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Gathering herbs for Mom was one of Izuku’s favourite chores, no matter what anyone else said. He loved walking through the woods, seeking out clearings for chickweed and yarrow, following the edge of the river in search of nettles, braiding together the branches of the weeping willow on the river bank to hold them steady as he stripped the bark and leaves from the ends. That last one he was especially looking forward to today, they didn’t go through willow bark very quickly, and it kept well dried, so he only got asked to bring home more a few times a year. He hummed to himself as he hopped along the familiar rocks that lined the river’s edge, already contemplating the not-quite-ripe berries he’d passed on the way here. He’d have to slip away in a few days and grab some for himself, before anyone else remembered they were coming into season.
He set his bag down on the usual rock just outside the thick curtain of willow branches, and ducked through them to take a look at the trunk. The leaves didn’t look sickly, but Mom always said it was better to be safe than sorry, especially now that rumours of the Great Evil were growing more frequent. His eyes scanned down the trunk, and he’d almost turned back to the branches before he realised what he’d seen. A boot, sticking out from behind the trunk at an angle that suggested its wearer was tucked in the little hollow at the back of the tree. Perhaps a traveller? Or it could be a bandit, or one of those boz he’d heard bards deride when he was listening from under the window of the inn after bedtime.
“Hello?” he called out, keeping a hand on his knife just in case. It wasn’t particularly sharp, and he didn’t have any experience fighting with it, but it was better than nothing. The stranger didn’t stir, and Izuku could only guess they were sleeping, despite the fact that it was well into the afternoon. Well, travellers did keep odd schedules. “Are you awake?” he asked, stepping closer. He could make out a bit of leg now, and they seemed quite skinny, their pants hanging incredibly loose. “Are you hurt? My mother is an apothecary, I can run home and get- her.” his feet slowed to a stop, jaw dropping as he took in the sight that greeted him when he rounded the tree.
A skeleton. A real, honest to goodness human skeleton was tucked up against the tree, scraps of ragged leather armour clinging to its bare ribcage and arms folded up around a narrow sheath easily the length of his leg. A sheath with a handle sticking out of it. He stepped forwards, curious despite himself, and reached out to brush his fingers up along the covered blade. The sheath looked as weather-worn as the skeleton’s armour, the leather cracked and spotted, but the wrappings on the hilt looked as good as new. Maybe it was magic? Iida would like a magic sword, he was sure.
Disturbing the skeleton sounded like a bad idea though, disrespectful at the very least, so he would have to draw the sword out of the sheath carefully. He adjusted his gloves, scraped the mud off his boots on one side of the hollow, and pulled himself up onto the tree on the other side for a better angle. It took a bit of grunting and precarious leaning to get a solid grip on the handle, but once he did all he had to do was straighten up and the sword slid easily free of its sheath. The blade glimmered with magic, not a spot of rust on its metal surface, and he grinned as he raised his arm to pull it the rest of the way out. Iida was going to love this, next time he came home. It’d surely be easier to stand free of his big brother’s shadow with a fancy magic sword.
The blade rang softly at it came fully free, and Izuku let out a low whistle as he admired it. He knew nothing about weapons expect what he’d gleaned from Iida’s rambling, but even he could tell that this was worth a lot of money.
A soft clack made Izuku freeze, and as the noise began to repeat he slowly looked down, a chill tracing up his spine. His eyes met empty sockets, and when the skeleton’s jaw dropped open it made no sound but Izuku felt its roar of anger. He screamed, stumbling backwards off the tree and falling on his ass in the dirt as the skeleton rose clacking to its feet. Cursed sword, cursed sword, definitely cursed he was not giving that to Iida!
“I’m sorry!” he yelped, raising his empty hands. “I’m sorry please don’t kill me!”
The skeleton rattled, bones clacking together, and Izuku cringed as he waited for it to wrap its skeletal fingers around his throat and squeeze. Hopefully there was only enough necromantic energy in it for one kill, and it wouldn’t get Mom when she came out after him to see what was taking so long. The skeleton gave an almighty clatter, and Izuku screamed again when he felt its skull hit his leg. He flailed backwards, lashing out with his other foot, and opened his eyes when he felt something give under his heel and heard the distinct Snap of something breaking.
