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Meta Knight looked into the cave. He usually came around this side of Dreamland to train. It was normally deserted, nobody lived here and he deemed it perfect to try every technique, with various kinds of terrains all around. There were rocks, twigs, big branches and anything he might need to test his blade. First of all, fresh air to stretch his wings in and the ability to look at the sunrise every day.
And then there was the cave.
It was dug into a mountain. It had definitely been bigger in the past, there were clear signs of a cave-in having taken place. There were rocks and stones scattered all around. More than one time, simply stepping into it had been enough to cause more tremors and jostle some debris. It was definitely not safe.
Yet there was something so intriguing about it.
He couldn’t point it out, but he did feel the unstoppable need to go and explore that cave every time he passed by its entrance, like a fire burning within him. And sometimes he did. He’d found all sorts of curious trinkets in there: what might have been a flag but was now only a battered piece of checkered cloth, spare metal bent in all direction that he couldn’t figure out what shape it had originally been given. There were a couple coins too, their faces too bent and smudged by time to understand what was written in front of them.
He usually did not delve in too deep. He’d get in, maybe shuffle a bit of rock around if he thought it safe to do so. More than once he’d had to rely on his wings to get out before the crumbling walls squashed him. But on the other side, he had fairly good night vision, and who else would be coming to look into this cave if not himself?
Besides, then there was the general aura of the place.
He couldn’t say it better either. But it felt like there was something there and Meta Knight was entranced by it. He was no treasure hunter, had no need for gold and little interest in the history a few broken coins might tell, and yet he hoped to find a grand treasure in there someday. Maybe then, his unexplainable need to get into the cave would be sated.
So that day he delved deeper into the cave. He rolled a few boulders inside with ease, a sign they weren’t keeping much weight, that they wouldn’t crumble. Then he sheathed his trusty sword and sneaked in deeper. As usual he scanned the ground and found a few shiny metal trinkets. Nothing too interesting.
But then his eye landed on something else. Small, and crimson, just standing there on the ground, suffocated by the rocks. His eyes glinted and he shuffled closer, careful not to budge too many boulders and squeezing in between some of them. He’d never been so deep, he didn’t know which were things he should not move and which weren’t really supporting the ceiling.
He crouched, looking intently at it. It was not just a soot-covered old gem, though. Meta Knight carefully wiped some of the dust away with his glove. Among the debris appeared something long and familiar. A hilt.
His eyes sparkled. Could it be? His instincts had brought him to a sword?
Cleaning the area more, he found his hunch to be right. There was a sword indeed buried under the rubble. Its blade could not be seen, stuck under a rock that really didn’t want to move. But the hilt alone looked marvelous. It had a hexagonal cross-guard, and looked made of elegant brass. Despite everything, it did not look bent, not even a little. And yet everything he’d found in here was crushed.
Well, it was also true that he still had to look at the blade… but if push came to shove, he could always fix it himself.
He had to fight quite a lot to drag it out. It was squashed under the boulder and Meta Knight did believe it was one of the pieces of rocks preventing the entire thing from falling on his head. He had to give careful knocks on all sides to understand just how much he could push it. After a while of no results and playing nice, he decided to throw caution to the winds and used the power of his wings. With a couple of strong beats the sword finally came out with a beautiful metallic sound that sent his heart flying, along with something that sounded suspiciously like a pained gasp.
Soon followed by rumbling and the crunching of yielding rock, so he couldn’t investigate further.
He was lucky his wings were already out, and ready to carry him outside with hasty flaps.
To the light of the sky, Meta Knight found himself mesmerized. The sword was dirty, and it clearly had not been cured, but there was just something deep within Meta Knight urging him to clean it and use it. He felt how the hilt laid in his hand. It seemed so perfect.
A lot of swords Meta Knight used he’d had to have custom made or modified at some point. Most were too long for him, or their hilts were too short and he couldn’t keep an efficient grip on them. But this one, with no changes, already seemed to be crafted for him.
It looked like it was made of brass, and it felt very light in his grip, which made him believe it. It had a weird orange coloration, typical of jazz instruments, that intrigued him. Above all now that he was not busy flinging himself to safety, he noticed its blade was a sight to behold.
