Rising to the sound of his bedroom door opening, Cyran squinted one eye open to see his father standing in the doorway with a wry smile.
"So... son. I heard your first match was against a girl." he teased.
"Yeah it was, why?" Cyran replied drowsily.
"Oh no reason. I was just wondering if she managed to pressure you. Because, you know, you're terrible with women,"
"I am not terrible with... why, who said something?" Cyran quickly shot back whilst looking beyond his father to see if anyone he knew had blabbed his not-so-well-kept secret.
"So she was a looker then," Virion surmised, cradling his chin in thought. There were times where he displayed extraordinary levels of shrewdness that astounded Cyran everytime.
"She was okay, I guess," Cyran said, looking away.
"That hot huh? Well, I guess you're about that age. You know, I was around your age when I-" Cyran had interrupted his fathers monologue with a well timed pillow to his face.
"Whoops. Slipped," he laughed, "sorry Dad, I have only a few hours before my next match and I want to take a walk through the forest first," springing out of bed, Cyran rifled through his wardrobe to select more casual clothes.
Virion's brow creased for a moment before relaxing. Handing Cyran his blades, his fathers voice took a serious tone, "fine, but take these with you." Puzzled, Cyran accepted but his father had left before he could question him.
"Odd," he thought, strapping his twin blades to his side. Heading out of the house, as soon as Cyran felt the fresh scent of the forest he instantly felt more relaxed. Strolling through the village took no time at all before he found himself crossing the forests edge. He found himself walking for a while, taking in the sights and sounds that were so familiar to him before he caught a scent that wasn't. Guided by his nose, Cyran followed the trail. The closer he got to the source, the more details his senses could pick up such as the soot floating in the air, the smoke rising through the canopies; it was a fire he was smelling.
Forest fires were a rare occurrence but if they were left alone, the results for the ancestral home of the elves could be catastrophic. Knowing this, panic soon settled into Cyran's heart. The wind whistled through Cyran's long, blonde hair as he picked up the pace. Racing through the forest, which he knew like the back of his hand, was as easy as breathing for Cyran, he could have done it blindfolded guided only by his nose. Finally breaking through a thick brush did he come face to face with what had caused his panic.
"Uncle Wyn?" he said, raising an eyebrow at the hardy warden warming his hands by an open fire.
"Ah, hello little one. What brings you out here?" he replied softly, never taking his gaze from the flickering embers.
"I just wanted to take a walk to relax before my next match today. I only came because of your fire," Cryan said, approaching the fire. It looked as though Wyn had been here since his visit with Virion, there were cooking utensils beside the fire and tucked away behind his uncle was a bedspread and tent.
"Your match? Oh, that's right, the selection. Congratulations on winning your first match. Was it a tough fight?" Wyn said, staring through the fire as though he were not really invested in conversation and instead focused on the flames, as though he had a question only they could answer.
"It was against a girl. I won but it was a learning experience for me," Cyran bashfully replied. At this, Wyn turned his head looking at Cyran as though he had only just noticed he was there. Smiling, he patted the space on the log beside him. As the heat from the fire seeped into Cyran's muscles, he felt himself melt into his seat.
"You know, your father used to have a tough time with women when he first picked up the sword." Wyn reminisced. Cyran was almost shocked at this revelation. "You would never have thought it looking at how he is now but that man really struggled to even unsheathe his weapon with a lady around.
"He was so talented in everything he put his mind to so naturally his aversion to the fairer sex didn't last all that long. As I am sure that you will find the same happens to you, little one."
Cyran let the 'little one' comment slide, a leopard couldn't change its spots after all. "Uhh, thanks Uncle, I think. So what are you doing out here by yourself?" he inquired.
"Ah," he gestured to his blue cloak, "this piece of fabric is a worthy garment but also comes with responsibilities little one. As a warden, I am tasked with the safety and maintenance of this very forests borders. The forest is vast and also not the only one that is home to us elves. We have kept our ancestral homes shut off from the rest of the world so the job to ensure it stays that way falls to us,"
Cyran blinked at his Uncle with a newfound admiration as though he had just slain a mighty evil dragon. The gruff wardens gaze shifted beyond the fire briefly before he abruptly stood up and kicked earth into the pit, extinguishing the fire and also the moment. "Shouldn't you be heading back to prepare little one? I have to finish my patrol for the day. If I make it in time, I would like to come see you compete," he said whilst strapping his gear to his lean frame. Cyran eventually snapped back to his reality and realised he was with his uncle in the forest, not some fairytale protector.
"O-okay," Cyran said, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift, "then make sure you do!"
Leaving each other behind, Cyran lazily wound his way back towards the village in order to change into his armoured gear and to head back down to the arena. When he arrived home, his mother, Eleanor, was preparing that days dinner whilst Arlen was busy trying to sweep the floor. Upon seeing his older brother, Arlen ran to his little room before re-emerging with his twin swords.
"Big brother, here! I cleaned them up for you really good," he said whilst dragging the swords with all his might. Cyran couldn't help but feel at ease around his younger brothers kind and innocent nature. It was for people like him that Cyran desired the power to protect.
Leaving the house with shiny swords in tow, the young elf once again made his way to the arena for his second bout. Walking into the battleground, Cyran had caught the end of the last match to play. The victor standing on stage bowed to the elders before sweeping his long spear into his hands and making his way to the rest area where he took a seat next to Cyran.
"Hey I saw your finishing combination up there. Impressive footwork! My name is Cyran, what's yours?" he casually said.
The youth sat next to him was tall and waifish, with cool green eyes and a strong jaw that gave his expression a motionless quality to it. His short dark hair gave his overall appearance a much more unapproachable air. Responding to his introduction with a silent glare, he began to polish his spear. Cyran couldn't help but marvel over the craftsmanship of his weapon. The proportions seemed perfect for someone of the youths build with enough gilding on the shaft to make it look more than an ordinary piece yet the calluses on his hands indicated that he was no stranger to using it.
"I really hope I don't face this guy," Cyran thought.