It wasn’t moving anymore.
He yanked his leg free as quick as he could anyways, scrambling back crab-like on all fours for a second before getting to his feet. It was really dead this time, right? Its head had come off, so he certainly hoped so. He felt a tiny bit bad about putting a hole in its skull, but only a tiny little bit. Mostly he was still just, kinda shaken. He staggered sideways, circling the now-inert skeleton towards where he’d left his bag, but just before it passed out of sight behind the tree he froze.
The sword. He was sure he’d dropped it when he fell off the tree, but there is was, point down in the dirt behind the skeleton’s feet. It would be so easy to grab, even if the skeleton reanimated again he’d be safely out of its reach. And he’d have a sword to knock it down with.
His feet moved on their own, carrying him closer to the sword, and when he pulled it free of the ground it seemed to shudder, a warmth flowing up his arm. Maybe it wasn’t cursed? It certainly didn’t feel cursed, now that he was backing away from the skeleton with it in hand. He clutched the hilt with both hands, keeping it pointed at the trunk until he backed out of the curtain of branches.
Heart hammering in his chest, he whirled on his heel and snatched up his bag, rushing back up the river towards the path home. His bag bounced wildly with each step, hanging from one shoulder strap as it was, and it wasn’t until he tripped over a snarl of underbrush that he remembered he was even holding anything in his right hand. The sword flew from his grip when he hit the dirt, tumbling a metre or two along the trail before coming to a stop, and Izuku pushed himself up to his hands and knees with a groan. His bag laid to the side, still thankfully fastened so he didn’t have to scoop the nettles back in, and with that accounted for he let his eyes slide slide shut as he waited for his racing heart and heaving lungs to get back to normal.
Skeleton. He’d just fought a skeleton. There had been a skeleton under the willow tree, and it had attacked him. A hysterical laugh slipped out of his mouth and he sank to his knees and elbows, resting his forehead on the ground. He’d just fought a skeleton, and he’d won. His arms shook as he pushed himself back up into a crouch, one hand tight on the strap of his bag. He raised his head, and his eyes locked on the sword a few paces ahead.
The sword. His sword? The possessive felt surprisingly right, for all that he’d initially planned to give it to Iida. In fact, the very thought of giving the sword away now made something cold curl in his stomach, a visceral rejection of the thought of passing it on to someone else. He blinked, sitting back on his heels as he watched the light play over the blade with the gentle sway of the branches above. Pass it on? That thought hadn’t been his own.
Definitely enchanted, though he wasn’t sure anymore if it was benevolent or malevolent or something in between. But whatever it was, it wasn’t going to let him get rid of it so easily. He stood on shaky legs, absently swinging his backpack onto his shoulders as he approached the sword. It seemed to glint gold, and when he bent to wrap a hand around the hilt warmth flowed up his arm again. He straightened, lifting the sword to examine its blade in the light, and gasped as he caught sight of the reflection in its polished surface.
He spun to look behind him, and when he saw only the normal everyday forest he raised the sword again. He could see himself reflected in the blade, but the trees behind him were eclipsed by a looming figure of golden light, its radiance catching at the edges of the blade and making the whole thing light up in a warm red-gold. The figure was clearly well muscled, with a strong jaw and bangs that stood straight up from its head, but most striking was the chain that curved over Izuku’s reflected shoulder. It looked like, if he could see the figure in full, the chain would connect its wrist to the sword’s hilt.
“Oh. You’re not enchanted, you’re possessed!” he exclaimed, bringing the sword closer and examining the surprisingly solid-looking spectral figure reflected in it. He’d not read much about spirits, or the magic of death and undeath in general, but he’d be willing to bet that malevolent spirits didn’t glow gold. Gold was the colour of, well, multiple magics but that specific shade was enhancement magic. Perhaps the spirit’s affinity while they were alive? But red was either fire or blood, and people only got the one affinity. Perhaps... perhaps the spirit had been bound in this sword by someone with one of those? More likely blood than fire, he’d heard that highly talented blood mages could do stuff with living souls and the chain did look a bit more reddish where it linked to the hilt.
