The first light of dawn stretched over the eastern walls, casting a faint glow on the training ground just inside the city. The morning air was crisp, carrying the sharp bite of early autumn, but that didn't stop Everrin from slipping out of bed to make her way toward the hidden practice. At nineteen, she still trained in secret; her father refused to let her wield a weapon.
He just doesn't want me to be better with a sword than he is, she thought, though she knew deep down that it wasn't a matter of skill. Her father simply didn't want Everrin to turn out like her brothers.
"Morning," came a familiar voice.
The man seated on the bench ahead of her lifted his head, sunlight catching the roughened edges of his old plate armor, tarnished and scarred from years of wear. In his lap lay two sparring swords, their dull metal gleaming faintly. This was Pom, a family friend and a wall guardian, who'd been forced to march into battle at twenty. Now, in his thirties, he'd returned as something of a legend among the city's defenders.
"Morning, Pom," Everrin replied, extending her hand expectantly.
Pom tossed one of the swords to her. She caught it easily, spinning it in her hand with practiced confidence. It was the same worn training blade he'd given her last spring when they'd first started sparring. She ran her fingers over the hilt, noticing how the grip had worn down over countless hours of practice, its faded blue coating now revealing a raw layer of gray metal beneath. This old blade felt like an extension of her, a silent witness to every hard-won improvement. Even though it was a default sword with no distinct features, Everrin felt a closeness to that piece of metal.
Pom rose and moved onto the training ground, rolling his shoulders. "I don't have long. I've got guard duty soon. Let's make this a quick duel."
Everrin adjusted her white shirt and moved into position, brushing a stray lock of her pale blonde hair from her face. "Fine by me. I need to be at the tavern soon anyway."
They circled each other in silence, boots scraping against the ground. Everrin hated making the first move, but she held Pom's gaze, reading the shift in his posture. In that instant, Pom ceased to be her family's old and fun friend. His eyes grew cold and calculating; his stance was that of an enemy soldier.
Then he struck—a swift, wide arc meant to catch her off-guard. Everrin parried, deflecting the blow to the side, and lunged forward, aiming a quick thrust. Pom sidestepped smoothly, ramming his elbow into her ribs. She staggered back, raising her sword defensively.
I'm lucky he held back, she thought, fighting through the sharp ache. She gritted her teeth and dashed forward, launching a flurry of strikes. Pom parried each one, but she managed to clip his shoulder with her final swing.
Pom responded with a downward strike, forceful and precise. Everrin deflected it, but the impact forced her to loosen her grip, and the sword slipped from her hand, clattering to the ground. She scrambled to retrieve it, but Pom kicked the blade out of reach, his boot skidding it across the dirt. Desperate, she grabbed his sword arm, her grip tightening until her hand glowed with a soft golden light. Her deep green eyes turned into amber ones.
"Agr...!" Pom grunted, his fingers involuntarily opening as he dropped his sword. With his free hand, he caught her arm and twisted it, sending her flipping over onto the ground.
"Ah!" she cried, feeling the hard earth against her back. Pom swiftly pinned her, climbing over her and raising his gloved hand. Everrin shut her eyes.
Pom's hand came down, but instead of a blow, he gave her a light slap on the cheek. "Wake up, haha. What's with that face? I'm not actually going to punch you." He chuckled, standing up and offering her a hand.
Everrin accepted it, brushing the dirt from her black leather pants and white shirt. "Hard to believe it's just a friendly duel with that look in your eyes."
Pom chuckled and retrieved her sword, tossing it back to her. "You did well. Remember last spring? You couldn't even lift this thing." He reached out and pinched her nose. "But don't use sirena for a simple training duel again. It's a blessing, but it's not unlimited."
Everrin's lips curled into a smile. "It's not like I'll need it in real life. Mostly comes in handy when I need to heal the bruises Mom leaves when she throws her boot at me."
Pom laughed. "You should know better than to make Jeanne angry. When we were kids, she once hit me in the chest with her boot so hard I couldn't breathe for a moment." He smirked. "Or at least, that's what she thought. I was only pretending so she'd feel bad and give me a kiss. Poor girl apologized until sundown."
"Sneaky as always, I see." Everrin laughed, shaking her head.
"What can I say? I was in love." He shrugged, patting her back. "But there's no room for that sort of thing in a soldier's life." He turned toward the gate. "I should get to my post. Give Jeanne my regards."
"I will. See you tomorrow." Everrin watched him disappear around the corner, the weight of her sword resting comfortably in her grip. She couldn't deny the admiration she felt, the wish to be as strong and skilled as Pom someday.
She put the sword into the armory crate. With a sigh, she turned and started back toward the tavern where she worked, letting the weight of the morning's practice settle into her muscles.