The Sword of Saint Absolutely-Not

Osmond Young stood at the edge of the forest and wished, very sincerely, that he were somewhere else.

The Whispering Wood stretched out before him in a dense wall of green and shadow, the trees packed so tightly together that it looked less like a place you could enter and more like something that might close ranks behind you once you tried. The air near the treeline was cooler, damp in a way that suggested moss, secrets, and a general lack of welcoming intentions.

Osmond adjusted his grip on his satchel.

“This is manageable,” he said quietly. “People go into forests all the time.”

At his hip, the sword spoke.

“People also fall wells all the time,” it said. “Frequency does not imply wisdom.”

Osmond shut his eyes briefly.

“Good morning to you, too, Aurex.”

“Saint Aurex the Unyielding,” the sword corrected. “Though given our current circumstances, I am reconsidering the ‘unyielding’ portion. I appear to be attached to a great deal of yielding.”

Osmond took a steadying breath. It didn’t help much.

He was, as of three weeks ago, a paladin of the Radiant Order. This had been presented to him as a great honour. There had been a ceremony, a speech, and a very firm handshake from Theodore West, who had looked at him in a calm, reassuring way that suggested everything would be fine.

“This will suit you,” Theodore had said.

Osmond was beginning to suspect that Theodore West had been mistaken.

“You do remember the objective,” Aurex continued. “Enter the forest. Locate the creature known as Bramblethorn. Defeat it.”

Osmond swallowed.

“Yes,” he said. “I remember the words. I’m just not convinced I approve of them.”

“You are a paladin.”

“I am aware.”

“You have a sword.”

“I am also aware of that.”

There was a brief pause.

“You are meant to use it,” Aurex added.

Osmond shifted uncomfortably. “We’ll see.”

“We will not ‘see.’ We will stab. That is the traditional progression.”

Osmond did not respond to that. Instead, he checked the contents of his satchel for the third time.

Bandages. Clean cloth. A small jar of peppermint leaves. Bread. Apples. A flask of water. A folded stack of apology notes, written neatly in advance.

He nodded to himself.

Prepared.

“Those are not weapons,” Aurex observed.

“They are useful.”

“They are snacks.”

“They are also supplies.”

“They are a picnic,” Aurex said. “You have brought a picnic to a monster hunt.”

Osmond hesitated.

“…There might be time for both.”

Aurex made a long, suffering sound.

“Into the forest,” the sword said.

The first few steps were the worst.

The ground underfoot shifted from packed dirt to something softer, layered with leaves and roots that seemed to rearrange themselves just enough to make walking inconvenient. The sounds of the village faded quickly behind him, replaced by quieter things rustling branches, distant bird calls, and the occasional whisper of wind that might have been wind.

Osmond walked carefully, trying not to trip, panic, or think too much about what he was doing.

“You’re holding me incorrectly,” Aurex said after a minute.

“I’m not holding you at all,” Osmond replied.

“That is the incorrect way.”

“I am trying not to draw attention.”

“You are in a forest. Everything here already knows you’re here.”

“That is not comforting.”

“It is accurate.”

Osmond pushed aside a low-hanging branch and nearly walked directly into someone.

He stopped short.

“Oh—sorry!”

The person in front of him did not look particularly surprised.

She stood with one hand resting on her hip, the other holding a small knife that she was using to peel bark from a branch with practised ease. She had a satchel slung over her shoulder, boots that looked as if they had seen a great deal of use, and an expression that suggested she had already formed an opinion of him and found it lacking.

“You’re new,” she said.

Osmond blinked. “I—yes. I suppose I am.”

“You’re not from the village.”

“No.”

“You’re a paladin.”

“…Yes.”

She glanced at the sword at his hip.

“That explains it,” she said.

“Explains what?” Osmond asked.

“The look,” she said. “Like you’ve been given instructions you don’t agree with but are going to follow anyway.”

Osmond considered that.

“That does sound accurate,” he admitted.

“Aurex,” said the sword, “I like her. She’s observant.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“…Did your sword just speak?”

“Yes,” Osmond said. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising to me?” she asked.

“I apologise reflexively.”

“That’s going to be exhausting,” she said.

“I am aware.”

She slid the knife back into her belt.

“Winifred Lyntone,” she said. “You’re heading further in?”

“Yes,” Osmond said. “I’ve been sent to deal with… something.”

“Bramblethorn,” Winifred said immediately.

Osmond nodded.

“Yes.”

She studied him for a moment.

“You’re not going to survive that,” she said.

“That is a concern I have also had,” Osmond admitted.

Aurex made a sharp, offended noise.

“He will survive,” the sword said. “I am present.”

Winifred glanced at the sword again.

“And what exactly are you going to do?” she asked.

“Stab things,” Aurex said.

“Preferably not,” Osmond added quickly.

Winifred looked between them.

“…Right,” she said. “This is going to be interesting.”

They walked together after that.

Winifred moved through the forest with ease, stepping over roots and around low branches without hesitation. Osmond followed more carefully, trying not to fall behind or fall over.

“So,” she said after a while, “what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Osmond repeated.

“Yes. The thing you’re going to do when you find it.”

Osmond hesitated.

“I was hoping,” he said slowly, “to assess the situation.”

“That’s not a plan.”

“It’s the beginning of one.”

“It’s the part before a plan.”

Aurex cleared its metaphorical throat.

“The plan,” the sword said, “is to confront the creature and end the threat decisively.”

Winifred snorted.

“That sounds like a terrible plan.”

“Excuse me?” Aurex said.

“Everything in this forest is here for a reason,” she said. “If Bramblethorn’s causing problems, there’s something behind it.”

