The first light of dawn crept over the rooftops of Halthor, casting long shadows across the city. The streets were still mostly quiet, the usual bustle of merchants, beggars, and thieves yet to awaken. But in the heart of the city, at the edge of the training grounds, a lone figure moved through the misty morning air.
Nyra stood on the dirt-covered ground, her breath clouding in the cold. She had been awake for hours, anticipation and nerves twisting in her stomach. She had barely slept the night before, her mind replaying every moment of her encounter with Braxton, every word he had said.
"Come back tomorrow, at dawn."
She had thought of little else since then. And now she was here, a battered stick in her hand, waiting.
She shivered, not just from the chill in the air but from the uncertainty gnawing at her gut. She knew what was at stake. This was more than just a test of endurance—it was a test of her resolve, her commitment. If she failed today, Braxton would turn her away, and her chance to learn the sword, to become more than just a thief, would vanish.
But she couldn't think about failure. Not now. She would prove herself. She had to.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness, and Nyra's head snapped up. Braxton emerged from the morning mist, his figure imposing even without armor. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, a sword strapped to his side, his expression unreadable.
He stopped a few paces away from her, his eyes scanning the empty training grounds before settling on her. He studied her for a long moment, then nodded.
"You came," he said simply.
Nyra nodded, tightening her grip on the practice stick. "You said I had to prove myself."
Braxton raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I did." He glanced at the stick in her hand, then reached for the wooden practice sword at his hip, tossing it to her. "Use this instead. A real sword's different, but this will give you a taste."
Nyra caught the practice sword clumsily, almost dropping it in her haste. It was heavier than the stick she'd been holding, its weight solid and unfamiliar in her hands. She adjusted her grip, her heart pounding.
"Today's lesson is simple," Braxton said, drawing his own practice sword. "You're going to defend yourself. For one hour, you'll do nothing but try to stay on your feet. If you drop that sword, if you fall, or if you give up, we're done. Understood?"
Nyra swallowed hard and nodded. "Understood."
Braxton's eyes narrowed, his stance shifting as he raised his sword. "Good. Then let's begin."