He’d never seen one built like it. It had the central body and blade every sword elegantly donned, but this one had extra half blades sprouting from its sides. Two each, for a total of five sharp edges all around. He couldn’t help but take the blade in his hand as well, rotating it and watching as the sunlight reflected its colors. Feeling it around, he noticed how the blade was still perfectly straight. No awkward bends, and at least he felt relived at that.
Still entranced, he waved it around for a moment, hearing the sound of the blow slashing effortlessly through the air. Ah, something within him melted.
But when he looked at his other glove, the one he’d used to hold the blade with, he found it covered in an orange hue that reminded him of dangerous rust. And grime, soot and ash.
“You simply cannot be left to rot in this condition.” He murmured to himself, and to the sword to some extent. Then he decided to call his training off early and took off for the sky.
When he came back to Castle Dedede, his new home, he barely gave a wave to the few Waddle Dee guards standing around. They replied with bright smiles (understandable through the way their eyes were shining) and let him in. He’d started working as a knight for his majesty a long time ago now.
Which also meant he’d had time to create and decorate a little workshop of his own for caring for his weapons and armor. He whistled a low tune as he opened the doors to his side of the basement and slipped in. He was about to lay the newfound sword on a table, before deciding to wipe it down first. With a few quick swipes the wood was definitely clean, and so he left it there momentarily.
He turned, took off his cape and his other sword at his side. A trusted old friend, with a bow cross-guard and a hue so warm it made him feel safe and ready for battle at any moment. He hanged it on the wall next to his disciples’ weapons and counted through various cloths and products in a nearby cabinet before he finally settled on his best supplies.
Having picked up a through cleaner and more than a few cloths, as well as a cup he simply filled with water, he got to work. First things first, he wiped the blade and all its various graceful bends with a rag barely damp with water. He washed it thoroughly for various minutes, periodically dipping it in the cup again. When he was satisfied at having removed a first layer of grime and dirt, he turned the sword around and repeated the process.
He nodded once the first step was done. The color appeared off now in a few places, surprisingly lighter. Intricate decorations on the hilt appeared too, carefully crafted to steady one’s grip.
And yet the hardest part was still to come. He took another cloth, much older and with a few holes and tears all around but perfect for what he needed, and sprayed quite a bit of anti-rust detergent on it, until it was wet. Then, with force again, he started to wipe the edges clean. There should be no problem, since the blade was so old, it was most likely very dull.
That was what he thought until he heard something being violently ripped under his very hands, anyway.
Looking down, with a baffled face, he found that not only had the rag been torn almost in half, but that it had also carried through part of his glove. It was nothing bad, really, he’d just have to sew it later.
“Mh. You seem to still be quite feisty.” He said out loud. So he continued with his work, this time being more mindful. Some edges were still sharper than others, but this Meta Knight could fix later. Instead he focused his endeavors on the bulk of the blade, carefully peeling away layers of rust and dirt that had nestled deep within it.
When he was done, his eyes were shining again. He couldn’t believe it. The sword wasn’t made of brass.
It was made of the purest, finest gold.
He took it within his palms once more, to admire it and his job well done. He’d seen patches of the color appear as he was working, and now he was finally able to bask in its full glory. He brought the lamp he’d been using closer, the light ricocheted off the blade with elegance and he was stunned.
“It… you’re beautiful.” He breathed out. More and more, the deep desire to bring this sword forth into battle with him reared its head. Perhaps he should challenge Kirby with it next. But no, not yet. He still had a few things to do before it was perfect, after all!
Speaking of, he turned the hilt around again. The deep red gem in an oval cut looked nested deep in the metal, melted with the sword itself if he had to guess. The anti-rust had worked like a charm for the main body, but the precious stone was something different. Could even be an entire ruby. He hummed again.
“I wonder if I have something to clean that…” He brought the sword with him, this time, leaning it on his pauldron. Then he started taking supplies out in front of him. “I thought we had… there it is.”
He picked out from the back of the cabinet that read ‘ammonia’. A weak solution should suffice to polish it.
He rinsed the cup of water he’d used and cleaned it. Then he put a bit of the solution in, and reading what the bottle had on its back, added a bit of the detergent into the cup and let the hilt of the sword soak for a few minutes. He left it there, looking instead for something else that might be of use: a brush and a toothpick.
