The silence that followed William’s words was heavier than any silence Alexander had experienced that entire strange day.
(Wait... wasn’t Alexander supposed to be mute? What am I supposed to say now?)
The father took another step forward, his hand still resting on his son’s shoulder, and spoke in a voice tinged with something like nostalgia, despite its usual roughness:
"So this is the voice you’ve been hiding from us."
Alexander looked at his father and noticed a faint smile beginning to form on his tired face, spreading slowly, as if it didn’t quite dare to believe what it was seeing.
(Is he happy? Seems like he really loved his son.)
"The priest was right. It seems taking you out to fight might be changing you... five battles were enough to make you speak, son."
Alexander tilted his head without answering, content to simply look at his father, trying to read in his face what a boy who’d been silent for so long ought to say.
(Five battles? That’s a lot for a young boy... what was this father thinking? But then again, what am I supposed to say? This body’s build is solid — I think it’s cut out for fighting. I wish I had this same body back in my world.)
William said, resting his hand on his son’s shoulder with warm, paternal weight:
"Well, seems like you’re quite talkative today... your mother will be thrilled to hear this. As for your question, home is close, just a day’s walk from here. Did you forget your own home, boy, or what?"
Alexander answered, clear tension in his voice:
"No... no, I just forgot the distance."
The father smiled, the wrinkles of his tired face relaxing slightly, and said:
"Good to hear your voice, boy. Rough, just like your father’s."
(Alright... this is a father who loves his son. I don’t think I should tell him the truth. This will stay a secret between me and this body.)
They resumed walking, the road beneath them growing more winding as evening approached. It was well-kept and clearly maintained for travel, and Alexander noticed his own boots were made of good leather that resisted the cold, unlike his father’s, which looked slightly worn at the edges, as if they’d walked countless distances together. He also noticed his father’s huge, cracked hand gripping the sword’s hilt with the confidence of years.
(This hand looks exactly like my own father’s hand back in my world... could he be a farmer too? No, someone this strong can’t possibly be a farmer. Maybe he serves a king... I hope so. I hope I’m from a noble family.)
Night was falling quickly around them, the cold creeping in with every step, darkness spreading across the horizon like ink through water. William stopped and said flatly that they’d camp here. He chose a flat, even patch of ground between the trees with the ease of a man far more accustomed to sleeping outdoors than in a bed, then began selecting good firewood from the fallen branches, arranging it in a circle with practiced hands, and said to his son:
"Light a fire."
Alexander answered, in the tone of a boy who knew nothing of this world:
"Do you have a match?"
The father looked at his son with genuine bewilderment this time and said:
"Did you hit your head in that battle or something? Use Illumination magic for this."
(How am I supposed to use this magic? I don’t want to look worse than I already do, but I have no idea how to do any of this... should I just copy how he did it? Yeah, let’s try.)
Alexander placed his hand on the firewood hesitantly and said quietly:
"Illuminate."
Nothing happened but an awkward silence, under his father’s gaze, who began to smile with amusement and said:
"Trying to use just one hand? It’s still a bit early for you to be casting magic single-handed, boy."
(Alright, let me try both hands together.)
Alexander placed both hands over the firewood and said with visible nervousness:
"Illuminate."
A faint flame began flickering from his hands, hesitant at first, then growing stronger. Alexander laughed with boyish astonishment as he watched, and the firewood caught fire with a soft crackle, the flame refusing to stop, heat building in his hands more than it should have.
"Looks like you still haven’t learned how to stop the spell... just picture darkness, and it’ll all go away."
Alexander closed his eyes and tried to conjure an image of darkness in his mind. But at that same moment, memories that weren’t his own began sinking into his thoughts — a golden-haired man, powerful, carrying him easily on his shoulder amid childish laughter. Alexander didn’t know who this man was, but he understood these were the body’s own memories, trying to find their way back into consciousness.
The flame stopped pouring from his hands, while the firewood had by then fully caught, lighting their surroundings with a warm orange glow.
William removed his red armor with a tired motion and set his black sword aside, away from the light, as though shielding it from something, then leaned back on his hands beside the fire. Alexander noticed the scars on his father’s shoulder — traces of battles whose number he couldn’t guess; not too many, but painful-looking where they crossed one another. And yet William seemed to simply enjoy the fire’s warmth like a carefree child, while Alexander quietly analyzed everything around him.
(Remember, Tai... remember what you studied in history class. The Templars should exist around the year 1180, give or take. But how are people using magic here? Am I in some other dimension, like a Spider-Man movie? No, I don’t think so. Maybe I’ve traveled back in time, or maybe both at once.)
(Is this a second chance? It actually sounds kind of fun — living away from my phone, and there’s magic too. What about this knights’ competition, though? Maybe I’ll just withdraw... damn it, Tai, you’re a boxer. Stop talking like that.)
As he thought this, he found himself staring at his father’s black sword at the edge of the firelight — a blade so deeply black it seemed like it might vanish entirely into the darkness surrounding it, its hilt just as black, refusing to reflect the firelight the way everything else around them did. It drew the eye of anyone who looked at it, precisely because — or perhaps despite — the fact that it reflected no light at all.
