After her conversation with the king, Flora set her resolve to become a knight, though she had never before wielded a sword. This lack of experience could prove to be a significant obstacle on her journey. Determined to overcome it, she ventured to the royal training grounds, where she paused to contemplate what type of weapon would best suit..
Flora stood in the royal armory, her eyes flicking between the twin daggers and the twin swords before her. The decision weighed heavily on her, and she found herself caught in a storm of doubt. Twin daggers were sleek, agile, perfect for close-quarters combat, and would suit her desire for speed and precision. But twin swords—more elegant, balanced, and deadly—spoke to her need for both power and finesse.
Her fingers brushed the hilts of the weapons, each one calling to her in its own way. The daggers felt light, responsive, like an extension of her will, while the swords, though heavier, carried a sense of authority—like they belonged to someone with the strength to command the battlefield. Flora closed her eyes, imagining herself wielding each pair. The daggers, she thought, would allow me to strike quickly, with deadly intent. But the swords... they would give me the power to dominate, to overwhelm my enemies.
After much contemplation, Flora's hand finally settled on the twin swords before her. The daggers, though tempting with their speed and subtlety, felt too fleeting for the path she had chosen. She needed something more, something that would mirror the power she intended to wield. The twin swords were heavier, their hilt firm and resolute in her grip, and as she lifted them, she could almost feel the weight of her resolve settling into place. These weapons would be her tools of vengeance—symbols of her strength, her determination, and the battles she was prepared to face. As the swords gleamed under the light of the armory, Flora could see her future unfolding before her: one of dominance and skill, a future where she would strike down every person who had wronged her. With a quiet breath, she knew her choice was made. The twin swords would be her companions on this journey, and with them, she would carve her way through the darkness that had consumed her past.
After much contemplation, Flora's hand finally settled on the twin swords before her. The daggers, though tempting with their speed and subtlety, felt too fleeting for the path she had chosen. She needed something more, something that would mirror the power she intended to wield. The twin swords were heavier, their hilt firm and resolute in her grip, and as she lifted them, she could almost feel the weight of her resolve settling into place. These weapons would be her tools of vengeance—symbols of her strength, her determination, and the battles she was prepared to face. As the swords gleamed under the light of the armory, Flora could see her future unfolding before her: one of dominance and skill, a future where she would strike down every person who had wronged her. With a quiet breath, she knew her choice was made. The twin swords would be her companions on this journey, and with them, she would carve her way through the darkness that had consumed her past.
Flora stepped onto the training grounds, her twin swords gripped tightly in her hands. The weight of them felt different from the first time she had lifted them, yet still too heavy, too unwieldy. Her movements were clumsy, the blades slicing through the air with little grace. She stumbled as she tried to execute a simple strike, the swords feeling like foreign extensions of herself. Her arms burned with each swing, and frustration gnawed at her insides. Why is this so difficult? she thought, wiping sweat from her brow. But despite the aching muscles and the sting of failure, Flora refused to stop. She could hear the whispers of doubt in her mind, but she silenced them, determined to push forward. With each failed attempt, she adjusted her stance, her grip, her focus. Slowly, her strikes became sharper, more fluid. The swords no longer felt like burdens, but tools—tools that could one day strike down the enemies she vowed to defeat. By the end of her training session, Flora was exhausted, but there was a flicker of pride within her. It wasn't much, but the improvement was real. She knew this was just the beginning, and the road ahead would be long, but she was no longer afraid of the struggle. The twin swords were now part of her, and she would master them, no matter how hard it became.
The night air was crisp as Flora wandered deeper into the woods, seeking solitude to clear her mind. The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting eerie shadows that danced at the edge of her vision. She hadn't intended to stray so far from the castle, but now, as she looked around, the trees seemed to blur together, leaving her disoriented and uncertain. I should have stayed closer to the path, she thought, panic rising in her chest. Determined to find her way back, she climbed to the top of a nearby hill, hoping for a clearer view. But as she reached the summit, a sharp pain shot through her hand—her own desperation had led her to draw a cut on her palm with one of her swords. The blood dripped slowly, leaving a trail. She winced, but then noticed the small red droplets against the dark earth. Maybe this will guide me, she thought, trying to steady her breath.
But fate had other plans. As she walked forward, the woods grew more oppressive, and she could no longer recognize the path she had taken. Her heart pounded as she stumbled through the underbrush, each step seeming to lead her deeper into an unfamiliar part of the forest. Hours passed, and just as the weight of hopelessness began to settle in, Flora found herself at the entrance of a cave. The air grew heavy with an almost palpable tension as she hesitated before stepping inside, her instincts urging her forward.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she spotted something peculiar—embedded in the stone floor, half-hidden beneath layers of moss, was a weapon. A scythe, its blade black as night, gleamed with an unnatural sheen. Something about it called to her. Without thinking, Flora reached out and grasped the handle. The moment her fingers touched the cold metal, a voice echoed in her mind, deep and resonant.
