting, asking each other questions and learning more about each other. Gabriel was fascinated by Saira’s tan skin and vibrant red hair. Gabriel compared it to poppy flowers, but when Saira heard the name of the flower her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Gabriel had forgotten that poppy flower had once thrived on the western end of the empire, now long forgotten. While the two spoke telepathically at first, Saira was unused to the sudden mental communication and spoke out loud. “So why are you here, if I may ask?” The sword continued to respond in Saira’s mind 

What do you know of the situation with the hellspawn and the sword heroes?

Saira shivered a bit, still unused to it all. She leaned back against the tree and her lips pursed a bit. 

She spoke with hesitation, “I know there have been countless heroes who have kept back the hellspawn, and I know the war is currently on the opposite end of the country. Isn't the current hero Jofiel?”

The silence that followed was heavy. The constant chirping and buzzing of the crickets and cicadas stopped abruptly, and Saira felt the sadness emanating from the sword sitting on her lap. 

He….was. I-i-i-i….he's gone now, Saira. For good. My best friend has met his end. 

The once soft and cheerful voice now held deep regret and despair with a sharp edge. Even though the sword spirit did not have a physical form of its own, Saira could swear there were tears glistening on the sword. Once the reality of the news set in, a slight panic set in. With the realization that Jofiel was dead now and that the spirit had made itself home in her sword, Saira’s shoulders became heavy with the responsibility that she would now bear. The creatures of the night resumed their symphonies and as the sun softly set, the two continued to quietly sit together. A creak cut through the silence as Saira’s father stepped on the front porch and called out in a playful “SAIRAAAAA. DINNNERRRRR. GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE BEFORE I EAT YOUR PORTION.”

Ready to meet my family? Saira surprised Gabriel with a telepathic message.

I suppose that would be in order. The spirit had regained the soft and cheerful emotion in its voice, though it was still a bit flat.

Saira stood up, stretching her limbs and bounding over to the farmhouse. Her father’s eye lit up when he saw his daughter bounding over, but froze when he saw the sword sheathed to her belt. The simple steel sword he had given to his daughter now looked completely different. Saira stopped and stood in front of her father, now frozen with fear. She cocked her head to the side and was confused. She looked at her father and followed his eyes to the sword now resting across her back. The simple steel sword had taken on the shape of a longsword, with a leaf blade style. The sword had two sharp points on either side near the handle. The hilt was now wrapped with fine leather and the champagne gold cross guards curved gently downward. The sword took up more than half her body length and there was a teal gemstone embedded in the handle. 

Saira’s voice rang with confusion and unease, “D-dad? What's wrong? Are you or mom hurt?” Devon chewed on his lips, his heart jumping with fear and anxiety “Saira. Where did you get that sword?” The voice had dropped several tones down and almost had a growl. Saira was unnerved by her father’s reaction but spoke in a clear voice “It’s the steel word you gave me today, dad. It's just a little more special now.” Devon’s heart dropped and an icy hardened glare came upon his face. His sharp and imposing voice caused Saira to sweat a little, but she held her ground. He stormed forward, and before Saira had a chance he spun around her and grabbed the sword, pulling it quickly but gently out of the leather harness. 

Glaring at the sword and the energy emanating from it, Devon spoke only one word, practically spitting it out. “Explain.” Saira turned to face her father, her hands trembling and palms sweating profusely. Devon was an impressive man, with a large muscular frame, and standing at six foot five. Saira took after her father very much, being much taller than the average twelve year old, but even she paled in comparison to her father. Saira gulped and looked up at her dad, the anger contorting his face. “That's my sword. The one you gave me. It now has special abilities.” Her voice came out squeaky, and it took everything she had not to stutter or stumble on her words. Devon’s grip on the handle tightened, his knuckles almost turning white. “I know it's special now, Saira. I'm not asking you to explain the obvious. I'M asking you to explain why it's oh so special.” 