"Keep your eyes off that sword, boy... you don’t want to go blind. It’s bad enough you barely talk."
Alexander looked away immediately after that serious warning. He trusted that this world was strange, and this particular sword had made him more wary than anything else he’d seen that day.
William said, staring into the fire ahead of him rather than at his son:
"Do you realize everyone who’s ever wielded this sword went blind within two years of owning it? Except for two people..."
Then he pointed a finger at himself.
"The one who forged it... and me. I heard it feeds on the light through its wielder’s eyes, which is why I’ve kept it sheathed on my back all these years. It’s a good sword, though — and more importantly, it evolves whenever I use the King’s Blessing."
Then he gave a faint smile that broke the seriousness of the moment and said:
"Did I ever tell you this sword’s name?"
Alexander shook his head.
"No."
William smiled, his voice carrying the tone of a man revisiting an old joke he was fond of:
"Don’t laugh... but its maker named it ’Sword of Light.’ Gave the darkest sword in existence the name ’Light.’"
Alexander smiled briefly, recognizing that the name was a little absurd, privately agreeing with his father that it suited the sword about as poorly as a name could.
Then he said:
"Maybe because it steals light."
The father looked at his son with a raised eyebrow and said:
"Careful now, boy... calling your father’s sword a thief? It merely feeds on light."
(Are there other swords like this in this world? My sword’s as rusty as my armor... maybe I should get one like his. That’d be the best thing I could do to survive here.)
Alexander said this to his father as he stretched his hands toward the fire for warmth:
"Where can I buy a sword like yours?"
William scratched his head with a rough hand, then took hold of Sword of Light with the other, and said calmly, like a man explaining a truth he’d learned the hard way:
"Swords like this aren’t for sale, Alexander... you have to earn them. Any sword can just be a sharp piece of metal, until it falls into the right hand and becomes a proper weapon. Even your sword, if you develop yourself enough, could become one of the deadliest blades out there."
Alexander looked at his own ordinary sword, turning it before the firelight to examine it closely, its dull metal reflecting the flame weakly compared to his father’s blade.
(Is he saying I’m as rusty as this sword? But it worked fine when I used Illumination on it back in that battle. Maybe this guy has a point... his words remind me of my old boxing coach. It’s not about how many muscles you have, but the technique you use them with. Fine, but I still see him as just some old fool who wants my money.)
At that moment, Alexander heard a scream coming from among the dark trees — not a human sound, but the cry of a creature unlike anything he’d ever heard before, as though it were struggling to breathe, or letting out a high, choking sound that cut through the camp’s quiet.
Alexander’s entire body went rigid. William noticed his son’s unease without even lifting his head, and said in a calm, cold voice:
"Don’t worry, it’s a Corpse Collector... it won’t come near us as long as we’re alive. Look behind you, it’s right there."
Alexander turned very hesitantly to see what it was. And there, at the edge of the circle of firelight, he saw a creature humanoid in build but nothing like a man; entirely covered in coarse dark fur, completely naked, standing nearly two meters tall, its eyes reflecting the firelight like a nocturnal animal’s. It stared at them in silent scrutiny that carried no hostility — only cold curiosity.
Alexander felt tension rising in his chest. William shouted at the creature with a commanding tone that held no trace of fear:
"No food here. Look elsewhere."
The creature raised its long arm, as if to signal it understood, then turned and went on its way with slow, silent steps between the trees until the darkness swallowed it whole.
(What in the hell was that thing? Magic and monsters... am I really going to survive in this world?)
William said, tossing another piece of wood onto the fire indifferently:
"Don’t worry, boy. The Corpse Collector is peaceful, just hungry, it seems. I’m sure it’ll find people willing to give it some food in exchange for its work."
"Its work?!"
Alexander said that a little too loudly this time, then quickly fell silent, realizing his slip, trying to recover the calm of the silent boy he was known to be. Aware that he needed to keep playing the role of this quiet son, staying silent as much as he could.
"Yes. It cleans this forest of corpses and buries them... it’s actually quite an honorable creature."
Then William looked toward the dark forest and said, seriousness returning to his voice:
"But it can turn dangerous if you disturb this forest. It’s his home... it’s home to all of us."
(An honorable creature... alright, I think it’s time to sleep. Enough has happened today. Maybe I’ll wake up in my real body, if I’m even still alive back there.)
William watched his son lie down on the cold ground trying to sleep, his body trembling slightly despite the fire, so he stood and approached with quiet steps, then removed his red armor and laid it beside him like a blanket, saying in a warmth Alexander had never heard from him before:
"Lie in front of my armor... it’s warm enough to give you a good night’s sleep."
Alexander lay down as his father told him, and the armor was indeed very warm, still holding the heat of William’s body. He closed his eyes amid the quiet crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of trees.
"We’ll reach home tomorrow. Try to get some good sleep."
And above their heads, the stars — stars of a world Alexander had never seen before — watched over the small camp amid the dark sea of forest.
But before he could fully surrender to sleep, his father’s words echoed back in his mind: the knights’ competition. Tomorrow they’d reach home. And the day after that, a journey would begin whose end he could not yet see.