“Or,” Aurex said, “it is a monster.”

“Or,” Winifred said, “people don’t understand it.”

Osmond looked between them.

“I like that option better,” he said.

“Of course you do,” Aurex muttered.

They walked in silence for a while after that.

The forest grew denser as they went deeper. The light dimmed, shifting from warm gold to something cooler, filtered through layers of leaves. The air smelled sharper here—green and damp, with something else underneath.

“Do you smell that?” Winifred asked.

Osmond nodded.

“Yes.”

Aurex spoke more quietly this time.

“Something’s wrong.”

They followed the scent.

It led them to a clearing.

At first, Osmond didn’t understand what he was looking at.

The ground was torn up in long, uneven lines, as if something large had struggled there. Branches were broken, leaves scattered. And in the centre—

He froze.

There was blood.

Not a lot. Not enough to suggest something had died.

But enough.

Osmond’s stomach dropped.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

Aurex sighed.

“Now would be an excellent time not to—”

Osmond turned away abruptly and was, in fact, sick.

Winifred watched him with a neutral expression.

“That happens often?” she asked.

“More than I would like,” Osmond said weakly.

“You’re a paladin.”

“Yes.”

“And blood makes you—”

“Yes.”

She nodded slowly.

“…Right.”

Osmond wiped his mouth, took a shaky breath, and forced himself to look back.

The clearing was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Something’s hurt,” he said.

“Yes,” Winifred agreed.

Aurex was silent for a moment.

Then:

“Still a monster,” it said, though with less certainty.

A low sound came from the trees.

Not loud.

Not aggressive.

More like… a breath.

Osmond turned.

“Hello?” he called, before he could stop himself.

Aurex made a noise of disbelief.

“You are greeting it.”

“I am establishing communication.”

“You are announcing yourself as edible.”

The branches shifted.

Something moved.

It was large.

That was the first thing Osmond noticed. Taller than him by at least twice, its shape uneven, as though it had been put together from parts that didn’t quite agree on their arrangement. Its body seemed made of twisted wood and thick vines, bark layered over something that might have been muscle. Leaves clung to it in patches, some green, some brown.

And along one side—

A deep tear.

Dark sap or blood seeped slowly from it.

Osmond’s stomach turned again, but he held his ground.

The creature watched them.

It did not move closer.

It did not attack.

It just… stood there.

“That’s Bramblethorn,” Winifred said quietly.

Aurex spoke.

“Now,” it said, “we act.”

Osmond shook his head.

“No.”

The sword went very still.

“No?” it repeated.

“No,” Osmond said again, more firmly this time. “It’s hurt.”

“It is dangerous.”

“It’s hurt,” Osmond said.

He took a step forward.

Winifred grabbed his arm.

“Careful,” she said.

“I will be,” he promised.

“You will be reckless,” Aurex said.

“Probably,” Osmond admitted.

He took another step.

“Hello,” he said again, softer this time.

The creature shifted.

Not away.

Not forward.

Just… uncertain.

Osmond slowly reached into his satchel.

Aurex tensed.

“If you take out bread,” the sword said, “I will be deeply disappointed.”

Osmond took out bandages.

Winifred watched him.

“…You’re serious,” she said.

“Yes,” Osmond said.

“That thing could crush you.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to walk up to it with a cloth.”

“Yes.”

She considered that.

“…All right,” she said. “I’m staying back.”

“Reasonable,” Osmond said.

He stepped closer.

Bramblethorn made a low sound.

Not a growl.

Not quite.

More like… a warning, edged with pain.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Osmond said.

Aurex muttered something about poor decision-making.

Osmond stopped a few feet away.

He could see the wound clearly now.

Something sharp had cut into the creature’s side—metal, maybe—a trap. The edges were jagged.

“You’ve been hurt,” Osmond said, unnecessarily.

The creature watched him.

It did not move.

Osmond swallowed.

Then, slowly, carefully, he held out the bandage.

“I’d like to help,” he said.

There was a long pause.

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Then—

Very slowly—

Bramblethorn lowered itself.

Just slightly.

Enough.

Osmond let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“All right,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

Behind him, Aurex was very quiet.

Winifred didn’t speak.

Osmond stepped closer.

His hands shook as he worked, cleaning the wound as best he could, wrapping it carefully. The creature flinched once, then stilled.

“It’s all right,” Osmond murmured. “I know. I know.”

It took time.

More than he expected.

But eventually, the bandage was secure.

Osmond stepped back.

“There,” he said.

Bramblethorn lifted its head.

The tension in its body had eased.

Not gone.

But less.

It looked at him.

Then, slowly, it turned.

And moved back into the trees.

Gone.

Just like that.

Osmond stood there for a moment.

Then sat down, very suddenly.

“I think,” he said, “I need to lie down.”

“That,” said Aurex after a long pause, “was not how this was supposed to go.”

Winifred crossed her arms.

“No,” she said. “But it worked.”

Aurex considered that.

“…Yes,” it admitted.

Osmond lay back on the ground, staring up through the canopy at the sky beyond—thin strips of blue between the leaves.

“I didn’t stab anything,” he said.

“No,” Aurex said.

“I helped.”

“Yes.”

“That counts,” Osmond said.

There was a pause.

“…It does,” Aurex admitted, reluctantly.

Winifred looked down at him.

“You’re a strange paladin,” she said.

Osmond smiled faintly.

“I’ve been told.”

Above them, the sky stretched wide and clear beyond the forest canopy.

For the first time since he’d arrived, Osmond felt like he might actually belong where he was.