After a while, he took the sword out. He used the same solution to clean the gem with the brush, stroking gently on both sides. Then, with the patience of a saint, he started to pick out all the dust and tiny stones that had made their way into the engraving the gem was residing in. It took quite a lot of time, but it was worth it to see it twinkling in the light of the lamp in the end. He gave it one last rinse with the solution, and with clean water, and finally the dark gem was shining in splendor.
Meta Knight should really stop staring at it as if he was caught in a trance. And to say he didn’t even like jewels, they were mostly useless to him. Silently, he wondered whether this had been meant as an ornamental sword, not something to be used in battle. It did look too pretty, after all.
Well, he should find out soon enough. But first, he decided to give it the sharpening it’d been waiting for. He moved with a purpose to the other side of the room, put on a pair of glasses over his mask to cover his eyes and pressed on a pedal a few times, just enough to send a log reinforced in metal spinning in front of him.
He got started with the main body, placing a hand on the hilt and another gently caressing the blade, and then rotated the sword around to get every single oddly-put edge as sparks flew about. It didn’t even take that long, just some creativity on his part.
He rotated it in his grasp once more, enamored. It was literally shining now. He should buy a new duster, that should suffice to maintain it, without losing any more rags to its lovely sharp edges. He stared at it for a lot more time than was necessary.
A knock on the basement door was enough to get him out of his trance. “Sir? Can I come in?” A voice asked soon after, muffled by the wood.
“Sword.” He said, standing up and removing his goggles. “Please do.”
The door opened with a creak to reveal his dark-armored knave. “Am I interrupting somethi— whoa.” He said, his eyes flying immediately to the sword Meta Knight was keeping in his grasp. He smiled under his mask. Sword and Blade were on the right path to become incredible knights, fearsome warriors, but at their cores they were still children.
“It is quite interesting, isn’t it?” Meta Knight said himself.
“Where did you find it, Sir?” Sword asked, scurrying in to get closer, but still at a reasonable distance.
“In the cave.” He replied. His knave’s eyes widened.
“Again? Sir but… it is dangerous!”
“You are correct, but do not worry. I took all the necessary precautions. Besides, I believe I finally found what I was looking for deep into it.”
“So that’s why you’ve been in here all the afternoon?” The other queried. Meta Knight blinked.
“Has it really been that long?”
“Yeah, me and Blade figured you’d stay out to train until lunch, but then the Waddle Dees told us you came back early. It’s almost dinnertime by now.”
Meta Knight mumbled under his breath. It appeared it had taken him a lot more time and care to clean the sword than initially anticipated. His stomach growled under him, and in the dead silence, Sword shook his head.
“Well? Shall we have dinner early?”
“It would probably be wise, yes.”
When they all met back in the knight’s quarters, to find Blade had indeed already gotten started on dinner, bless his soul, he was also pretty intrigued by the sword even if he only heard about it. Meta Knight had left it downstairs, secure in the workshop along with the rest of their weapons.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Blade asked after a moment, munching on some spiced and stuffed tomatoes he’d baked with mastery.
“Mh?”
“The sword. Will you just keep it somewhere looking pretty?” Sword added.
“You have to admit, it would look pretty dashing standing in some decorated room.” The other knave continued, waving his fork around.
“To be honest, I’m not completely sure if it’s to be displayed or if it can be fought with.” Meta Knight admitted.
“Then the only way is to try, isn’t it?” Sword chuckled, poking his friend in the side. “Could be of use since someone woke up too late to train today.” Blade immediately went red under his helmet and his head nestled within his shoulders.
“Why did you have to say it…!”
“That’s fine, I’ll let you off this time,” Meta Knight nodded, “if you do spar with me and with that sword. Let’s see how sturdy it really is.”
“And you’re also cleaning up the table!” Sword chanted by his side.
“I cooked already!” The other complained, and Meta Knight gladly left them to their usual bickering. He only had that sword in his mind for the moment.
In the end they cooperated to clean the room as fast as possible. Then, with the last light of the dying sun, they set in the central courtyard to fight.