The spirit’s head tilted slightly, the movement stiff and not quite human but still pretty distinctly confused. Right, the lingering dead didn’t always know they were dead. And if it didn’t want him to give the sword away, there was a good chance nobody else would be able to see the spirit in it. Possibly. He should probably break the news regardless, if the spirit lost it there was nobody around for it to hurt.
“Uh, sir?” he held the sword straight up in front of himself, trying to make eye contact with the monochrome face in the reflection. Well, as much as he could given the spirit had no eyes of note. Its torso was bare save for stripes of what he could only guess to have been paint, displaying impressive muscles and strengthening his theory that the spirit had been an enchancer in life. They didn’t wear armour as often as other soldiers, typically trusting in their magic to protect them. He wondered briefly what had done such a mighty soldier in, but shook himself from his musing when he realized the spirit was becoming more distinct, the figure gaining details as it walked closer.
He watched with wide eyes as the spirit’s light spread to cover the sword, making the metal shine gold like afternoon sunlight, but soon had to raise a hand to shield his eyes as it kept growing brighter. He looked away with a cry as it flared brighter than anything he’d ever seen, and then all that was left was the afterimages behind his eyelids. Izuku blinked them away, and returned his attention to the sword. It felt different now, a little lighter, like something had left it. Had the spirit moved on already?
“Sir?” he asked hesitantly, looking at the dull, almost clouded surface of the sword he still held out from himself.
“No need to be so formal, boy.” a voice answered him, and in his surprise Izuku nearly dropped the weapon. The flat of the sword was becoming clear and shiny again, this time reflecting not his own face but the visage of a foreign-looking man so thin he resembled the skeleton Izuku had found the sword with.
“You can talk.” he said dumbly, and the man gave him a Look. “I mean, of course you can talk! You’re a possessed sword why wouldn’t you be able to-”
“I’m not a sword.” the man huffed, cutting Izuku off before he could really start to ramble. “My name is Toshinori Yagi, and I am a warrior.”
“A warrior?” Izuku blinked.
“Or, I was a warrior, I suppose.” he sighed, and turned his head to look around. “If you can see me, then you must have the magic.”
“What.” Izuku’s mouth fell open. “I’m- I’m sorry, sir, there must be a mistake. I don’t have magic.”
“Oh?” Toshinori’s eyebrows lifted on his pale forehead.
“Yeah. I’m-” Izuku paused, closed his eyes, drew and released a deep breath. “I’m a null. I’m sorry, Mr. Toshinori, but whatever magic you think I have... I don’t.”
“Interesting.” Toshinori lifted a long-fingered hand to cup his chin. “If I no longer have my magic, and you have not inherited it, then where did it go?”
Inherited? Izuku blinked, staring at the figure reflected in the sword. “What do you mean, inherited?” he asked slowly.
“You really are a townie, aren’t you?” Toshinori grinned, warm and amused. “When I was alive, I owned the sword you now hold. When it was passed down to me by its previous wielder, I inherited her strength, as well as the strength of every other warrior who has ever owned and bonded with it. Since you can see me, I assumed the sword had bonded with you and passed on the magic.”
“Oh.” Izuku blinked some more, staring blankly at the pale, thin man reflected in the sword. “I don’t feel any different, though.”
“Nor did I, at first, but the experience of the bond forming is unmistakable.”
“Does it involve warmth and bright light?” he hedged a guess, and Toshinori nodded.
“So the sword did choose you.”
“But, what for?” he asked, bringing his other hand up to wrap around the sword’s hilt and hold it steadier.
“To fulfill the oath.” Toshinori lifted his other arm into view, displaying the red-gold chain that curved down towards the hilt of the sword. “Every wielder of this blade, since the very first, has been bound to protect the land and all its people from the Great Evil.”
“I can’t do that!” he blurted, and Toshinori’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, I would love to if I could, Kacchan left to be an adventurer years ago, but I’ve not been trained in any type of fighting, let alone swordfighting or magic or magic swordfighting. I wouldn’t last ten seconds against one of the Great Evil’s minions!”
