The Sword That Hates Me (But Is Better Than Me)

"It's not that the world is against me. It just has a very specific sense of humor."

Kael dragged his steps like someone chained to regret. Tharon rattled in his sheath, vibrating more with indignation than steel.

— "Never again," Kael spat, no ceremony. "Group missions. Never again."

— "Oh, brilliant. What a plan. Genius." Tharon chimed. "You, the legend, the hero, the mastermind of decisions... Who could've guessed it was a stupid idea from the start, right?"

They veered off the main square. Slipped through side streets, almost stealthy — like debtors dodging collectors. Only this time, the debt was emotional.

A corner turned. Another alley. And there he was. Again.

The dwarf. Same spot. Same barrel. Same miserable life, sealed inside a wet, rhythmic snore. Arms folded over the barrel like he was hugging his own ruin.

Kael gave him just a glance. No surprise. No pity. No judgment. Just that short sigh of someone who's grown used to the natural cycle of absurdity.

Tharon, of course, didn't miss the cue:

— "And to think this guy's more successful than you in life." He buzzed, voice sharp enough to scratch itself.

They kept walking. Footsteps echoing between the stained walls of the city's underbelly.

They cut through a patch of ground... A patch that, honestly, looked more like a poorly dug shallow grave.

Where once there was nothing, now grew a pile of nothingness. Torn bags. Boxes that had lost all structural dignity. Broken bottles with faded labels from times no one remembers.

Near what might've once been a tree — or just the sad idea of one — a rat was nibbling at time. Literally. Sniffing around the rusted hands of a broken clock.

The missing tick-tock felt more tragic than anything else.

And above it all, two eyes. Yellow. Fixed.

The kind of stare only an owl could pull off without looking criminal. Intense. Silent. A spectator to the urban decay unraveling below.

And the city breathed in that muffled way — half dying, half refusing to die.

Meanwhile, Kael and Tharon kept bickering like two old men who hated everything — including themselves.

— "I told you," Tharon snapped. "I told you. But no. Let's trust the ray of sunshine. Let's trust the prince of photosynthesis."

— "I'm not discussing this," Kael rubbed his face. "I don't have the energy."

The ground creaked. A wall cracked. The city coughed dust.

They crossed another street. Then one more... Until the dead-end alley appeared.

The smell hadn't changed. Neither had the humidity. And there it was. The façade of the Serpent's Eye Tavern.

They weren't sure if they felt relieved or just too exhausted to feel anything at all.

They pushed the door open. Yellowish light. The scent of grease, dust, and stale cigars.

Kael collapsed onto a bench — more crooked than hope itself. Tharon rattled in his sheath, vibrating, grinding.

— "Beer..." Kael took a deep breath. "And... something to eat."

Thalga shifted her cigar to the corner of her mouth, squinted, exhaled smoke and a dry cof cof right in the middle of the puff.

— "Food?" She adjusted her apron, clicked her tongue. "Cof... You think this is a banquet, kid?" She spat, fixing the crooked glasses that nearly slid off her nose. — "Only got old beer. Got it last night from a cheat behind the bar..." She took another drag — cof... — "Looks like dirt, tastes like sand crumbs. You want it or wanna cry?"

Kael inhaled. Thought about saying no. Gave up.

— "... Bring it."

She spun on her heels, tail dragging across the floor with that rough sound of someone who's out of patience.

Tharon rattled, vibrating more than usual.

— "Oh, of course. Because drinking dissolved cement is so on-brand for your life, kid."

Thalga returned. Slammed the mug on the counter like she was throwing a debt on the table.

The liquid... was a sad brown. Brown scraped from the bottom of a well that probably shouldn't exist.

Kael stared. Sighed. Drank. It went down like sandpaper. His throat felt like it was being filed from the inside out.

Thalga adjusted her cigar, letting smoke escape from the corner of her mouth.

— "So... cof cof what was it this time? What mess did you get into?" She looked down at him — that gorgon stare that could petrify your moral compass. — "Saw you walk in with... cof that group of walking reflectors."

Kael dropped his head onto his arm, forehead sinking into the counter.

