The young boy looked around in wonder at the collection of curios his father had locked away in his study. Finally, he understood why his father had banned his sons from entering that room, as many valuable and breakable objects made their home there. Shelves lines the walls, covered in knick-knacks and strange things that stirred the young boy's imagination. Tribal masks stared down at him with eyeless gazes, tortured expressions on their crazed faces. Wooden carvings - some of them the boy was sure his father had made himself - lined the room, mostly of animals waiting to pounce. A deer head was mounted on the back wall over a large wooden desk, it's numerous tines painting an intimidating picture over the room. A suit of metal armour - the boy assumed it was his grandfather's - stood watch in one corner, a sword and shield on a weapons rack nearby.
A glass display cabinet caught the boy's attention and he scurried over to it, examining the objects inside with great glee. His eyes skimmed over the pretty glassware and mundane carvings and precious stones to rest on a newly discovered treasure as if he was drawn to it.
It was a dagger, its beautiful carved bone hilt jutting from it's sheath. A bright red gem was inserted into the pommel, and a few sparkling pieces lined the small crossbar.
The boy wasted no time in opening the unlocked cabinet and grabbing at it with eager hands, unsheathing it for a better look. The blade was made of a metal the boy had never seen or heard of before. It was slightly tinted blue, just like the grey-blue colour of his eyes.
It felt good to hold it in his hand, light and comfortable as if it belonged there. The boy grinned wider than he had in years, swinging the blade around and pretending he was a knight.
"Hey!"
His father's voice from the doorway stopped him dead in his tracks, his little heart racing as he knew he'd been caught.
"What do you think you're doing?!" his father demanded as he stormed over. "You know you're not allowed in here!"
The boy hung his head in shame and dropped the dagger gently in his father's outstretched hand. "I'm sorry, dad. I was just curious."
His father inspected the dagger for a moment, looking for traces of blood along the blade. Finding none, he held it up for his eldest son to see. "This is not a toy," he chided. "You could have hurt yourself."
"But I didn't," he pointed out cheekily, and his father shot him a dirty look.
Walking over to the glass cabinet, the man scooped up the discarded sheath from the floor and carefully placed the dagger back where it belonged. As he watched his father lock away his new favourite thing, the boy couldn't help but feel angry at his father for hiding away such a treasure.
"Can you teach me how to use it?" he asked, but his father shook his head.
"Maybe when you're older, I'll send you for lessons. But you're too little. You'd only hurt yourself, or maybe your brother."
If only, the boy thought, but he wisely kept the retort to himself.
"I'll be eight soon, though," he said instead. "How much older do I have to be?"
"Until your mother and I say you're ready."
The boy knew a lie when he heard one, but he kept his mouth shut.
"Come on," his father straightened, leading his son out of the room with a steady hand. "Now don't let me catch you in here again, do you understand?"
"Yes, Father," he said distractedly, turning and looking behind him at the glass cabinet where the beautiful treasure remained, vowing one day he would set it free.
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