They Mocked The Orphan Boy Until He Laid His Hands On The Sacred Blade

The Gathering in the Gorge

The mist hung low over the jagged black cliffs of Wyrmtooth Gorge, dampening the heavy silence that had settled over the expedition. For three days, Sir Borin and his band of elite knights had climbed the treacherous stone cleft, guided by ancient maps and a desperate ambition. At the center of a narrow clearing stood the broken stone, a jagged tooth of dark granite holding the legendary broadsword, Caliburn.

Sir Borin, a burly, grey-bearded giant of a man clad in dark, weathered armor, stepped forward. He spat on his hands, his eyes fixed on the worn leather hilt. The prophecy was clear: only the true sovereign could draw the blade and unite the fractured kingdom. Borin believed he was that man.

"Stand back," Borin commanded, his deep voice echoing off the damp stone walls. "This throne belongs to the strongest among us."

He wrapped his massive gauntlets around the hilt, planting his iron-booted feet firmly on the wet earth. With a guttural roar, he pulled. His muscles strained against his armor, and his veins bulged like thick cords along his neck. For a tense ten seconds, he poured all his legendary strength into the effort. But the sword did not budge. The granite remained unbroken.

Frustrated and panting, Borin released his grip, stumbling back into the arms of his lieutenants. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his face twisted in bitter disappointment.

"If I couldn't pull it out, no one can," Borin grumbled, turning his back on the stone. "The legends are a lie. The sword is fused to the earth."

The knights murmured in agreement, ready to abandon the quest. But from the back of the group, a small-framed figure stepped forward. It was Arthur, a dusty young man dressed in a simple, stained linen shirt. He was merely a stable boy brought along to tend the horses, but his eyes were locked on the weapon.

The knights laughed as the boy approached the sacred stone, but their laughter died when they saw the quiet intensity in his eyes. Arthur looked up at the massive crossguard, feeling an ancient pull in his blood.

"I am Arthur," he said, his voice ringing clear and steady in the misty gorge. "And I am going to claim you."

With unwavering resolve, Arthur reached out. His soiled, bare hand wrapped tightly around the worn leather hilt.