— "Ray of Sunlight," he muttered. "That's what they call themselves."

Tharon trembled, chiming.

— "Fitting name... blinds everyone. With shame."

Thalga took another drag — cof cof cof — repositioned the cigar.

— "Tsk..." She shook her head. "And you went, huh? You went. You're getting soft, kid. Losing more than money... you're losing your mind."

Tharon didn't let it slide:

— "Mind? In a place where the dish of the day is wolf liver with onions that cry while roasting? Oh yes. A beacon of sanity."

She blew smoke straight into the sword's face.

— "And you... cof cof still talking, you talking piece of iron? Don't you ever shut up?"

— "Can't shut up. No arms. But I can cut. That work?" He chimed, vibrating like he might leap from the sheath.

— "Uh-huh... cut... cut your own tongue, that'd be a favor." She replied, adjusting the cigar.

And in the middle of all that—

— "MORE BEER OVER HERE, DAMMIT!" A deep, hoarse, half-drunk roar echoed.

They looked toward the back of the tavern.

An orc. One arm missing. Pot-bellied. Bald. A scar slashed across his face. More alcohol than blood in his veins.

His punch on the table made the glasses jump and the wood tremble. He opened his mouth, ready to shout again—

PSSHHH! The smell of burnt flesh rose instantly.

Thalga had put out her cigar... on the orc's hand.

— "Hrk..." The brute's eyes bulged. He stood up, wobbly, spitting half a curse, half foam—

PRAFFT! The punch landed dry. Right on the jaw. Dry. Precise.

The orc collapsed face-first, snout buried in the table.

The whole tavern fell into an awkward silence. Only the sound of the cigar's ember reigniting as she took another drag, tail swaying.

She returned to the counter. Calm. Like she'd just checked if the trash was in place.

— "So... cof cof where were we?" She puffed upward.

Tharon vibrated, nearly falling apart from laughing so hard.

— "That. That was worth every second."

Kael looked at the mug. At the brown liquid. At the reflection of his defeated face in the dull foam.

— "I think..." he breathed. "I think I need to rethink my definition of rock bottom."

— "Tsk." She took another drag. — "Don't rethink too hard... cof cof sometimes there's a trapdoor underneath."

Kael dropped the mug on the counter, pushing it forward like a stone he'd carried all day.

— "Got..." he breathed, voice dragging, "...any room available?"

Thalga shifted the cigar to the corner of her mouth, took a long drag, exhaled smoke — cof cof cof.

— "Cof... Got one." The snakes in her hair stirred, half-bored. — "The front one... cof the same you used last time. Door still opens, I think."

Kael reached into his pouch, pulled out a few coins, and let them fall onto the counter with that dry, metallic sound of someone who just wants the conversation to end.

— "Alright..." he pushed them toward her, barely looking.

Thalga scooped up the coins, counted them with taps on the wood, then kicked them into a drawer.

— "Tsk... cof cof If you don't break anything this time..." She shot a sideways glance at Tharon. — "No scratching walls, no biting tables... got it?"

Tharon chimed in his sheath, sharpening his tone:

— "Tables? Please... I only bite things with more intellect than that."

She puffed her cigar, squinting, blowing smoke.

— "Cof cof cof! And to think I've melted swords more charming than you."

Kael didn't respond. Or pretended not to hear. He just turned his back, steps heavy, drained.

He climbed the stairs, which creaked like they resented their own existence. Each step seemed to whisper: give up... give up... give up...

Short hallway. Low ceiling. A crooked door, scratched and cracked like a map of some forgotten land.

He pushed. The door gave in, groaning.

The room was... what one might generously call a room. Four walls. A bed that looked more like a trap. A window that didn't quite close. And that smell — the smell of something that had never been new.

Kael dropped his bag on the floor. Untied his boots. Removed his belt.

Tharon chimed, vibrating:

— "You know..." His tone sharper than ever. — "I still think the old lady loves me. Just doesn't know how to show it."

Kael tossed the sheath with Tharon against the wall.

— "Please..." His voice more worn than it should be for someone his age. — "Just... just let me sleep."