Meta Knight waved his sword in his hand more than once, getting a feeling of it. It really was light, for a sword made of solid gold, and he still couldn’t phantom how perfectly it fit him. He rolled it in his palm, tried a few thrust. He’d never felt another sword feel quite like a part of him like this one.
“Don’t go too hard on each other.” Sword reminded them, in between them, acting as an arbiter for the mock duel.
“Let’s keep both our blows light, so we don’t risk damaging anything.” Blade proposed and Meta Knight agreed with a nod.
Then Sword took a couple steps back and the fight commenced.
Meta Knight and Blade walked close to each other, before drawing their weapons. Proper duel etiquette was by now medieval, but he still insisted they learn it. It was an important part of a knight’s honor, after all.
Meta Knight assumed a defensive stance, signaling for Blade to attack. The other was quick to slash him right in the center, the sounds of swords clanging enveloping the air.
“So? How did it feel?” He asked after a second.
Meta Knight looked down, almost in awe. He’d correctly parried the blow, intercepting it at a perfect forty-five degree angle, and he hadn’t even felt it travel through his body. Literally, as if it was an extension of him.
“I didn’t even feel it.” He replied.
“Huh.”
“Try again!” He urged, feeling his fighting spirit boiling hot within himself. This sword just proved itself more and more intriguing. Blade attacked again, and once more, and Meta Knight met every slash with a perfect and effortless parry.
“Try switching attacks. Thrusts.”
“Yes Sir!”
Blade pointed the tip of his blade at Meta Knight and shot forward. This time, the warrior moved, but not before drawing his sword in an elegant arc and deflecting the other’s. There was no more need to tell him to keep them coming, and so Blade obliged. The clanking and shrieking of metal against metal continued as it slowly transformed into an all-out duel.
Meta Knight took to attacking, himself, with strikes as fast as lightning Blade dodged with rapid jumps and twirls of his sword. Then they both went for an attack and their weapons intertwined.
Meta Knight understood immediately what the extra blades were for, as simply twisting his wrist gave him a death grip on Blade. The knave was immobilized or forced to lose his sword. There was no way for him to break out with his force alone.
In the end Meta Knight relented, letting his knave pull out of the hold.
“That’s incredibly convenient.” Sword commented, now much closer.
“Indeed. It feels light, and yet it’s also incredibly sturdy. This is no display sword, but a true one.”
“Should we keep going?” Blade questioned. Meta Knight took a look at him, noted his knave was not too tired yet, and nodded.
“Yes. Let’s continue.”
Blade hopped immediately on the attack with a battle cry. He jumped high and went straight for Meta Knight. He parried it, of course, several times and the moment Blade’s onslaught left an opening he took it, thrusting forward and then twirling the blade in the air, hitting the other’s armor when he tried to retreat. He was quite getting the hang of it. If he’d kept it at a slightly higher angle, he may have even caught the sword in the gaps of Blade’s armor. He should try that when the next opportunity arose.
They fought once more, slashing and running and hitting each other. With each swing Meta Knight’s warrior spirit burned. He hadn’t had this much fun sparring in a long while. He hadn’t had this much determination within him in forever. And it was all, to learn more about this sword. He was feeling his ambition rising up, rekindling after so long, and he could only fight with a smile and push harder and feel the inexplicable love and joy at having finally found this—
I beg of you, stop!
A voice cried out, desperate and broken. Meta Knight obeyed, without thinking. Blade’s attack landed on his pauldron, sending Meta Knight staggering back. Yet it couldn’t have been his knave, the voice had sounded vastly different from his. Feminine, if he dared say. A lady in trouble?
“Uh, Sir?” Sword asked concernedly. Before Blade could question something else, Meta Knight interrupted:
“Did you hear it?”
The two shared a confused look.
“What are you talking about?” Asked Sword.
“That voice. Did you hear it?”
“I didn’t hear anything.” Blade shook his head.
“Maybe it was someone from beyond the castle walls?”
“I doubt my hearing reaches that far.” Meta Knight replied, looking around him. “And yet I heard it as if it was right in front of me. A voice of someone in trouble.”
“Still nothing.” Blade crossed his arms. Sword enjoyed a moment of silence, trying to catch any follow-up words or even some faint echo. Silence.