Devon’s deep voice growled out the words, his voice grating and strained. Saira could tell he was doing everything in his power to not yell. Saira took a deep breath and said “Jofiel is dead. The sword spirit has chosen me as its next bond. This is a burden that I will bear, and one I will train as hard as possible for. I will defeat the enemy and come home to you and mom.” As Saira spoke her voice smoothed out and her tone was clear and full. The wind blew through her hair as she stared her father down, and Devon loosened up just a bit as seeing his daughters resolve. Saira did not know why her father was so against it, besides his care for his daughter. Her father took a deep breath, and grunted while pointing his head toward the house. She silently followed him inside, where her mother sat at the kitchen table, humming. The humming stopped and a paleness overtook her face when she saw the sword. 

One look at Devon’s face was enough for Soleia to understand what was going on. She gasped, and brought her hand to her mouth, nearly sobbing. Devon roughly handed Gabriel to Saira, bounding across the room to comfort his wife. “Put it in your room. I don't want to see it until we've talked.” Devon's voice was raspy, and quivered, as though on the verge of tears. Saira nodded and quickly placed Gabriel in her room. 

I see I'm not so welcome, child.

They will warm up to you eventually. They have to. Saira bounced back.

My child. I know your father. I also knew the young man he was once blood brothers with.

“Wha-?” Saira was confused at the statement Gabriel had made, but before she could finish, her father called up to her in the tone that said she needed to haul ass. She took one look at Gabriel before hurrying downstairs. Her mother’s face was red and her eyes puffy. Her father also looked as though he had been crying. She solemnly sat down at the dinner table, the food now cold. The three saw in a suffocating silence, neither making eye contact with the other. Finally Saira spoke “I need you both to tell me what you know, and what you have been hiding from me. Gabriel told me you are previously acquainted.” She looked down at her hands, twiddling her thumbs with anxiety and nervousness. 

Devon finally spoke after a few more minutes of the same suffocating silence. “When I was a young boy, I was best friends with the boy whose farm was next to ours. We were inseparable, practically like brothers. The villagers joked that we must have been brothers in a previous life. We grew up together, trained with the sword together, formed an adventuring group together, went to war together. We had a boisterous group of friends. Remiel was the one who pushed me to ask your mother out. We had so much fun. We braved through all our hard times together. When he was twenty two, the sword spirit chose him. He lived for three more years. I had to watch my best friend, my brother, be slaughtered before my eyes. I had to carry his various body parts in a sack… A-a-a SACK! That damn sword spirit stole my family from me. It stole Remiel’s life and future from him. I'll be damned if I let it do the same to you.”

Devon had begun to cry, sobbing into his hands. Saira sat in quiet shock as her father continued crying and started to hiccup. Her mother sat in silence with her head hung low. She felt deeply conflicted, but knew deep down that she would have to continue down her current path. She froze for a moment as she heard that same soft voice speak to her.

After Remiel was Algon, and after Algon was Haldar, and after him was Jofiel.

Realizing even more the mortality of the world, she shivered slightly before pulling herself together. Saira took both her parents' hands in her own, and with a deep breath spoke to them. She told them of the events of the day, how the spirit had met her, and what it had told her. She spoke of her resolve, and with each word, both of her parents seemed to calm down and loosen up bit by bit. Her father nodded at the end, and told Saira she would be allowed to train, but could not join the official war effort until she was eighteen. She may train and adventure until then. Saira’s final restriction would be that she was not to use the sword until she had received a proper swordsmanship instructor. Saira happily agreed to the terms, excitement gathering in her soul. Just as her father finished speaking, the door flung open. Standing in the doorway, her foot extended, was a woman who looked to be in her forties. She had the look of a teenage delinquent, yet the wisdom etched into her face was vastly clear. As soon as Devon saw the woman, recognition flashed in his eyes. The woman pursed her lips before exclaiming “Aye, ye’re no’ that braw a catch, are ye.” The three sat frozen in confusion as Paulette sauntered in. “Awrite, let’s get goin’ wi’ yer sword trainin, lassie.”