Silence. Only the sound of wind tapping the poorly shut window.

Kael collapsed onto the bed. The mattress gave way with the crunch of straw — along with whatever dignity his body had left.

He stared at the ceiling. And the ceiling stared back — cracked, crooked, judging.

— "Enough..." he whispered.

The world faded.

Kael woke up more rested than usual, feeling the weight of sleep slowly dissolve. He barely had time to stretch when a sharp voice sliced through the silence of the room.

— "Cof cof... Your snoring could bring down a fortress, Kael. You've got no idea the racket you make. I scared off rats from seven alleys thanks to you."

Kael closed his eyes and sighed, already used to the barbs from his steel companion — Tharon, whose metallic voice echoed clearly across the room.

He got up slowly, exchanging glances with the sword that never missed a chance to jab at him.

Descending the tavern stairs, Kael noticed the absence of old Thalga. The counter sat silent — no strong cigar smell, no dry cough that usually marked the owner's presence.

— "Lucky you, apparently," Tharon muttered, laughing with that raspy, sarcastic tone. — "Didn't have to swallow her bitter words first thing this morning."

Kael didn't reply. He simply pushed the door open and stepped outside, where the sun was already blazing — hot and bright, lighting up streets full of shadows and life.

As they walked, Kael pondered what to do with the day.

— "So now what? After the screaming frog and the Ray of Sunlight? Should we try another mission?" His voice was heavy with hesitation.

Tharon let out a dry laugh.

— "Seriously? I'm hoping we bump into that bunch of falling stars again. I want to see you get smacked around some more. I'll laugh until I'm bored."

Kael rolled his eyes.

— "That's enough. I think I'll just walk a bit. Enjoy the day in silence."

Tharon, with an ironic grin, replied:

— "May your luck be terrible, Kael. May they show up again, shining brighter than the midnight sun."

Kael didn't respond, choosing silence as they crossed the square.

They turned a corner near an alley — and suddenly, a rickety old cart creaked to a stop beside them.

Out jumped a ragged goblin, quick steps and a sly look, like he already knew their voices.

— "Well, well, my old friends," he said with a crooked smile and sharp eyes. — "Look what I've brought this time!"

Kael and Tharon exchanged wary glances but followed alongside the goblin as he continued:

— "A powerful crystal. They say it can bring someone back... if you make them swallow this stone — I mean, the crystal." He tapped the gem. — "Dug it up from a gem mine full of... shiny things. A dwarf who pulled it out said he saw the future and then... uh... fell asleep. Yeah, just fell asleep."

Tharon couldn't resist — he burst out laughing, voice echoing like a blade sliding across steel.

— "Nonsense. Faker than a king's promise. You fall for this stuff?"

Kael held the crystal up to the sun. It shimmered with a hypnotic glow — almost magical.

— "Maybe it's a relic..." he murmured, intrigued.

As they walked, the goblin kept glancing at them, clearly hoping for a more enthusiastic reaction.

Then, suddenly — the goblin vanished. No sound. No scream. No stumble.

He'd simply fallen into an open sewer maintenance hole, camouflaged with poorly placed planks in the middle of the street.

Kael and Tharon kept walking, still discussing the crystal, completely unaware.

— "If this thing actually works, it could be useful," Kael said, eyeing the stone in his hand.

— "Or just another scam to fool clueless adventurers," Tharon shot back, dripping with sarcasm.

Soon they reached the guild. The familiar scent of old wood and cheap adventure greeted them once again.

Kael and Tharon kept debating the artifact, oblivious to the mystery they'd left behind.

Kael shoved the crystal into his pocket with a dry, almost harsh motion. Tharon, of course, didn't miss the chance:

— "Oh great... another piece of junk for your useless collection. You, carrying that thing like it's the world's salvation."

Kael let out a short, bitter laugh.

— "Junk? You're one of the junk items here, Tharon. At least I'm useful for something."

The blade chimed with a sound almost teasing — like it was laughing too.

The guild expected nothing from them. And they expected nothing from the guild. But something was about to happen.