“I must have imagined it.” Meta Knight ended up saying. “Still, Sword, keep an ear out just in case. If it’s someone in danger, we will step in immediately.”
“Yes, Sir!” The other replied with a convinced nod.
“We resume.” He replied, pointing the edge at Blade as Sword scurried back.
They kept fighting, as if nothing had happened in between. Despite trying to keep his hearing as sharp as possible, Meta Knight couldn’t hear that voice anymore. Little by little, the fire that had been momentarily dimmed by the interlude rose up in his spirit once more. He focused back on the blade, on the shiny hilt, on the twinkling ruby, on its undeniable magnificence. They just clicked. He wished for nothing than to always keep it with him, care for it, see it twinkle in the night sky—
The red ruby sparked, faintly, like raging thunder introducing the impending storm. This time he heard a pained cry, loud and clear. Inside his very mind.
I SAID STOP!
Something happened and the sword slipped from his grasp. His grip relented without his body meaning to do so. The sword went flying about, before firmly planting itself into the dirty ground behind him.
And then a sphere of shrieking lightning emanated from it, exploding in a flurry of yellow that forced him to close his eyes.
“Sir!” Both his knaves shouted, and they were by his side in an instant. Meta Knight kept trying to look at the sword, hidden within the roaring shocks. He couldn’t help but think of someone screaming their heart out by looking at it.
“Are you alright?”
“Did the shocks hit you?”
“What happened?”
“I…” He said, still mesmerized, as the lighting finally started fading out. “I think it was the sword.”
“What?”
“It spoke into my mind. I heard it once, when we stopped fighting. And now too.” Sword and Blade gave it a suspicious look.
“Did it say anything?”
“Could it be a curse?”
“I don’t think it’s malicious. It said to stop. It asked me to stop.” Meta Knight rephrased, moving a few steps closer, followed by his knights. The moment they stepped a bit too close, but well before Meta Knight could think of making a dash for its hilt, lightning sprouted again and it sent them all jumping back.
Apart from the obvious scare, Meta Knight didn’t feel like the lightning was dangerous. For him, at least. But he knew his disciples would follow him anywhere, and he didn’t quite believe they had what it would take to survive such an attack.
“So… like, there’s a person? Inside there?” Blade pointed at it, wary, his sword still drawn.
“Surely doesn’t seem very friendly to me.” Sword added, hand flying to his own weapon.
“I… don’t truly understand. What do you want?” Meta Knight tried to ask, but no voice answered in his head this time. The lighting, which had gotten progressively weaker, flared up again. “Perhaps it can only talk if someone is touching it…”
“Well, I say we bring it back where you found it, Sir.” Sword proposed.
“Yeah! What if that thing hurts you!”
“I don’t think it… wants to.” He said, watching as the other two exchanged concerned glances. “Think about it. If it could and wanted, wouldn’t it have hurt me while I was still holding it? No, it waited for me to lose grip. Or maybe it found an opening, and only now it’s trying to keep us away.”
“I… suppose so.” Said Blade.
“Then what do we do?”
“We try to learn as much as we can about it.” Meta Knight replied, power walking to the inner entrance of the castle. “It’s obvious it does not want to discuss anything right now. Let’s try to see if there is anything about that sword in the castle’s library. It’s rather peculiar, I think if there is something about it, we will find it.”
Giving them no time to talk back, he went straight through the door, giving only one last glance to the sword embedded in the ground, sparking intermittently as if it was sobbing.
“What are y’all doing here at this hour?” Dedede asked the moment the three came rushing into the library, raising his gaze from a pop-up book he was enjoying.
“We have some research to do, your majesty.” Meta Knight replied, scanning through bookshelves to find the myths and legends section. He had a hunch. Sword and Blade went to raid different sides of the extensive library, while the king followed the main knight with his gaze.
“And what’s all the rush about? Can’t it wait?”
Meta Knight found a promising book, one about tales of knights of old.
“You see, I went to look into a cave today, and I found a lovely sword, golden and yet light, absolutely perfect if not for the layer of grime covering it. I spent a good part of the day cleaning it, and when I was testing its amazing prowess against Blade it talked to me.”
