The Shipwreck Cove

Cain had been observing the combat drills of the Birkan warriors for weeks, concealed behind a rocky outcrop. He meticulously studied their movements, the way they wielded their weapons, and the discipline they maintained. Every day, he committed their techniques to memory, practicing in secret at his makeshift training field.

During a particularly intense drill, Cain realized that to truly become stronger, he needed a weapon. His fists alone wouldn't suffice to exact his revenge on the Birkans. "I can't do this empty-handed," he muttered to himself, frustration evident in his voice. "I need a proper weapon, but how? I have no money, no connections..."

His thoughts wandered until he recalled a conversation he had overheard in the village while passing by. Some villagers had mentioned a hidden cove on the island where shipwrecks from the Blue Sea would sometimes wash ashore. It was a place shrouded in mystery and often avoided due to the treacherous currents and sharp rocks.

"That's it!" Cain exclaimed, his eyes widening with realization. "The hidden cove! There might be something there I can use." Determined, he set out to search the cove for a weapon.

As he navigated through the dense forest, the path overgrown and seldom used, Cain's mind raced with possibilities. "If I can find a decent weapon, I can start training properly. I'll show those Birkans what I'm capable of," he thought, his resolve growing stronger with each step.

The hidden cove was as desolate as he had imagined. Jagged rocks jutted out from the water, and the remnants of old shipwrecks littered the shore. The salty scent of the sea filled Cain's nostrils, and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks echoed in his ears as he navigated the treacherous path.

Cain began to sift through the debris, his eyes scanning for anything useful. "Come on, there has to be something here," he muttered, moving pieces of driftwood aside. He uncovered old crates and shattered barrels, finding broken swords with rusted and worn blades.

Most of the swords were beyond repair, and Cain's hopes began to wane. "Is this all there is? Useless junk?" he grumbled, frustration building in his chest.

Just as he was about to give up, Cain stumbled upon a sword that caught his eye. It was intact, the blade straight and still sharp with a pointed edge. The handle was wrapped in decayed leather, and a metal circle adorned the bottom, though it was covered in red rust.

The sword had a straight blade with a pointed tip and a handle wrapped in what had once been fine black cord, now frayed and worn. The bottom of the handle featured a metal circle, likely meant for balance.

Cain picked up the sword, feeling its weight in his hand. A mix of disappointment and hope surged through him. "I guess it's a short sword for me," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing."

He spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the blade, scrubbing away the grime and dirt with sand and water. The gritty texture of the sand bit into his skin as he scrubbed, and the cold water sent a chill through his fingers. Despite his efforts, he couldn't get rid of the strange red rust on the blade. It clung stubbornly, almost as if it held a secret of its own. Cain continued, determined to make the weapon usable. His hands grew raw from the effort, but he refused to stop until the blade was as clean as he could get it.

As the sun began to set, Cain stood and tested the sword with a few tentative swings. "It's not perfect, but it'll do," he said, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "With this, I can start training for real."

With renewed purpose, Cain made his way back to his hidden training field. "I have a long way to go," he thought, his grip tightening on the sword. "They will pay for what they did."

The sword in his hand symbolized the beginning of his journey, a step towards the revenge he so desperately sought.