“Boy.” Toshinori said firmly, and his mouth snapped shut at the sheer authority in the spirit’s tone. “You hold in your hands One For All, the most powerful blade ever enchanted, which houses the spirits of every former wielder with all their strength and knowledge and conviction to do what is right.” a golden aura began to flicker along the edges of the blade, and Izuku’s breath caught in his throat at the aura of power suddenly radiating from the blade. “Do you really think it so impossible that I could teach you to wield not only the blade, but the power within it?”
“I- oh.” his breath left him in a rush as the golden flickers spread down the sword to wreath his hands and forearms in magical light.
“What is your name, boy?” Toshinori asked, his voice deep and authoritative.
“Midoriya Izuku, Sir.” he answered automatically.
“A good name.” Toshinori nodded, then squared his shoulders and locked eyes with him. “Midoriya Izuku.” he intoned, power resonating in his words. “In laying claim to the enchanted blade One For All, you have been tasked with upholding the blood oath of all its wielders. Will you, once you have received tutelage in the way of the sword, devote your life to the protection of all natural life and the suppression of the Great Evil and all its associated curses, plagues, and maladies?”
Izuku opened his mouth, but said nothing. Kacchan’s parents had been distraught when he didn’t come home, and Mom had become much more protective afterwards. He didn’t want to hurt her by leaving, didn’t want to make her worry for his safety by straying from the familiar woods she’d walked him through so often as a child. “But, my mom.” he said lamely.
“Is surely expecting a boy your age to leave the nest sooner than later.” Toshinori said, his posture relaxing and voice losing the booming authority of earlier. “Midoriya, this sword does not choose its wielders lightly. My master tested it against nearly every aspiring warrior in the tribe, and it rejected more than one who was stronger than me. That it has chosen you now means that you are its true wielder of this generation. That you can see me at all means you have inherited its magic-”
“What is its magic, anyways?” Izuku frowned. “You never said.”
“Enhancement.” Toshinori flashed him a quick smile. “A blood enhancement that grants you the strength of every previous wielder of the sword combined.”
“Oh. Wow.” Izuku breathed. “I never knew blood magic could be combined with other types! Though I suppose it makes sense, seeing as how a major facet of blood magic is that it draws on bodily energy instead of mana, so really any mage could be a blood mage with a little effort.”
Toshinori’s face went blank, and Izuku felt himself flush as he realised he’d been rambling again. “Sorry.” he mumbled, and Toshinori’s brows drew together briefly before a wide smile split his face and he threw his head back in a laugh.
“You really are something else, kid.” he smiled, seeming to lean on the side of the blade. “Are you sure you’re not an alchemist?”
“Oh, I could never.” Izuku shook his head quickly. “You need magic for that. I just help my mom with her apothecary.”
“A healer, huh?” Toshinori chuckled.
“Oh, no no n-”
“Midoriya.” Toshinori’s voice carried the weight of authority, and that combined with his stern look made Izuku shut up mid-word. “Affinity or not, you are an apprentice healer. You are the first healer to wield this magic, and it’s only fitting that-”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Toshinori.” Izuku said quickly, heat rising in his cheeks again, burning at the tips of his ears. “I can’t accept your quest. My mom’s too old to do all the herb gathering for the shop herself, and nobody else in the village will apprentice with her because of me. Because I’m a null.” his shoulders fell towards the end, and he willed back tears with a few hard blinks. “I’ll do my best to find someone else who can wield One for All and defeat the Great Evil, but I can’t go myself.”
Toshinori stared at him for a few seconds, brow furrowed in deep thought. “You don’t believe me.” he said after a moment, and Izuku blinked as he processed the statement.
“About what?” he asked, and Toshinori smiled.
“About the magic you’ve inherited. You don’t think it’s real.”
“I-” Izuku paused, mouth pulling down at the edges in a small frown. “I guess I don’t.” he admitted. “It’s just, too fantastical. Blood-driven enhancement? An affinity that can be passed from person to person? That’s not how magic works!”
“And yet you’ve been holding One for All steady for our whole conversation.” Toshinori crossed his arms, and Izuku looked down from the glowing golden spirit in the sword to where his hand was wrapped around the blade.