Dedede struggled to wrap his head around all of that information, especially considering the solemn tone Meta Knight had explained it with while shuffling the pages with a hand, but he shook his head soon enough.
“You got a talking sword?”
“It does not wish to talk right now,” he cleared out, “so I’ve decided that, for the time being, I’ll try to learn everything about it. Do you know anything about a legendary sword? Connected to the royal family, perhaps? A forgotten dynasty?”
Dedede watched as Meta Knight’s eyes shined in interest, his focus suddenly glued to him. He blinked, then cleared his throat.
“...You’re passionate about this.”
“Absolutely! I never found something so perfect! I wish to ride it into battle. I can’t wait for that day to come!”
“Okay, you’ve lost your mind about a magical sword.” Dedede huffed, shaking his head. “But in any case… I don’t really think there’s anything that comes to mind. Are you sure you didn’t just imagine the entire thing?”
In reply, the warrior glided in a flash to the window. He opened it, to reveal the internal courtyard. Then he pointed to a thing in the far corner, and sure enough there was a sword embedded in there.
“Fine, and?”
“Well, when I tried—”
“Ark!” Dedede shouted, jumping up into the air. Meta Knight turned to see that the shield of lighting was up once more, much more visible in the darkness. It was so strong it illuminated the entire courtyard.
“It seems to also have sharp hearing.”
“I noticed!” The king was quick to close the window and turn back to the knight. “So what do you mean to do after you’ve learned something about it?”
“I hope it will clear some things out.” The knight revealed, jumping back on the book he’d plucked. “Perhaps it is waiting for me to do something. Or there is a specific way of approaching it. Anything would be good. Even… even her name would be enough.”
“Hold up.” Dedede leaned on the table right besides him. “Her name?”
“She… uh, it? Talked with a feminine voice. In my head. When I still held the sword in my grasp. I want to learn something about it, that’s all.”
“Mh.” Dedede replied, shaking his head. “You’re really into this, huh? Alright, what am I looking for?”
“You’ll help me?” Meta Knight turned to look at him, surprised. The king shrugged.
“Yeah, yeah, those old fairy tales were beginning to be boring. I’ll look for something regarding a magical talking sword.”
“Thank you, your highness!” Meta Knight said, surprisingly earnest and happy for once. Dedede nodded and got to work.
They spent some of the night cooped up in the library, scanning books for pictures and indexes for something that might look interesting. Nothing came up, every lead they had turned out to be a miss. Eventually midnight struck, they were all exhausted from the day and so the King ordered them to go to sleep (knowing fully well that Meta Knight would have stayed up all night looking for information if it was not a direct order). The sword remained outside as, unlike them, it did not seem to need to sleep. The lighting was there, just as fierce as they had been the first time, when they set foot in the internal courtyard.
“There is nothing we can do for now.” Meta Knight told his men, feeling his heart weep at the notion. “We’ll have to continue tomorrow.”
Meta Knight got up with the sun, as he was usual to do, and first thing first he set out to reach the library again. He gave a fond and pained look to the sword outside, covered in morning dew, and set out to rummage through books and pages once more. He would not be won so easily.
“Ah, knew I’d find you here.” The king said, entering the room by the time he would be having breakfast. Which still, meant he’d got up earlier than usual. Incredible.
“Your majesty.” He greeted, putting back a book about tales of the Strongest Warrior in the Galaxy and picking another right besides it. To his surprise, the King moved to the bookshelf behind him and easily picked one book of a long series, covered in sturdy and elegant velvet.
“So here’s the thing, I remembered something yesterday night when I went to bed.” He said, waving Meta Knight over. The warrior followed him, observing the book the monarch opened on the table, the complete history of the Dedede royal family over the years.
“What was it?” He asked, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice.
“My grandpa used to tell this very old tale that his grandpa told him and his grandpa before him… whatever, in any case, it’s really old, and what I heard probably isn’t even the original story, but there is one peculiar golden sword nestled in there. Here.” He pointed to a particular page. The book was old, but well kept, and while there were no photos and it hadn’t been printed in color, Meta Knight instantly zeroed on a sketch of an old relative of Dedede, a too-short sword by his side, with five total prongs and a gem nestled in the hilt.
