In an old cave atop an old mountain, there once lived a tribe so powerful that they kept control of the lands around them for seven hundred years. Over the years their power was seized by invaders and enemies alike, and now all that is left is a single sword, too rusty to be looted.

Now it lies on the cave floor, rust lining its once poignant edge. Its hilt, once gold and glimmering, has faded to a dull bronze, the gems once embedded in the precious metal stolen by invading creatures.

Five thousand years after the last man left that cave, a young girl ran up the mountain, chased by a pack of wolves. She ran into the old cave thinking it was a tunnel, and felt immediately dead. The wolves did not enter, but ran away from the old tribe’s tomb, as the young girl dragged the heavy sword towards the cave entrance.

The sword would not leave the cave, and, so captivated by its renewed beauty at her trust, neither would the girl, and nor would she for the rest of her days.