The next day, Nathan decided it was time to try something more practical. The exercise with water drops, despite its apparent simplicity, was not having the desired effect on me. Maybe it was my impatience, or maybe the technique was beyond my capabilities.
"Maybe I was just stupid?" In any case, I hadn't learned anything significant from it. Nathan, noticing my growing frustration, decided to change up the training.
He took advantage of the decaying cells around us. The wooden doors, old and rotting from the constant dampness of the prison, provided the perfect material for his idea.
With patience, he began to pry loose some of the worn wood until, finally, he managed to pull out two planks that would serve as makeshift swords.
"Come on, kid," he said, handing me one of the planks, which was about the length of a small sword. "Fencing is as much mental as it is physical. Do you think you're ready?"
At first, I felt confident. After all, I had seen fencing before, and in my mind, it seemed like something I could master quickly. I positioned myself, trying to imitate the duelists I had watched from afar in better times. My feet slightly apart, gripping the wood tightly in my hand, I felt like this moment could be the turning point of my fate.
But, like so many times before, reality was a disappointment.
Nathan's first strike was fast, almost imperceptible, a sharp snap that hit my rib before I could react. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I almost let out a cry of pain.
"Ouch..."
Nathan just laughed, shaking his head, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and patience. He pointed at me with his makeshift sword and gave a silent gesture for me to keep quiet.
"Shhh..." he warned, putting a finger to his lips, as if the sound of my pain could attract the guards' attention. "This isn't the place for a crying princess. Pick up that sword again."
Still catching my breath, I tried to compose myself. Nathan took a few steps around me, examining my stance. He knew I was fighting against discouragement and pain, but he showed no sympathy. To him, this was part of the process—just another step in what he called "forging the spirit."
"You're opening up too much," he said, criticizing my stance with a touch on my shoulder that was more of a shove strong enough to throw me off balance. "Your recovery time from the guard position is ridiculous. Tighter. More efficient."
I adjusted my stance, planting my feet more firmly on the stone floor and trying to absorb what he was saying. I could feel the rough, uneven wood in my hand, its weight unevenly distributed, but still, it was what we had. My thoughts were drifting toward despair, but I forced them back. Focus. That's what Nathan always repeated.
"Let's go again," he ordered.
Once again, he attacked. This time, I thought I predicted the movement. I managed to lift my sword in time to block the strike… almost. His piece of wood clashed against mine with a dry sound, but the force of the impact made my arms give way. Before I knew it, Nathan had repositioned himself, sliding around my body with the agility of someone who had practiced this thousands of times. I felt another hit, this time to the side of my shoulder.
"Ouch!"
"What are you, a little girl?" Nathan mocked, a satisfied smile on his face. "Again."
Frustration was growing inside me. He corrected me again, with firm gestures, his eyes evaluating every movement. Every time I tried to counter-attack, he disarmed me with a simple strike. My mind was boiling with anger at my slow progress, but Nathan remained calm. He knew the goal was to break my impulsiveness, to teach me control—or at least, that's what I thought.
"Fencing isn't about strength, kid," he said, his voice low and firm. "It's about precision. Wait for the right moment. If you attack like a raging beast, you'll tire out before you even hit your opponent. Be patient and cunning."
Patient. It sounded like a cruel joke, given the circumstances. There I was, locked away, my days slipping through my fingers like water. But, as much as I wanted to argue, something in Nathan's gaze stopped me. He knew what he was doing. So, I took a deep breath and tried again.
After a long fencing practice session, it was time to shift focus. Nathan always said that history was one of the greatest tools one could have. "The mistakes and successes of the past are all recorded there," he used to say. And, as always, I had no choice but to follow his instructions.
"Time to study..." Nathan muttered, tossing one of his old books toward me. I barely managed to catch it before it hit the ground. The worn cover bore the title The History of the Continent of Asthará and Its Kingdoms.
Old Nathan was really teaching me history and geography, and I was starting to regret my request.
"What is Leonna?" Nathanael asked.
"A conglomeration of smaller kingdoms that united for the survival of their people due to the aggressive expansionism of the empire," I responded automatically, repeating the words he had drilled into my mind for days on end. The continent of Asthará, vast and diverse, was divided into seven distinct territories—technically, six kingdoms and one empire. I couldn't remember all their names, so I grouped them into regions, each with its own history, culture, and peculiarities that shaped the face of the world.
Starting with the northeast, where the Kingdom of Leonna lay, a young domain forged in the shadows of the icy, snow-covered mountains. Leonna was a refuge for those fleeing the empire—rebels, dissidents, and ancient races that had once roamed those lands in distant times. Though predominantly human, Leonna carried the essence of many cultures, creating a kingdom that, despite its youth, was no less proud than the ancient kingdoms surrounding it.
To the north, beyond the stormy seas, the Drakkin Archipelago ruled the winds. The islands of Drakkin were home to the Vollkarn, a rugged yet fearless people, daring sailors who cut through the seas as if they were extensions of their own land. It's said the Vollkarn worship dragons and that their warriors are trained in combat from childhood, making them a threat both at sea and on land. They love to sing, fight, raid, and plunder—I'd say they resemble pirates more than anything else.
To the west and northwest stretched the vast Nálëriandor Forest, a wild kingdom filled with countless tales of majestic constructions hidden within, home to the elves. Its trees were ancient, so tall they seemed to touch the skies, and the very soil of the forest pulsed with the energy of ancestral spirits. The elves, guardians of this realm, kept a respectful distance from other peoples, preferring the solitude and mystery that surrounded their lands. But that didn't stop the empire from waging war against them, leading to bloody, centuries-old conflicts that continue to this day.
Descending to the southeast, in the mountain ranges that rose like natural walls, were the kingdoms of the dwarves. Deep within, the dwarves endlessly mined, extracting unimaginable riches from the earth's depths. Their underground fortresses were impenetrable, but what truly captured the world's attention was the dwarves' metalworking skills. Their craftsmanship was unmatched—a masterwork by a dwarven blacksmith could be worth as much as a large human fortress.
Finally, there were the barbarian lands. Wild, untamed, and inhabited by nomadic tribes that roamed the south, southeast, and even the west. In these vast plains, where no kingdom dared to claim dominion, warrior tribes lived by their own codes. These were wandering groups, often deadlier than any army, for the barbarian lands were a ruthless desert where only the strong survived. The people who lived there migrated from oasis to oasis, seeking ways to endure.
Nathan nodded, satisfied. "Alright. And what can we learn from that?"
I paused for a moment, organizing my thoughts. "Together, we endure."
"Excellent," he said, a subtle smile forming on his face. He never showed much emotion, but I knew that, in some way, it pleased him when I absorbed what he was teaching.
Thus, for months, our routine repeated itself. In the mornings, we dug the tunnel that would give us a chance to escape. In the afternoons, we practiced fencing until my arms gave out from exhaustion. And in the evenings, we studied history. Nathan said that if we survived all this, I would emerge more prepared for the world than I had ever been before.
And with each passing day, I began to believe him more and more.