"-and as per usual, I had to do all of the dirty work yet again," Bradford grumbled as he stumbled into his room with Black Heron at his heels, their clothes dusty and torn in several places. Heron limped into the room with a groan, carrying the three pieces of the Sword of Swanstantine in her arms and dropping them on the carpeted floor, then collapsing herself. Bradford fell into his bed, exhausted and feeling gutted.

After finding Finch's private journal several years ago with the help of her original Tittertwill's descendent – and with even less help from the useless map he inherited from her - he began studying it extensively when creating his final Master Plan. Seeing through which treasures to consider for final elimination, reminding himself where they were located, and trying to find any information on methods for their final destruction which elude him for now (although the formula for the Solego Circuit seems to be his best bet, if it were ever to be cracked one day).

But reading through the treasures that once escaped both his and Finch's grasps only reminded him of the severe heartache that came with looking at each and every picture of them. Many times he found he couldn't even bother to pick it up during his planning sessions.

He thought he'd be able to handle the pain when looking for the papyrus twenty years ago, but all it did was open those raw memories again after the supposed adventure was over. The stress of the day had overwhelmed him when he laid in bed alone staring at the ceiling during the wee hours of morning. It was not pleasant reopening those memories out to bear fully. It never was.

He thought he'd learned his lesson by going to look for the Sword today, but yet again those memories were reopened, and he only felt numb now from the pain, emotionally and physically. Knowing himself, he knew it will all come back to him in full force once he's alone in bed with his deafening thoughts.

Against his better judgement, it was initially his idea to retrieve the Sword. It was a powerful relic, and he had an odd feeling it would come in handy someday. He had at first sent out his FOWL agents to retrieve the pieces; the farther removed he was physically from those damnable objects, the better. But once he saw they were unsuccessful even at this simple task, he had no choice but to retrieve the pieces himself.

He knew the bearer of the Sword would need inner strength to retrieve the pieces, according to his grandmother's words that she had first overhead from local legends in Istanbird. Whatever they had meant, they didn't know then and he didn't know now nor did he care. He simply interpreted the words from the accursed journal to the best of his ability, retrieved each part as he found them, gave them to Heron, then came back to HQ via helicopter. It was a draining effort for him, and this time he learned his lesson. Never again.

At least retrieving the Sword would also give him a head start on finding these artifacts to be destroyed one day, as they deserved to be. The very memory of each and every Missing Mystery, looking for them, finding information about them, brought him intense internal pain. To have them all be destroyed one day, the sources of his pain, would greatly liberate both him and the world, he thought. This was to be his final Master Plan to be implemented at the end of all things.

For now, however-

"Uhhh, Bradford," Heron moaned from the floor. "Don't you even want to try and see if this thing works? I could swear, whatever I try to do, it doesn't work. Maybe you'd have better luck at it, what do you say?"

"No, Heron," Bradford grumbled into his pillow. "Just…not now. I can't even look at it."

"Are you," Heron grunted, becoming more indignant as she slowly got up, "are you saying we went through all that trouble- the climbing and the fighting and the pulling and the angry mob-and all you can say is 'waaah, I'm going to act like an old man now'? Seriously?"

Bradford felt another headache coming on. "Heron, I said not-"

"Phooey to that!" Heron got up with the pieces and carried them to the elderly buzzard, practically pushing the pieces into his face as he flinched away from them. "Come on, Bradford, I just want to see if this whole escapade was worth it!" she goaded with a hyena smile.

But Bradford tried to push her arms away from him. "No, Heron, I said not-"

But the Sword's parts started to form together in midair, glowing with a dark aura of purple and radiating with power. Now forged in its complete form, the hilt of the Sword floated towards Bradford's hands, tantalizing him to touch it.

For a few seconds, his eyes glittered and grew large with desire, and his hands nimbled towards the Sword as Heron watched in gleeful anticipation. But just as his fingers encircled the hilt, Bradford blinked several times and shook his head sharply. He retracted his hands in a huff and got out of the bed quickly, away from the floating weapon. The Sword fell to the ground in one piece as Heron looked at him in surprise.

"Ugh," Bradford snorted, heading towards the door. He needed to be somewhere else, anywhere but here. "I'm going to go see the child," he announced, and with that he left, leaving a shocked Heron in his room.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Heron then enraged, "When do you NOT see that little worm?!"