In Rightful Hands

The mist of midnight settled upon the menacing castle. Gwen crept through the large weeds making her way to the moat. She knew that many died attempting to get across it, but she remained confident.

As she gazed over the murk she smelled the stench of death. After a shudder, she slipped into the liquid. She swam blindly, not daring to open her eyes to the sludge. She felt a burning sensation on her arms and propelled herself quicker. When she touched the edge of the castle, she reached to her belt and ripped a grappling hook from a loop. She hurled it into the air and listened for the clang of a catch. After it sounded, she yanked herself up out of the waters and climbed the stone wall.

At the top of the wall she cleaned herself up as best she could and slunk to a tower. She flashed into the room at its top expecting a battle, but found no one there. An eerie feeling tickled her spine, but she kept on her way.

She descended the stairs, preparing for a battle at every corner. When she finally arrived at her destination, she took a deep breath and flung the door open. Again she was shocked. The great chamber was completely deserted, the silence unsettling. After looking around for a few moments, she spotted The Sword. Reverence poured over her as she stared at her inheritance.

A glint slid down its sharpened edge in greeting. Its hilt was spiraled in silver and gold with a red tint on the blade. Gwen thought of the infinite people it had destroyed and of how much good and evil it assisted in. A flare of anger surged through her fingers. The Sword was hers! It was stolen from her family and she was the rightful heir! Something this sacred could not be kept in the hands of a demon who would use it only to inflict pain.

She ran to it and grasped its hilt. Power and magic coursed through her veins as The Sword recognized her. No one could stop her now that they were joined once more. She brandished it in the air and shouted, “For my King! For my Grandfather! For Arthur!”