“I- What? How?” he looked back up at Toshinori, who spread his arms out past the boundaries of what Izuku could see in the flat of the blade, raising multiple questions in Izuku’s mind, and grinned wide.
“One for All has attuned itself to you, my boy.” he said grandly, spectral form flashing into the muscled apparition of earlier and voice deepening slightly to a deep, heroic timbre. “Its magic is yours, along with the strength of all its wielders past.”
“The what now.” Izuku’s eyes widened, and Toshinori poofed back into his near-skeletal appearance with a wet-sounding cough. Izuku hadn’t known that spirits could cough, or ever imagined that they’d need to, but it seemed he was learning a lot today. He’d have to remember to write his questions down later, and Toshinori’s answers to them once he got the chance to ask everything.
“Ah, right, you’re a townie aren’t you. You wouldn’t know.” Toshinori brought a hand up to rest his chin on the side of his curled fingers, a thoughtful look on his face. “You may want to sit down, it’s not exactly a short story.”
Izuku frowned, glancing up at the angle of light coming through the trees. “I have to get home, though. Mom is gonna worry if I’m gone too much longer.”
“Well, I suppose the full tale can wait.” Toshinori conceded. “But you should at least try to use your new magic. I was told it’s easiest to learn how to harness it while the attunement is fresh.”
“Alright.” Izuku said, wary but willing to listen. Maybe it was some sort of charm on the sword, maybe Toshinori had been a charisma affinity in life and retained his abilities in death, but Izuku felt inclined to consider the things he said.
“Excellent. Now, take your stance.”
Izuku blinked blankly.
“Your sword stance?” Toshinori prompted, and Izuku looked down at his feet as he tried to mimic his memory of Iida doing drills while the three of them hung out in the field.
“Like this?” he asked, and Toshinori nodded.
“Good enough for an affinity test.” he grinned, the golden aura that lingered around his ethereal form in the blade brightening slightly. “Now, grip the hilt firmly, tense your core, and as you swing scream from the bottom of your heart, Obcillo!”
Izuku nodded, tucking away the fact that he’d actually been able to distinguish the word for a later question, and tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword.
“Ah, not so tight.” Toshinori winced, and Izuku stared.
“You can feel that?”
“Ah, I suppose so.” Toshinori seemed just as surprised as he was, and Izuku reminded himself that the spirit likely hadn’t been dead for very long.
“Sorry.” he apologised as he loosened his grip and slowly re-tightened it, stopping when Toshinori grimaced. Flexing his fingers around the hilt, he looked down at his feet and tried to re-assume Iida’s stance, then reconsidered. If this was a test, he didn’t want to risk fumbling the sword and cutting himself somehow swinging it straight up and down. A diagonal slash would work better, and he’d seen Iida practice those one-handed with a practice sword about the size of this one before he settled on training with a longsword. At least this stance would still work for it, minus one hand on the sword.
“Alright.” he breathed deep in, then out, and tensed his core as he inhaled again, drawing One for All up over his shoulder. He swung down with all his might, shouting the incantation Toshinori had told him, and the reaction was immediate. Golden light flared to life around him and the sword as he spoke, flowing quickly down his arm and into the blade as he swung it down. The light shot from the sword in an arc of energy as he finished the swing, and Izuku collapsed to his knees with a cry of pain as the magic slashed through a tree and a half.
Thankfully the one that started falling tilted away from him, because he felt weaker than ever before in his life, lightheaded and dizzy and barely able to even sit on his heels without swaying. Worst though was the pain. His whole sword arm from the shoulder down felt like it was on fire, and when he tried to move the limb it didn’t respond. The sword fell from his hand, all strength gone from his fingers, and his vision fuzzed in and out as his chest heaved with gasping breaths, each exhale a whimper of pain.
He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, struggling to breathe, before he distantly heard someone calling his name. They sounded distressed, and he forced himself to focus on that instead of the pain in his arm. His thoughts felt muddled and slow, like the rest of his body, but he could at least focus on the voice talking to him.
“Yeah?” he rasped, his voice hoarse, and the voice sighed heavily.
“Thank the gods.” they- he- murmured, and Izuku frowned as he tried to match a face and name to the voice.
