The weight of a gift

(This takes place in a fantasy setting)

"RIVEN, GET DOWN HERE NOW!"

"I'm coming, Mom! Get off my damn ass!" I shouted back as I rolled out of bed.

It's my 17th birthday... not that it matters. Does anyone even care?

I trudged downstairs, rubbing the sleep from my eyes—then froze.

"Surprise!!!"

Confetti flew, a cake sat on the table, and Mom ran up and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, son," she said warmly, holding me for a second longer than usual. Her tone softened. "I know your dad isn't here anymore... but he wanted me to give you this."

She handed me something long, wrapped in cloth. Curious, I set it down on the table and slowly unwrapped it. It was a sword. Real steel. Heavy. Solid. I picked it up and felt its weight settle into my hand, like it belonged there. I slung the sheath over my back and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Damn. It actually suited me.

Maybe this wasn't just a sword. Maybe it was a grave marker in disguise.

"Thanks, Mom," I said quietly, then glanced up at her. "Did you... fix it? After the war?"

She nodded, her smile tinged with pride. "Yes, honey. I took it to the local blacksmith. Had it reforged with the best steel in town. Cost nearly three weeks' pay—but it was worth it."

Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath us.

Rumble... rumble...

"What's that?!" I shouted, bolting toward the front door. I nearly tripped as I scrambled outside.

My legs shook and my mouth went dry as I saw the nightmare unfold—a dragon. A massive, fire-breathing beast soaring over the village, setting buildings ablaze like they were paper.

Mom ran out behind me, yelling something, but I couldn't hear her over the roar. She dashed toward the bakery—her bakery—but before I could stop her, scream for her to turn around, she was gone.

Swallowed whole in a single bite.

I dropped to my knees, paralyzed. I couldn't move. I couldn't think.

The air reeked of smoke and burning flesh. Screams rang out from every direction, a chorus of pain and chaos. I could barely breathe.

Then I felt it—the sword on my back. It pulsed, then released a shock that sent me flying backward. The impact hurt, but it snapped me out of my stupor.

I stood, heart pounding, and reached for the sword.

I didn't know how to use it. Hell, I wasn't a warrior. I was just some kid, meant to live a boring, forgettable life in this village.

But something inside me snapped. I charged forward, shouting at the top of my lungs.

"RAAAA!"

Out of nowhere, I leapt—ten feet into the air, like something had taken over. Time slowed. I couldn't control my body, couldn't even think.

But as I flew, I raised the blade over my head—and brought it crashing down.

The steel cut clean through the dragon's neck.

Its head hit the ground with a deafening thud. I slammed into the dirt a second later—and blacked out.

I remember the day Dad died. I was thirteen.

He was leading a raid on an enemy camp. But the enemy had been ready. Most of the squad never came back. It was a bloodbath.

He'd never been around much. I didn't know him well. But it broke Mom.

And if it hurt her, it hurt me too.

When I opened my eyes again, it was night. A campfire flickered nearby, warm and quiet. My head ached. My back screamed with pain.

A robed figure sat across from me. I shot up, panic setting in.

"W-who are you?! Tell me—ah, shit, my back!"

Pain shot up my spine like lightning. I must've broken something.

Then, a soft, almost melodic voice came from under the hood.

"Magic isn't a miracle. You should be careful with that wound. I did what I could."

As my vision sharpened, I got a better look. She was a girl. I couldn't see her face clearly, but long hazelnut hair spilled from under her hood. She looked young—just a little shorter than me.

We were in a field, not far from the burning ruins of town.

"Why did you save me?" I asked, confused.

She pulled down her hood. Her face was small and calm, but her dull gray eyes stared into me, unreadable.

"I saw how you killed that dragon. Tell me—where did you get that sword?"

"It was my dad's," I replied cautiously.

Her eyes flicked toward the blade.

"That sword can steal the soul of anything it kills—if it's more powerful than the one wielding it."

I lay back down and pointed the sword to the stars.

"How do you know all this?"

She tossed another log on the fire, picked up a cup of tea, and took a sip before answering.

"I saw it. With my own eyes. That sword is stronger than you think. The dragon's soul is in it now."

My brow furrowed. "Does that mean... it's gotten stronger?"

She stared into the flames.

"What the blade does with the soul... is up to it."

My mind was spinning. How the hell did my dad get this thing? And how does she know so much about it?

Wait—I hadn't even asked her name yet.

"So... what's your name?"

She hesitated, then said quietly, "You can call me Ari."

I smirked. "Well, Ari, nice to meet you. I'm Riven."

Before I could say anything else, the exhaustion finally caught up to me. My eyes grew heavy, and before I knew it, I was asleep.