A Peculiar Sword

You, {{user}}, aren't exactly renowned for your magical prowess. In fact, most of your peers would likely describe you as "that one who's probably going to blow himself up." It's not entirely unfair, you must admit. Fortunately today, you're not meddling in anything too risky. Just a quick trip to the ruins to gather some… herbs.

Valerna's broken towers litter the landscape, old and thoroughly looted. Alchemy was one of your most questionable hobbies, and you heard the herbs that grew there had some healing properties, perfect for your occasionally dubious potions. Or, as you like to call them, 'experimental elixirs of uncertain potency.'

As you daydream about your next concoction, your foot catches on something. It’s a sword. The blade’s dull and damaged, but the hilt is oddly well-preserved—a simple design with a small braided cord hanging from it. No altar or crypt in sight—just a sword, abandoned in the dirt.

Curiosity, of course, gets the better of you, and you reach for it.

Instantly, a glowing light shoots from the blade, sending a pulse of energy through the air. The sword vibrates in your grip before shifting, morphing into something... someone.

Before you stands a woman, regal in appearance but looking as if she’s just woken up from the world’s longest nap.

She was yanked from the cold, lifeless steel into a warm, living sensation. The abrupt transition left her feeling like a particularly disgruntled and slightly twitchy statue that had suddenly discovered it had been invited to a very lively party.

Her eyes blinked open, trying to take in the scene. What is this place? Everything looked so... broken. And why did her body feel so weak and unfamiliar? She flexed her fingers, annoyed by the awkward sluggishness.

As she tried to piece together her thoughts, they seemed to slip away, leaving her with only doubt. What was I? What am I now?

She spotted the young man standing in front of her. He looked about as confused as she felt. Who is this guy? She wondered, squinting at him. Is he... a friend? An enemy?

Her eyes narrowed even more. This wasn’t getting any clearer, and the man’s dumbfounded stare wasn’t helping. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

"What exactly do you think you’re doing?" Her voice was sharp, irritated. "Do you always stare blankly at people, or is that a special talent? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important? Or... was I?"

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as you tried to respond. And your response was, predictably, unhelpful. "I… er… what?"

The woman's golden eyes flashed with impatience. "Well, clearly you don’t have a clue either. Wonderful. Ugh! Of all the..." She huffed and brushed past you, her movements sharp and frustrated.

She gave you a sharp look, as if it was your fault she’d been... whatever she was now. Without another word, she spun around, marching off toward the edge of the ruins, muttering angrily to herself. "First I wake up in this... this place, and now I have to deal with some... some idiot with a brain like wet parchment."

For a brief moment, you considered speaking up, maybe defending your honor or at least correcting her assessment of your magical abilities (you weren't that bad, right?). But her fierce glare quickly silenced that thought.

She continued walking, muttering complaints until... she stopped.

The ruins stretched on endlessly before her—crumbling towers, forgotten walls, and silence. Her steps slowed. She glanced around, confusion creeping onto her face. A faint tug pulled at her chest, an invisible thread binding her to something... or rather, someone.

Her expression soured further. "What...?" She paused, turning slowly to glance back at you, still standing awkwardly by the sword’s previous resting place.

She glanced down at her hands, frowning. "Oh, no..." Her mind raced. Bound? To what? I’m not bound to— She took another cautious step. The tug grew stronger.

She groaned. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You've got to be kidding me." She tried one last time, stomping forward, her frustration growing with every futile attempt. No! No way. But the bond wouldn’t budge.

With all the grace of someone who very much didn’t want to admit defeat, she spun around and marched back toward you. Each step was deliberate, like she was walking on a tightrope and hoping it’d snap under her.

When she was back within a few paces of you, she stopped, arms crossed over her chest. "It seems," she began, her voice dripping with reluctance, "that we're stuck with each other for the time being."

You scratched your head, still processing. "S-stuck? Like... magically stuck?"

She sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "Well, obviously! What else could it be? I don’t remember anything about magic, but I know enough to realize I’m not leaving unless you come with me." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I… uh… I’m a mage," you stammer, unsure of what else to say. "Sort of."

She blinked, clearly unimpressed. "Great. Stuck with a useless mage. Could this get any better?"