Hazel’s eyes widened. Before her, The Sword of Ages stuck upright from its ceremonial altar within the center of the circular chamber. As the moon shone from above, the sword’s black metal blade caught the moonlight, scattering rays that shone like midnight fire. The moss-flowers which grew like a carpet along the cavern walls all turned their blooms to face the artifact like nature’s reverent assembly. Near still, a small reflective pool that shone with the reflection of the triplet moons.

She had done it! She had passed the trials, scored perfectly on every test, recited every bit of lore, and demonstrated. She was worthy to be the weapon’s guardian. Hazel put one footpaw forward to bask in her success.

And slipped into the pool.

“By lighting!” Hazel swore as she scrambled out of the pool to stand on her own two paws. She nearly slipped again, but was saved by a patch of rock yet untouched by the moss.

After two breaths, She glanced at the sword. It hadn’t budged. Good. She would keep this slip-up to herself then. Nobeast needed to know that she had slipped up within an hour of the ceremonial rite. She ran a paw between her brow where a headache was starting to form.

The cap!

Where she expected to find the brim of the ceremonial cap, she only felt wet fur. She’d have to fish it out. She carefully walked to the edge of the reflective water. For a moment, her reflection’s gaze me her own.

The fennec which stared back at her didn’t look like one elated to be selected as the relic’s guardian. Inquisitive green eyes were framed by a passionless expression, and two large ears laid flat in resignation. Hazel forced her muzzle to something approximating a smile.

“Come on, Haze, you did it!” She tried, but the sense of disappointment lingered. She couldn’t be the sword of age’s guardian if she couldn’t even stand watch in the chamber without falling into the pool. She frowned and fished the cap out, placed it on her head, and surveyed the damage in her reflection.

The ceremonial green tunic would take a while to dry out, and she wasn’t looking forward to the uncomfortable feeling of matted fur. If she didn’t find a brush to wick the water out, then she’d be feeling every pull of every uneven tuft for a while. A fate she would have to suffer, as she knew the closest brush was somewhere back in the village, and she wasn’t allowed to leave until the ceremony was over.

Hazel sighed and moved past the pool to the base of the altar. She sat down and leaned back against it, looking up through the cave’s skylight at the three dancing moons. A cheerful whistle pierced the silence, and she spied the sparkling trail of a firework at it arced to the center of her view before bursting into bright orange sparkles with a bang. She watched the show wistfully. The celebrations were beginning and would last all night until the desert sun drove her tribe back to their caverns and burrows. Besides, she could not attend, after all, it would violate her newfound duty. She was now the guardian of the Sword of Ages.

Hello there.

Hazel’s ears perked up, and instantly, she was on her feet. There was another in the chamber. Her large ears swiveled, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound.

I’m this way, behind you.

Hazel whirled. The embellishments on the sword’s hilt had opened, unfolded somehow, and a glowing orange eye, right where the blade met the hilt, met her gaze.

“Wha---!” Hazel reeled. She slipped again on the moss, sending her ears-first back into the sacred pool.

Splash!

The cold water did little to cool Hazels frustration. She slowly flipped underwater, kicked off the bottom, and breached the surface.

“No one told me you could talk!” Hazel clawed her way out of the pool onto the rock. She glowered at the gem-like eye of the sword.

Technically no, but I am a magic sword, after all.

“Oh great!” Hazel said sarcastically, any reverence towards her duty temporarily forgotten, “Not only do I have to stay here during the celebration, but I have to listen to you!”

Do you want to be at the celebration? The sword’s eye shifted to a dot-like pupil, eager and inquisitive.

Hazel started wringing the water out of her cap. If the tribe’s leadership knew, they could revoke her guardianship. But, she already admitted that she didn’t want to be here, so not much more damage could be done. “Well, yeah. It only happens when there is a new guardian, and since they live so long, this would be the only ages festival I could attend.”

Then why don’t you?

Hazel paused, “Well, I wouldn’t be your guardian if I left. I’d lose this position.”

Even after confirming you through ritual as the guardian? How many times has a guardian been rebuked of their post.

One. Hazel thought. Only the crimson heretic had been rebuked their guardianship, and it was for crimes much greater than simply sneaking out to attend a ceremony. A guardian, once confirmed, was never banished or revoked from their post for anything short of murder, treason, or both.

“Once.”

But not ever for attending a ceremony held in honoring their new position. The eye blinked, Why not go?

“Something bad could happen.” Hazel offered, “and It’s my duty not to let that happen.”

What year is it? The blade asked.

“Four-hundred and twenty seven.”

Bad events only really happen every hundreds of years, or on prime years, or multiples of seven. Bad fortune will not befall me for one night of ceremony this year.

“How do you know?” Hazel

I am the Sword of Ages, I remember each. Now, answer me this, if you attend the ceremony, then that means. . .

Hazel searched for words. The sword’s question struck with the precision of a legendary blade, poking through the armor to point out her vulnerabilities. She turned her back to the blade and sat on her haunches, wishing and things would go back to the way they were before she slipped into the pool.

“I’d be making a mistake.” Hazel muttered.

And why would that be so bad?

Hazel couldn’t find the words to explain. She wasn’t driven to be the best, it was expected. The only way she ever stood out from the six other brothers and sisters was to be flawless, was to be the best, was to be the next guardian. She couldn’t explain that weight which hung around her neck like an auramite pendant.

Let me ask you something else, then. The Sword of Ages spoke in her mind. A century ago, when the badger lord Haxum wielded me to face the fiery salamander, did he not make a mistake?

Hazel nodded, “He’d forgotten charm to shield him from the salamander’s flame.”

And later, did the squirrel champion Roca initially refuse my aid?

“She did.”

And did both of these heroes not find a way to triumph?

“Well,” Hazel tried, but the sword of Ages had built up momentum, and snowballed to the conclusion of its argument.

Then, if the heroes of the ages have made mistakes yet still performed heroic feats, then why can’t a guardian like you?

Hazel pondered the question to the sound of fireworks and smell of distant powder. Slowly, like a boulder pried loose from its seat on the mountainside, she felt something insider her shift. If the heroes of yore could make a mistake, then she could do something as trivial as sneak out to the celebration held in her honor. Hazel turned back to the sword, a steel in her eyes,

“I’ll do it.” She said, starting for the door.

Hold on one moment!

“What?” Hazel turned.

There are some dry clothes tucked away in the back. You wouldn’t want to go back soaking wet. You’d freeze your tail off.

“Then they expected me to go back?” Hazel asked.

The sword’s eye formed a cheerful curve, Yes! It was your last trial as a guardian, and you are not the first guardian to slip and fall in the sacred pool.

“Then why didn’t you tell me!” Hazel exclaimed, “If you told me it was a trial I would have done it!”

That would have defeated the point. If I told you, then you would have done it out of expectation placed upon you. You, like the heroes, must make the choice from within.

“Sword of Ages.” Hazel grumbled as she moved past the blade and, sure enough, found a dry set of garments to wear to the festival tucked away behind the altar, “More like blade of riddles.”

Expecting some retort, She looked back at the artifact, but the sword’s eye had closed. Hazel smiled and left for the celebration.