Property of someone else

"Who so Pulleth Out This Sword of this Stone and Anvil, is Rightwise King Born of All England."

The bitter cold that the Christmas season brings is forgotten every year not because of the jolly spirit, but rather for the yearly jousting tournament that happens on New Year's Eve. The houses and cottages are empty as the townspeople gather in its central square. The work horses rest peacefully in their perspective stalls and brittle leaves gently sweep the dusty city streets. Branches on the trees dance swiftly to the rhythm of mother nature. The sun seems to shine brighter today, dutifully looking over the small, medieval English town as their protector and nurturer.

The radiant light couldn't be a bigger hassle to Lucien. Bruised, famished, and discouraged, he hides in the darkest corner he could find as beads of sweat slowly drip down his dried, muddied skin. Distraught at his own incompetence, he can think of nothing to do but to stare blankly into the distance. His gaze focused into nothing until everything in front of him became a blur. Today is the day that our young protagonist experienced a taste of heartbreak.

It all started off as a curious glance months ago to a forgotten challenge, a promise that has gone unnoticed from the passing of time. The sword stuck deep into the stone shot a blinding glare into Lucien's eyes one day as he strolled casually down the street. Before this incident, he had always dismissed the sword in the stone as an impossible task as the noblest men all across England have tried and failed to reach their goal. But this time it was different. A spark of hope mixed with curious infatuation ignited within him as if the sword had slithered into his heart and taken the liberty to make itself comfortable in its new home.

In the next upcoming months, the sword's attraction had taken a toll on Lucien. While he didn't necessarily live and breathe for the sword, he simply could not get it off his mind. Every mundane task related back to its brilliance. He would have trouble falling asleep and when he finally drifted off to another world, he would dream the most exciting, vivid dreams of the adventures that would never happen only to wake up with a head full of sweat and a startling splash of disappointment. He tried to forget because he knew that the sword was a useless thought that would get him nowhere fast, but something, whether it is his tragic sense of idealism or the simple of his being lonely, always pulled him back.

The sword stood statically within the stone, always. If you ask Lucien, however, he could have sworn that it budged at least once or twice.

Fast forward to present time, a boy known to his peers as "Wart" frantically roams the street towards the local inn to retrieve a forgotten sword only to find the door locked. Out of the corner of his eye, the same sparkle that had caught Lucien's eyes many months ago now catches his. Fast forward to future time, he becomes the once and future king.

And Lucien gets left behind, because the sword was never his to take.