A Strange Friend
Sitting in a well-lit room, in the midst of countless swords hanging on the walls, the old man focused on the sword in front of him, not even glancing at others, no matter how high quality they were.
He gently lifted it up and placed it gently on two pieces of wood.
The sword was full of cracks. The leather of the hilt was tattered, even the tip of one of the crossguards was missing.
It was trash in the truest sense of the word.
But instead of throwing it away, the man began to clean it with the utmost care. His dark green eyes were narrowed but sharp, not allowing himself to be distracted in the slightest.
And it was at this moment that he heard a knock on the door of his room.
He paused, pulled out the cloth he had used to clean the sword, and spoke in a deep voice.
"Come in."
The door to his room opened slowly, and then closed just as slowly.