A civil war rages in Talestor. A boy from a forest chases after his friend, leaving the safety of the trees and thrusting himself into a world he can barely comprehend, happening upon a weary sword whose only wish is for peace. A group of slaves are...
Nevay came to with a reeling sense of shock shivering through his mind. Almost immediately he became aware of his surroundings.
He was still in the forest where he'd fallen unconscious ages and ages ago, but the statue that had once held him up seemed to be a lot closer to the ground, and a tree, than before. Moss clung to his blade. It felt disgusting on the smooth, hard opal.
But the diamond at his pommel tingled and snapped with something right, something invigorating and clean. Instantly he reached out with all of the feeble power he held, commanding the stone fingers of the cold hand that grasped him to open.
Somebody gasped. Huh, it must have worked.
Then tentative fingers slid against his hilt, and it took all of Nevay's considerable self-control to keep himself from twitching in joy.
This person was full of happiness and kindness, with a humble heart and simple wants. This was not some army commander come to pillage and burn; this was not some warlord that lusted after power. This was simply someone who saw something pretty and decided to pick it up.
That same person finally pulled him clear of the moss and that awful stone hand, and Nevay could feel awe pouring out of them. It made his heart soar. Here was finally someone who would see him and not think of him as merely an addition to their own greatness, but something special on his own.
This time, he thought to himself, this time, I can trust my wielder. This time, my wielder will take care of me like they should. This time, they will help me find dear Wentarion, and we can be together again. At the thought of his best friend, an intense yearning opened up within him. He knew - he wanted to think he knew - that this time, he and Wentarion would be united again.
Without the purpose of trapping him to tether it to the world, the stone hand disappeared, along with any trace that he or it had ever been there. Nevay could feel the shock rippling through his new wielder the moment he discovered this, and something else, something that Nevay liked. Whoever it was had resigned themselves to the fact that the statute and the sword it held were completely out of the ordinary, and that was the way it was going to be.
"You're a strange one, aren't you?" Said his wielder, and yes that voice was definitely male. Nevay felt himself glitter in delight at those words. You understand, you understand, grateful thoughts buzzing in his mind like bees. Nevay loved bees.
Then his wielder asked him something about someone named Nalifrom, and Nevay was sorry but he didn't know. When he asked for Nevay's help, the saber went incandescent with joy, mind screaming yes I want to help you, let me help, I can help. And when we are done, I will need your help in return.
This new wielder seemed to be fine with this, and he set Nevay down on a bedroll beside him. The sword felt happier than he'd been in a long time.
It will be all right, he told himself. It will finally be all right.
Eventually his new wielder fell asleep, gorgeous green eyes gently fluttering shut. Nevay missed Wentarion's silver eyes, soft and kind, sharp and wakeful.
His wielder was going to be cold during the night, he realized, and so he shifted into his elven form and covered him with the cloak he had, then lay down beside him and became a sword again. They slept peacefully until morning.
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Author's Note: Welcome back to Aer'denna, everybody!
I have a bit of a confession to make: I. Love. Nevay. I love writing him, I love describing him... It gives me joy to see him blossom in the words on my pages.
If you guys like him too, please drop a vote or a comment, or both if you like! I hope you enjoyed your stay in Aer'denna.