“It’s her!” He shouted, stopping the page as if he was afraid it would fly out os his grasp. Then he started reading the extract frenetically, looking desperately for information, murmuring under his breath, “where is it? Where is it?”
The page, unfortunately, yielded no information. Meta Knight flopped down on the counter, momentarily defeated. He should take a look outside to replenish his strength, but Dedede put a hand on his shoulder.
“Listen, I think every record of that thing was erased.”
“What? Why?” The knight shouted. Dedede sighed.
“It’s an all-powerful sword, or something like that. It’s not for everyone: only a selected few can pick it up. But, as far as I remember, there were no people who could for the longest time. Word spread that it was cursed, that it was impossible to wield and only brought death upon those who tried. For this it was sealed away and eventually its hiding place was wiped from every record in Dreamland. What I’m saying is, be careful what you’re getting into.” Warned Dedede. Meta Knight pondered on his words, he really did.
And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something with that was wrong. It was true, he’d found the sword hidden deep in a destroyed cave, but if she’d wanted him dead, why wait to get away from him before releasing the attack? Why had the sword not attempted at Meta Knight’s life while he still held it in his hands?
That, and something else didn’t quite add up.
“You seem awfully versed in this for someone who hadn’t seen the sword before yesterday.” He said, raising a brow. The king shook his head.
“Did you even listen to a word I said?”
“I did, and I appreciate your concerns, but I also believe that story is not quite the entire truth. Where did you find all of this information?”
“I took a dive in the archives. If there was something to be kept shut in, it was probably there.”
“So you know the sword’s name?” He asked, hopefully.
“…There will be no changing your mind, eh? Fine, I’ll just lead you right to the source, but promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I give you my word, your majesty. Now, please lead the way.”
“Galaxia!” The people shouted, around her. She recognized them. They’d been buzzing around her for the longest time, trying to get her to choose them.
But she couldn’t. None of them would be able to mitigate her power. They were going to find out the hard way.
“Now, you know you have to choose at least one of them, right?” The queen said, with a smirk. “You’ve chosen your last wielder one-hundred and fifty years ago, now. Surely there will be one this time.”
The following request to keep the queen’s power and influence intact went unspoken. Galaxia hated the implications of politics. How she’d been turned into a tool. She hated that people would seek her out not to learn more, or wield her magic, or be knightly heroes with a strong code of honor.
No, they would simply try because it would mean enter the queen’s good graces in the blink of an eye. And she loathed it. At the same time, she did not want to reap all of these people’s souls. She did not want to be held responsible for their greed. But they would not let go of her hilt, even when she advised, then screamed, then begged, for them to let go. They were too drunk with power. None of them would ever be worthy.
When the first one stepped in she released a sphere of lightning around her, if only just to never let them through. Maybe, they would understand. Maybe they would turn back around and leave.
Of course not. They dived straight in. They were convinced it was a test of courage by now. She hated it. She’d seen so many die for this impossible task.
“What the heck does that mean?! Are none of us good enough for you?” Someone spat behind her after a moment. “Then it’s your own problem! It’s you who’s not worthy to make such decisions!”
And yet, it was still something Galaxia could not choose, could not control.
“You are a sorry excuse for a legendary sword!”
“You are a disgrace!” The queen screamed.
Those words never truly left her heart, nor the venom they were spoken with.
If one day she simply got fed up with it, and destroyed the ornate chamber they’d put her in, hoping to be forgotten and with her burial buried also the impossible dreams of crazed grandness, than so be it.
By then, she was convinced nobody would be able to wield her ever again. And that it was all her fault.
The inexplicable love and joy, simply at having her close emanating from him hit her like a truck. She’d basked in those feelings, long ago. It had led her to a kingdom where people eventually used her as a tool. As a symbol, an excuse for power and nothing more.
And yet no matter how much magic she tried to conjure, no matter how strongly she wished to attack who was holding her, her power was mitigated, by some much stronger than hers, by a splendid kind spirit hidden within a deep shadow.
She refused to be given something so fleeting again. And yet, barely reminding herself what it meant to talk, she couldn’t help but cry softly within her mind.
