the smuggler’s bible

Kay

The damosel hefts the shield and pirouettes so the whole room can see. It’s black as midnight under a new moon, except for a white hand in the center holding a white sword.

“And the last guy who used it died,” she says, finishing her story. “He was really hoping someone would do his quest. You know, keep the dream alive.”

Nobody says anything for a very long time, until finally Kay steps out of the crowd and takes the shield.

“Uhm.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” the damosel says. “Just, like, I sort of figured it would be someone … good.”