Echoes of the Past

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty: A Second Chance 

Echoing boot steps and low murmurs from beyond the walls whispered through the quiet barracks. Sam stood by his bunk, looking down at the closed crate on his bed. It felt like he'd been standing there for an age, the world and everything in it fading out of existence. The contents called to him.

As much as it had pained him to give away his possessions two years earlier, he had never wanted to see them again. He had no intention of going back to the person he once was. And now, despite his resistance, he had become that person again without realising it. And he needed to stay that way. The final pieces were to collect his sword and grapple hook.

The First Fire Wars felt like someone else's past. Vivid flashes of memories and emotions that, while faded over time, were still powerful wounds that gripped Sam. That's how he saw himself, sometimes: as a wounded animal. Bleeding out, until it was time to be put down. But a lot had changed recently. He now had people he cared for again; that he needed to protect. He needed to fight at his very best. He needed to be the man he once was.

Sam leaned down, his hands carefully moving, and lifted the long crate lid. A twist of pain came from his torso, and he had to remind himself to keep his actions small while his injuries healed.

The familiar curved sword's dark-blue and silver facets still gleamed. The blade was wide at the hilt, tapering up to a sharp point, and curved and bent like a winding river. It had a more rounded, pyramidal shape than a usual flat blade. But then this sword, that had once belonged to a Hovagkai hunter demon, was not a traditional weapon.

Sam picked up the long hilt and held the sword up. Its multi-faceted edges caught the light in various shades. His heart raced at the familiarity of it, and how natural the handle felt in his grip. He welled with emotion, his throat seizing up. His brother's youthful laugh echoed in the air, as real as if he were there right then. Holding the sword that had taken his brother from him stirred a deep, dark sadness within him.

"That is quite the weapon," Evan said.

Sam turned to see him carefully approaching, with his hands behind his back. Evan now wore a dark-green combat suit, similar to the blue uniforms of the Oneron. The shoulders and chest were padded like the uniforms, with the same reinforced protective material that could absorb light impacts. It looked odd on him; more form fitting, and made him look smaller, somehow. His silver boots – the only item from his previous outfit - made no sound on the hard floor.

"This is a Demos Blood Diamond sword," Sam said, finding his voice heavy. He left it at that.

Evan quietly stepped closer. The side of his face still showed the faint mark of a large bruise. "Sam. Are you aware there is a soul inside the sword?"

Sam paused. He nodded slowly, and remained silent.

Evan came to a stop before him. "It is a very special blade. I could see that from beyond this room."

Sam regarded Evan, trying to read his youthful features.

"You know, Sam," Evan said. "You and I have not had a chance to talk much, on our own. We do not know each other very well. And yet, I believe there must be an open and honest understanding between us, if we are to work together as best we can."

Sam gave a slight nod. "I agree."

Evan held a severe look, his eyes hardening. A long moment of silence passed between them, making Sam wonder if he was expected to say something next, before Evan finally spoke. "Where I come from, we have a small insect called a Spira Spark. It is a rare bug that, if caught and cared for, would turn into a mighty Wind Stalker. And the Wind Stalker would prove that the gods favour the household which cared for it, and bring fortune and health. I caught one of these bugs, once, with a very dear friend of mine. And when that friend became very sick, I kept the Spira in a jar by her bedside. And it did not change into a Wind Stalker. It remained as it was."