I beg you, stop!
Fighting was not the problem. It was a refreshing change of pace, actually. Fighting was fine.
It was the praises and unconditional love, and the care this individual had taken to fix her physical body that burned. That made her spirit weep because it was too nice, it was too real, and she didn’t want to feel that fleeting emotion be pried from her hands again.
I SAID STOP!
She then managed to control his muscles. She didn’t mean to get too invested. She didn’t even want to learn this creature’s name. She could not afford it to get attached only to be left in another cave to rot under debris. She could not.
So she pushed him away, made his hand open against his will, and waited for him to get bored. People always did when they understood she would not bring them the power they wished for. So she let her tears run dry and stayed there, put. Waiting for them to figure out a way to pluck her from the ground and throw her away. Perhaps this time, in the deep unreachable ends of the ocean. At least there she’d be able to enjoy the changing of tides and be forgotten forever.
“Galaxia, the Strongest Sword.” A deep, caring voice said, and she really hoped it was just a hallucination. But her spirit latched onto it, she heard it everywhere. “My name is Meta Knight.”
That, despite her best efforts, she knew already. She conjured up lightning, and fire, and cast them around, like she’d done to protect herself already. She heard him walk towards her, another one of those foolish people who would terminate their own life for a doomed chance.
And yet, still. Her own power could not hurt him.
“Your lighting is spreading out all around me. But it’s not touching me.” The dark voice unhelpfully pointed out.
Because it never was a choice for her, was it? Just a simple yes or no. Those that had the necessary requirements, power and a kindred spirit, she would choose. She would protect. She’d never be able to harm him.
He was her champion. So strong, lovely, so loving and loved. Impossibly out of her reach.
She was picked up effortlessly from the ground. Their spirits and forms mingled. She was able to see him again, from her skewed point of view. Her ruby, the cut facets warped reality. But she could see him.
She’d stare at that face forever, even if masked, if she could. She’d cuddle in the warm folds of his spirit until the end of time.
But she couldn’t. Her heart yearned for it and yet she couldn’t accept it. Her lighting faded out in defeat.
“Great Galaxia—”
I am not worthy of you. Toss me into the ocean. She spoke against her will, and at the same time propelled by it. Meta Knight stilled above her. He moved her body, so he could cradle it in his hands again. Like he’d done the first time he saw her.
“I do not want to.”
I am a disgrace.
“I would appreciate it, my dear, if you’d let me finish.” Meta Knight said, above her, with a touch of mirth in his voice she did not understand. Still, she stayed quiet, as that was what was asked of her. Her heart instinctively obeyed such a gentle command. “Great Galaxia. I have laid eyes upon your power. I wish to be recognized as your champion, if you’d have me.”
Her spirit froze. She did not know what to answer. Some part of her, one she hadn’t heard talking in the longest time, wished to say yes immediately, another instructed caution. She’d met this individual a short time ago. What if everything came crumbling down?
On the other hand, he’d used a formula of old she didn’t even completely remember. A set of words used to ask for her permission, to wonder what her own spirit thought of that. So much time had passed since one asked of her permission before violently defining oneself as her wielder.
“Of course, if you are against it, I will fight my hardest to find one you will deem more… suitable.” An idea popped up in the knight’s mind, a pink splotch, and yet it was accompanied by pain and resignation.
He was someone… who did not want her solely for her power. Nobody had ever offered to take her somewhere else, to find someone else. She queried his spirit and did not find anything beyond what he’d promised. No tricks, no deception. He was telling the truth.
He was different.
Then maybe… for this time, she could try to listen to her heart.
I’m willing… to try calling you, my champion. She said, carefully, keeping a keen eye on how every word stirred Meta Knight’s mind.
There was a little hope. Then it bloomed, in an endless garden of lush green flowers enveloping her completely. She felt the love, again, embracing her. She braced herself for impact, for some kind of complacency ready to hit her in the whiplash and show her she’d made the wrong choice. But it did not hurt, nothing came flying at her. She allowed herself to endure it, for a while.
“Thank you for this chance.”
Opening her eyes on the world revealed to her he was holding her tight, snug against his armor, radiating that same love.
And she found herself, hesitantly, giving it back.