The one who be chosen

The morning mist has lifted from the grove by the time you finish practicing the forms with your brother's sword. You still think of it as his, even though it's been a year since they dragged him off to war without so much as a pair of boots to his name. One day, Eadgar will come back to claim it, and everything will go back to the way it used to be. You hold the sword up to the light, watching the runes inscribed on the flat of the blade shine. As your eldest brother, Eadgar liked to lord it over all of you, but you're pretty sure the sword's runes never sparkled like this for him. He was right to hide it here. A weapon this fine must have once belonged to some great hero. Where did a farmer's son like your brother get his hands on it? He took that secret with him into the army. A horn blares in the distance. Not the reeve's call—something's amiss. You run for the village. At the crest of the hill, you halt. Below, you see knights thundering through the streets, their tabards resplendent with the golden fleur-de-lis of Auremagne—the kingdom Eadgar was sent to fight. Whatever resistance the village put up has been crushed. Flames lick the thatched huts, screams split the smoky air. You spot your parents, heads bowed under heavy iron shackles. Soldiers prod them with swords, leading them towards wagons laden with prisoners. An Auremagne knight on an armored horse towers over them, barking orders in his strange tongue. You tighten your grip on–no! You're still carrying the sword. In your rush, you forgot to return it to its hiding-place in the grove. Your sister Cynethryth appears at your side, eyes wide as she peers up at the sword in your hand. "What do you think you're doing?" she says, tugging at your sleeve. "C'mon! They'll kill you for a sword like that!" In the village below, the knight on the armored horse looks up at where you stand on the hill, holding the runeblade up to the light.