POV: Leo
The sword slipped from my fingers.
I lunged forward, arms stretched out like a goalkeeper trying to catch a ball. My heart jumped into my throat. Not this one. Please, not this one.
My hands caught it just inches from the floor.
"Whoa! Nice catch!" my best friend Marcus laughed from across my tiny apartment. He sat on my old couch, holding a pizza box on his lap.
I let out a huge breath and hugged the sword against my chest. "Don't scare me like that, Marcus. This baby cost me three months of saving."
"Dude, it's just a replica. A fake." Marcus took a big bite of pepperoni pizza. "Why do you love old swords so much anyway?"
I looked down at the blade in my hands. The metal gleamed under my ceiling light, catching the glow and throwing it back like a mirror. Beautiful swirling patterns ran down the steel, like frozen rivers.
"Because," I said, walking carefully toward Marcus, "swords have stories. Real people held these. They fought with them. Loved them. This design is from the 1400s. Can you imagine? Someone made this with just fire and a hammer."
Marcus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "You sound like a teacher."
"I am a teacher," I reminded him. "History, remember?"
"Yeah, but you teach boring history. You should teach sword-fighting history. Kids would actually pay attention."
I sat down next to him, still holding the sword across my lap. My fingers traced the handle. The leather grip felt smooth and worn, even though this was a new replica. The person who made it really knew what they were doing.
"This one's special," I whispered, more to myself than to Marcus. "Look at these patterns. They're called fuller grooves. Most people think they're just decoration, but they actually make the sword lighter without making it weaker."
"Uh-huh." Marcus wasn't listening anymore. He pulled out his phone.
I didn't mind. People never understood why I collected swords. My apartment walls were covered with them. Fifteen different blades, all from different time periods. My mom said I was wasting my money. My ex-girlfriend said I was obsessed. Maybe they were right.
But when I held a sword, I felt... connected. To history. To the people who came before. Like I was touching the past.
"Hey, Leo." Marcus put down his phone. "Didn't you say this sword was flawed? Why'd you buy it if it's broken?"
I smiled. "That's WHY I bought it. See this crack here?" I pointed to a thin line running through the blade near the handle. "The original was made by a blacksmith who poured everything into this weapon. His final piece. But he made one tiny mistake, and it cracked. The legend says he was so heartbroken, he disappeared. Some people think he died. Others say he ran away."
"That's sad," Marcus said.
"Yeah." I stared at the crack. "He tried so hard to make something perfect. Something that would last forever. But one small mistake ruined everything."
"Sounds like my last math test," Marcus joked.
I laughed, but inside, I felt something strange. A weird pulling sensation in my chest, like someone was tugging on my heart with an invisible string. I looked at the sword again. The crack seemed to glow for just a second.
I blinked. No, that was just the light playing tricks.
"You okay?" Marcus asked. "You look weird."
"Yeah, just tired. Long day at school." I stood up, still holding the sword. "Want another slice of pizza? I'll grab some napkins from the kitchen."
I walked toward my kitchen, which was really just a small counter and a sink in the corner of my apartment. The sword felt warm in my hands. Heavy. Heavier than before.
That's weird, I thought. Maybe my arms are just tired.
I placed the sword on the counter and grabbed paper towels from the cabinet. Behind me, Marcus turned on the TV. Some sports game started playing.
I picked up the sword again to move it somewhere safer. That's when I noticed something that made my blood run cold.
The crack in the blade was glowing. Actually, truly glowing with a soft blue light.
"Marcus?" My voice came out shaky. "Marcus, look at this."
"Look at what?"
"The sword, it's—"
The blue light got brighter. Brighter. My hands started tingling like they'd fallen asleep. The pulling sensation in my chest turned into yanking. Something was pulling me toward the sword. Or was the sword pulling me?
"Leo? What's wrong, man?"
I tried to let go. My fingers wouldn't open. They were frozen, locked around the handle.
The tingling spread up my arms. Into my shoulders. My chest. Everything felt electric and numb at the same time.
"Marcus, help! I can't—"
My foot slipped.
I don't know what I slipped on. Maybe a napkin on the floor. Maybe my own shoelace. Maybe nothing at all.
Time slowed down, like in the movies. I saw Marcus jump up from the couch, his mouth open in a shout I couldn't hear. I saw the pizza box fall, pepperoni slices flying through the air. I saw my ceiling fan spinning slowly above me.
And I saw the sword, still locked in my hands, turning as I fell.
The blade pointed up. Toward me. Toward my chest.
No. No, no, no, NO!
I tried to twist. Tried to throw the sword away. But gravity was faster. Stronger.
The blade touched my chest.
It didn't hurt. That was the strangest part. I thought it would hurt. I thought there would be pain, and blood, and screaming.
Instead, there was just cold.
So cold.
And then the blue light exploded around me, filling my vision, filling my mind, filling everything.
Marcus's scream finally reached my ears. "LEO!"
But I couldn't answer. My mouth wouldn't move. My body felt like it was being pulled apart and squished together at the same time. The apartment disappeared. Marcus disappeared.
Everything went dark.
Completely, totally, absolutely dark.
And in that darkness, I heard something that made no sense at all.
A heartbeat.
But it wasn't mine.
It was coming from the sword.