"Your heart is full of hatred, and your thirst for vengeance burns bright," the voice intoned, sending a chill down Flora's spine. "I see you have trained tirelessly with both hands, and so you have chosen twin swords as your weapon."
Flora froze, her breath catching in her throat. Who... who are you? she whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and disbelief.
The scythe responded, its voice like a whisper carried on the wind, "I am the weapon of God. And if you are worthy, I shall take the form of twin swords, as you desire. But only if you prove yourself... if your resolve is strong enough to wield me."
Flora's hands trembled around the weapon as she fought to steady her breath. The weight of its presence was overwhelming, but something within her—something deep and burning—drove her to push through her fear. She had been chosen for this path, and nothing would stand in her way.
With a final, determined pull, Flora yanked the scythe free from the rock. The moment she did, the weapon began to shimmer and shift, the blade warping and splitting into two gleaming swords—each one now as deadly as her heart's desire. Flora, breathless and in awe, gazed at the twin blades in her hands. She could feel their power coursing through her, a power that would carry her through the darkness of her vengeance.
Flora lifted the twin swords, her grip steady yet trembling with the weight of their power. As she swung the blades through the air, each movement felt more fluid, more natural, as though the swords were extensions of her own body. The steel flashed under the moonlight, gleaming like stars caught in the night's embrace. With every slash, every graceful arc of her arm, the swords seemed to hum with life, dancing effortlessly through the darkness. It was as if she had become one with the night itself—a lone knight in a silent, timeless waltz. The moon above bathed her in its silver glow, casting long shadows that swirled with each movement, making the sight of her strikes appear almost ethereal. There was beauty in her every motion, a silent poetry to her form as the blades cut through the air like whispers of the wind. It was not just the act of wielding weapons—it was an art, a symphony of motion, as though she had been born to dance in the darkness, the swords her only partners. Each strike felt more perfect than the last, as if the night itself was cheering her on, the very moonlight her stage. Flora smiled faintly, feeling a deep sense of peace and purpose in the midst of her battle with the shadows. The swords had become part of her—graceful, powerful, and unstoppable.
After several moments of graceful practice, Flora paused, her twin swords held at her sides, their gleaming edges catching the faint moonlight. As she caught her breath, she suddenly heard the distant sound of voices calling through the woods. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the familiar tones.
"Young lady Flora, where are you?" The voice was gentle but urgent, filled with concern.
Flora's gaze drifted to the edge of the clearing where she spotted a group of knights, their armor glinting in the dim light, accompanied by her new maid, Eva , who looked particularly anxious. Flora took a moment to steady herself, brushing away the last remnants of the lingering unease she had felt earlier. She sheathed her swords and made her way toward them, her steps light and composed.
"I'm here," she called softly, her voice carrying on the cool night air. As she approached, she saw Lara's face relax with relief, while the knights exchanged uncertain glances.
"I went into the woods to take a deep breath," Flora explained, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I wanted to enjoy the quiet, the view. I lost track of time."
The knight leading the group nodded, his brow still furrowed with concern. "It is not safe to wander so far from the castle at night, my lady. We should return immediately."
Flora gave a faint nod, though inside, she felt a strange sense of peace from her brief time alone. "Yes, let's return to the castle," she said, turning with graceful steps, her twin swords now resting peacefully by her side. As they made their way back through the woods, Flora couldn't shake the feeling that the night's events had marked another turning point in her journey—a quiet reminder of the power she was beginning to wield, both with the twin swords and within herself.
When Flora returned to her room in the castle, Eva had already left, giving her some much-needed solitude. Closing the door behind her, Flora walked to the center of the room, her steps quiet on the stone floor. She carefully set down her cloak and removed the twin swords from their sheath, placing them gently in front of her. As the candlelight flickered across the blades, she took a moment to study them closely.
To her surprise, Flora noticed that the two swords were unlike anything she had seen before. One blade was a deep, glossy black, its surface almost absorbing the light, as though it held the shadows of the night within its edges. The other blade was a rich, dark crimson, as if it were forged from the heart of a dying sunset, radiating a strange, haunting glow.
Each sword seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, their surfaces gleaming with a perfect, almost magical, sharpness. Flora traced her fingers along the length of each blade, feeling the subtle hum of power beneath her touch. The black blade felt cool and heavy, a perfect embodiment of darkness and strength. The red blade, by contrast, had a warmth to it, as though it carried within it an unspoken fire—both beautiful and deadly. Together, they seemed to be an embodiment of balance—one dark, one burning—but both full of grace and precision.
The swords felt like they were meant for her, an extension of her very will, the weight of vengeance and power coursing through her fingertips. They were more than just weapons—they were works of art, perfectly crafted, full of charm, and yet, undeniably dangerous. She couldn't help but wonder if they were a reflection of her own soul—torn between shadow and fire, vengeance and resolve.