Death of Iron

Follow a journey from the blazing heat of a furnace to the pinnacle of royalty and beyond.

I was born in a haze of fire and smoke.

The first sound I heard was the hiss of boiling water, followed by the rhythmic pounding of a hammer.

Stone scraped my edges, turning me into a weapon sharp enough to kill.

After this came the warmth of fur, encasing me, keeping me safe.

Eventually I was dragged into a freezing winter morning.

Raised high above a battlefield, I could see my siblings. Some held aloft like me, others rattling against shields.

Next came shouting, voices raised in angry chorus.

Screams of pain followed, desperate and weak.

Then silence.

I fell and lay among the dead, wondering if this battlefield would be my final resting place.

A hand found me, cleaned the blood from me and restored my edge.

This cycle repeated itself again and again.

I was passed from warrior to warrior. Battle after battle. Death after death. Until one day I was claimed for a different purpose.

The next time I was drawn I saw a golden crown resting nearby.

No longer was I to be used in bloodshed, but in ceremony.

I was lowered onto the shoulders of a kneeling man. As he rose a crowd cheered with joy.

After a long life, I was laid to rest with my final bearer.

First came flames, like those that brought me into this world, then the icy embrace of the ocean.

Here I wait in silence, with only the bones of my last companion for company.

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