“Mr. Toshinori?” his voice shook, and he looked down at One for All lying in the dirt at his side, the spirit’s golden glow still visible in the flat of the blade. “I think I broke my arm.”
“With how much power you just used, I’m grateful you’re still awake.” Toshinori sounded sincere, and Izuku bit back a sound of pain as he leaned over to grab the sword with his unbroken hand. The weakness had faded some, enough he thought he’d probably be able to get up and shuffle on home, and as he dragged the sword across his lap he wondered how he’d carry it. He had no sheath, and very little strength, but he didn’t want to leave the weapon here.
“What was that?” he asked once One for All was balanced atop his knees.
“That was you overdoing it with blood magic.” Toshinori frowned up at him, but only for a second before sighing again. “I suppose I should’ve known. Townies don’t teach their nulls magical theory, do they?”
Izuku shook his head slowly. “Mom never bothered.”
Toshinori muttered something that sounded like an insult, then straightened up and gave Izuku a bright smile. “Well, guess that means I’ll just have to teach you myself. You’re the inheritor of One for All, and its quest. You’ll need training.”
Training. Training with a sword? Probably, almost definitely actually.
“And with your magic.” Toshinori said, his tone serious.
“I don’t think I’m up for any training today.” Izuku said, looking down at his broken arm.
“Well, no.” Toshinori coughed into his fist, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Your stamina will take a few days to replenish, and your arm needs to be healed, but once that is done I will teach you everything I know.”
“From inside a sword?” Izuku frowned.
“I will teach you everything I can.” Toshinori corrected himself. “Now, up you get my boy. Your mother is a healer, is she not?”
“Apothecary.” he corrected, and abruptly remembered that he’d never gotten the willow bark. “Mom’s gonna kill me.” he groaned. Not that she’d be angry, in all his life Mom had never been more than upset with or disappointed in him, but she’d be worried and that was worse. Mom fussed when she was worried, every other time he’d come home hurt she-
“Oh no.” he whispered, opening his eyes to stare down at the sword, there Toshinori was wearing a bemused grin. “Mom’s gonna want to know how I got hurt.”
“Then tell her.” Toshinori frowned, his confusion evident.
“She’d never let me swing a sword again.”
Even just saying the words drove a lance of icy dread through Izuku’s heart. Yes he’d hurt himself, and badly. Yes he’d used so much of his energy he was going to have trouble getting up again if he fell on the way home; but the rush of it, the surge of power through his body as he spoke a word in the language of magic and it worked... He couldn’t bear the thought of never feeling that again. His whole life he’d longed for an affinity of his own and now here one was, granted to him by a spirit in a skeleton’s sword, and he couldn’t say anything or Mom would never stop worrying.
“That would certainly be problematic.” Toshinori said drily. “Why not lie to her?”
Izuku grimaced. He knew some of the other kids his age lied to their parents, but in the years between Kacchan’s disappearance and his meeting Uraraka and Iida, Mom had been his world. He told her nearly everything, and what he didn’t tell her was only what she didn’t think, or know, to ask about. The idea of actively lying to her, concealing something like this... “It feels wrong.” he answered, shifting uncomfortably.
“You truly are a rare child.” Toshinori smiled, and Izuku straightened up for a moment at the praise. “But if your mother would truly stop you, then you must choose. Your quest, or your honesty?”
Izuku opened his mouth, but only a low whine came out for the first few seconds. “You can’t just- I couldn’t-”
“Ah, apologies.” Toshinori looked away, fidgeting with his hands. “I phrased that poorly. What I meant was, you must choose between keeping the oath of One for All and telling your mother a lie.”
Izuku grimaced again. He still didn’t like the idea, but laid out like that... “I’ll have to tell her eventually.” he said softly. “Maybe- maybe not right now though. She’ll be worried enough without knowing how I broke my arm.” he nodded to himself, the knowledge that he wouldn’t lie to her forever calming him immensely. He’d still have to come up with a way to hide the sword, and an explanation for why he didn’t have any willow leaves or bark, and a way he could have broken his arm so damn badly, but he could think of that as he walked home.