Prologue
I sat resting my eyes on the four weapons that lay wrapped in cloth, surrounded by the clutter on my work table. The news I'd just received with the arrival of the weapons was still taking it's time to sink into my old mind. Those four... taken by the enemy, losing the battle that cost them their freedom. The people loosing their heroes. I sighed and rubbed my thumb along my beard. And just when they were starting to grow on me.
Thinking back, I remembered the first time I'd heard of them. Young heroes, the people called them protectors, some were even bold enough to call them the Sith Othwan. With the egos those four have, they accepted the title. I'll admit, when news of them first came to me, my hopes were up, more so then ever before. I thought I'd finally done it, finally found them. I'd gotten excited. This journey would soon be over, and I would get a break, goodness knows their break has been long enough. But when I'd met those four protectors, my hopes instantly melted away. They were just ordinary hero's that rose and fell with time, but it shocked me that their time to fall was now.
They might have not been the people I was looking for, but they certainly had the aura of them. Those four seemed like they could jump into a volcano and still manage to make it out alive; it was strange they would fall so soon. Maybe it wasn't their end, but an obstacle in their road. I mean, they weren't dead, and it doesn't fit well for them to go down this early in their lives.
Standing from the chair, I walked over to the table and flipped one of the cloths open. I ran a finger over the cool metal, admiring the weapon. It's truly my best work yet. When those four fell, their weapons became masterless in battle. I suppose people thought it fitting to return them to the creator. I smiled at the weapon. Working with metal and creating things originated as a hobby to pass time but quickly became my way of aiding the war without taking it on in battle.
"Hmph... I've fought enough wars head on." Even managed to start a few in my younger years, thank goodness those days are behind me. I admittedly used to be a reckless attention seeker. Now just the thought of fame gives me a headache, and the 'thrill of battle' bores me. I've grown content with my little mechanic shop, aiding the worlds from the side line.
Scanning the room, I raked my brain for a more suitable place for the weapons that wasn't my work table. But before that... I went and flipped open the cloths, letting light hit all four weapons. When the four of those protectors first came into my shop, seeking weapons when the people out there were giving them the title of Sith Othwan, I couldn't help myself but model the weapons after that of the real Sith Othwan
It still makes me wonder how those protectors even knew of me and why they chose me to craft their weapons for them. They had many options, many suitors famous for their craftsmanship. It's not that I don't have skill, but I was careful to erase myself from history and make sure I don't show up again.
"Maybe just coincidence..." I muttered to myself. At first, I thought it was a sign from Sithyous but gave up on that theory. No, I was sure Sithyous had abandoned me. The thought slipped so casually into my mind; for a moment, I'd expected some heavenly hand to strike some sense into me. I was growing far too comfortable in my pessimistic mind. Faith, faith was key.
With a sigh, I covered back up the weapons and looked to a chest they could fit in. The thought of reselling them danced around in my mind, but I shooed it away. No, it wouldn't be right to sell them, but at the same time, it seemed a pity to store away such things in a chest, where the only use they have is to collect dust.
Although I'd gently placed the weapons in the chest, they all went in with a heavy thud. Truly a pity. Maybe one day they'll see battle again, but for now, they lay hidden away in a old chest.
With a loud bang of the lid and a sharp click of a lock, their fate was sealed to lay away and unnoticed from the world, waiting in the dismal shadow of the aged chest.
