An Assassin Child and His Ghost Sword
For whatever reason, Danny has become a magical sword and been thrown through time and space, eventually landing in a completely different world far in the past.
In all honesty, being a magic sword isn't the worst thing ever, to the point he's basically using it as an extended vacation. Whenever he's alone he sleeps, whenever he has a wielder, he gives them advice and extra abilities and the like. If he gets bored in one area, he's able to move himself to another.
However, Danny ended up screwing up somewhere down the line. See, he has the ability to only work for those who are 'worthy' (basically a catch all term for the people Danny likes or can at the very least be civil with). If someone 'unworthy' picks him up, he'll curse them.
Unfortunately, after a long string of unworthy people, everyone now believes Danny is solely a cursed blade, his ability to bless others forgotten when he finally goes down in the history books.
Then when Danny finally come to the modern age, he ends up being found by one Damian Al Ghul.
Damian is all by himself for one reason or another (running from the League, disagreement with the Bats, etc.) when he finds Danny. And frankly, what kid wouldn't want a magical, talking sword that grants incredible powers, especially when you've been trained in how to actually wield them. He doesn't really have a plan, so he decides to just travel around trying to find a place he belongs.
Danny likes the kid and decides to look after him since he's all by himself. He helps the kid travel around the world, teaches him how the world works, helps him with any moral issues that being raised by assassins brings, etc.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world is wondering who this small, wandering child with the sword is.
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You are an ancient, sentient cursed sword known for corrupting even the most valiant and well-intentioned of heroes. However, you cannot corrupt the most recent hero whose hands you have fallen into - not because of their purity of heart, but because of their incorruptible cynicism.
Prompt courtesy of @writing-prompt-s
The Wielder was silent - too silent - during the planning meeting. So Gleamsteel held its thoughts to itself too, and was not surprised at the council's close when the Wielder walked off not to dinner at the campfire but to an empty grove where they drew Gleamsteel and opened their mind willingly.
I need your help, the Wielder thought, stepping smoothly through the first practice sequence. We can break through the tower defense, but once we do there's no way we can stop the sorcerer's ritual and save the princess. Am I wrong?
Gleamsteel thrummed. It's a one in a million shot... it ventured.
The Wielder didn't laugh out loud, but Gleamsteel could hear the tired scoff down their mystical connection. That's what I thought. Okay. They shifted into the second form. Okay. The princess has to die, and it has to look unequivocally like the sorcerer's fault.
Holy shit, Gleamsteel articulated before it could stop itself.
This time the Wielder did sigh out loud. It's not personal. I feel bad for her. I'd save her if we could. But she's just one person, and if that ritual goes off everyone in seven leagues dies. They cut downwards with extra venom. That's not a balanced risk, not for someone just because they have sentimental, maybe symbolic value to the king.
Hm. Gleamsteel pushed its tendrils towards that disgust. Such a selfish order, to put countless other sons and daughters at risk to save his own -
Knock it off. The Wielder straightened out of their form, swishing Gleamsteel's tip down into the dry dust. I told you I don't want to be king and I don't want to be a king maker. Stop with the creepy whispers or it's right into the bin with you when this is down.
Then what do you want?, Gleamsteel snapped. You don't want fame -
Crowd loves to see yesterday's hero fall, the Wielder said, spinning the sword in their hand and slicing through a theoretical foe.
You don't want power -
Ugh. What would I do with it? Make things worse?
You want wealth? Riches?
The Wielder ended the sequence not with a flourish, but with a perfectly controlled thrust. You know my terms. I want my due, and I want to walk away alive. You help me and I'll help you get into the hands of someone more, ah, amenable. Isn't that what you want?
Gleamsteel simmered with rage. How are you... Why won't you let me help you? You must want something!
Momma always said look out for them insisting on giving you something for free. The Wielder stuck Gleamsteel into the soft grass under an oak tree, picked up their flask of water and drank deeply. 'Cause that only means they're hiding the cost until its too late.
If Gleamsteel had lungs and teeth it would've snarled.
Stay focused here. The Wielder crouched beside the blade. Tower. Defense. Princess. Ritual.
"Chosen One?" Came an uncertain voice. "You all right?"
The Wielder stood swiftly, seized their sword and sheathed it, giving a reassuring nod to their companion. "Clearing my head. Big day tomorrow, eh?"
"Indeed," the companion said, clearly relieved to be in the Wielder's presence. But Gleamsteel felt their eyes cut to the hilt, felt the threads of doubt and the hunger to be chosen themselves...
That one, Gleamsteel whispered to the Wielder. I'll get you through tomorrow and you'll give me to this one as my next Wielder.
Done, the Wielder said immediately and clapped their friend on the shoulder to go with them to dinner.
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