Ten years later, the orphanage was no less cold, but the halls were rarely quiet. The clang of steel against steel rang out in the courtyard as girls of various ages sparred under the watchful eyes of their instructors. Some were no older than five, their wooden practice weapons too large for their small hands, while others were nearing adulthood, their movements swift and precise.
Arteja, now ten years old, stood at the edge of the courtyard, her wooden spear held tightly in her hands. She had grown tall for her age, her light brown hair tied back in a simple braid. Her blue eyes, though bright, carried a seriousness beyond her years. Like the other girls, she wore a plain gray tunic, her face smeared with dirt from the morning's training.
"Arteja!" barked one of the instructors, a grizzled woman named Master Corliss. "Step forward!"
Arteja obeyed, stepping into the sparring circle where another girl, Lirael, waited with her own spear. Lirael was slightly older, with a sharp tongue and a competitive streak that often got her into trouble. The two girls had sparred many times before, and while Arteja had won more often than not, Lirael was determined to prove herself.
"Begin!" Corliss shouted.
Lirael lunged first, her spear thrusting toward Arteja's midsection. Arteja sidestepped with practiced ease, her own spear spinning in her hands as she deflected the blow. She countered with a swift strike aimed at Lirael's legs, but Lirael jumped back, narrowly avoiding it.
The fight continued, their movements a blur of strikes and parries. The other girls gathered around the circle, some cheering for Lirael, others for Arteja. Sweat dripped down Arteja's brow, but her focus never wavered. She was patient, waiting for the right moment.
When Lirael overextended on a thrust, Arteja seized the opportunity. She stepped inside Lirael's guard and swept her spear upward, knocking the weapon from Lirael's hands. A moment later, the blunt end of Arteja's spear was at Lirael's throat.
"Yield," Arteja said softly.
Lirael scowled but nodded. "I yield."
The other girls clapped, though the applause was halfhearted. Arteja was respected for her skill, but she had few friends among the other Wardens-in-training. Her quiet demeanor and tendency to keep to herself set her apart, and in a place where alliances were often the key to survival, Arteja's isolation made her an easy target for jealousy.
"Good," Corliss said, though her tone was far from approving. "But don't get cocky, Arteja. Overconfidence will get you killed just as quickly as carelessness."
Arteja nodded, lowering her spear. She didn't need Corliss to remind her of the stakes. Every girl in the orphanage knew the truth: failure was not an option. Those who couldn't keep up with the training were discarded, sent to live out their days as servants or worse. For Arteja, there was no other path. She would become a Warden, no matter what it took.