Xenia Foxraised propped her legs up on the tiered seats in the row before her and let out an exaggerated yawn. The crisp morning air bit at her cheeks, but she was prepared. Wrapped snugly in an entire bed blanket she had shamelessly dragged from her chambers, she sank deeper into its warmth.
Much better, she thought, her gaze lazily scanning the arena below.
Her leisurely moment was interrupted by a sharp grimace from Lady Hilla, seated primly a few rows below. The Lady of House Jarakan turned just enough to throw a frosty glare at Xenia, her lips moving in what Xenia could only assume were whispered curses or insults. Xenia smirked, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. She couldn't quite make out the words, but her imagination filled in the blanks well enough. Probably something about manners or decorum. Or maybe a death curse, who knew?
Satisfied with her small victory, Xenia shifted her attention back to the center of the training ground. Lady Hilla had already turned away, her focus once again on the scene below, and the game of irritation quickly lost its charm.
Too predictable, Xenia thought, stifling a sigh. Her reactions are always the same.
In the middle of the arena stood her sister, well, half-sister, Velora, surrounded by four men. Xenia raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. They weren't even soldiers.
Stablehands? she thought incredulously, rolling her eyes. How in the name of the Skywhale did Velora expect to improve if her mother insisted on coddling her? Not that it was her fault, but speaking up was a choice as well.
The culprit rose to her feet, her authoritative voice cutting through the morning chill.
"Are you ready, Velora?"
Velora Jarakan stood poised in the center of the training ground, her golden-blonde hair catching the faint morning sunlight with a shimmer of orange. Xenia couldn't deny how perfect her sister looked, standing there like a painting come to life.
Of course she's poised, Xenia thought with a twinge of envy.
Everything about Velora screamed nobility, from her immaculate stance to the regal calm in her eyes. And maybe, Xenia thought grudgingly, she was a little jealous of that too. After all, unlike Xenia, she was a trueJarakan.
And like all of House Jarakan, her presence commanded attention. Her posture was impeccable, her grip on the wooden training sword firm and confident. Though her armor was lighter than what the soldiers of the fortress wore, it still bore the emblem of the fox, shining against the polished metal. She looked every bit the noble - the kind that young lords would endlessly court, though her father had refused every suitor so far.
Standing tall in the center of the arena, she met her mother's gaze with a confident nod.
"Begin!" Lady Hilla called, her voice clear and firm.
Xenia stifled another yawn, a wry smile playing on her lips as the so-called training commenced.
None of the four stablehands moved. Not surprising. Who would dare attack the daughter of their lord? Xenia leaned her head back, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh.
And even if they did, she thought lazily, Velora's a Sorceress and trained in swordsmanship.
For all Velora's training, Xenia couldn't deny that her sister's discipline was admirable. She had a way of making even this stilted practice look like it mattered.
But that same discipline also made Velora so predictable, Xenia thought with a flicker of both frustration and grudging respect. Perfection might draw admiration, but it didn't make for much fun.
The stillness of the scene stretched on as Velora took slow, deliberate steps forward. Finally, one of the stablehands summoned enough courage to charge her, letting out a loud, clumsy cry. Xenia winced and buried her face further into her warm blanket.
If you're going to yell, at least don't do it so loudly, she mused.
"Does this bore you?"
Xenia groaned inwardly.
Please tell me she isn't talking to me.
She held her silence for several seconds, hoping Lady Hilla would take the hint and grow irritated enough to drop it. Finally, she replied, her tone dripping with mock sweetness, "Well, yes. The poor boys only know how to handle horses, dear Mother."
Lady Hilla's mouth twitched, a telltale sign of her irritation at being addressed as Mother.
Xenia grinned. "Don't tell me... is my sister actually a horse?"
Lady Hilla exhaled sharply, though her composure remained intact, as always. She crossed her legs under the stiff layers of her gown.
"You insult our house by underestimating these men. They serve the Jarakans; that alone makes them better than most."
Meanwhile, Velora had deftly turned to face her attacker. With an elegant spin and a sharp upward strike, she met the stablehand's overreaching swing. His sword clattered to the ground, and he stumbled back, clutching his fingers in pain. The impact clearly startled him, though not enough to deter the remaining three, who rushed her in unison.
Xenia watched from the corner of her eye, her interest fading quickly.
If she doesn't use her Soulart, this is going to be dull.
She yawned and nestled deeper into the blanket. "Wake me when it's over."
Lady Hilla's gaze sharpened. "You can't sleep now. You're next."
"Then wake me for that," Xenia replied, her voice casual. She opened one eye to meet her stepmother's poisonous stare before smirking. Lady Hilla's expression shifted into a cold smile.
"Fine. Sleep," she said, her voice dripping with the same false sweetness Xenia had shown her. "You do yourname proud."
Xenia's smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of irritation. Her name. Not Jarakan. Xenia Foxraised.
A bastard's name. One that set her apart no matter how much of Lord Askar's blood ran through her veins. Lady Hilla knew exactly where to press, and Xenia hated how well it worked.
Witch.
"Great," Xenia muttered, turning her head away. "Now I can't sleep."
At that moment, a sharp cry pierced the air, drawing her attention back to the arena. Velora stood triumphant over the defeated stablehands, her wooden sword raised. One of the men knelt on the ground, clutching his shoulder in obvious pain. His arm looked twisted in a way it shouldn't.
Lady Hilla rose, clapping gracefully. "Wonderful, my dear. Soon, you'll be your father's equal."
Velora stared down at the injured stablehand for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she tilted her head and said something Xenia couldn't catch. The man's pained groans abruptly ceased. He looked up, wide-eyed, then lowered his head in a deep bow before retreating with the others, abandoning their training swords as they hurried away.
Velora's gaze followed them silently before she turned to her mother. She gave a small nod, then looked to Xenia, her expression softening into a faint smile.
"Ugh," Xenia muttered under her breath.
"Thank you, Mother," Velora said, her tone respectful yet carrying an edge of pride. "But I'm more curious to see how I fare against my sister."
Xenia let out yet another exaggerated yawn, but under Lady Hilla's sharp glare, she reluctantly threw off the blanket. Stretching lazily, she stood, brushing imaginary dust from her clothes. With deliberate ease, she stepped over the seats and railings of the stands, hopping down to the arena floor. Her boots crunched on the gravel as she landed, a sly grin tugging at her lips.
Velora's eyes gleamed with curiosity and an edge of competitiveness as she watched her sister approach. It was the look of someone eager to see a performance.
Xenia smiled to herself. If her sister wanted a show, she'd give her one. Not that it would be much of a challenge facing stableboys. She had no intention of injuring one like Velora had. While she knew her sister's actions weren't cruel, the seriousness of this whole exercise seemed ridiculous.
"Xenia! Where is your armor?!" Lady Hilla's voice rang out, her fury bubbling just under the surface.
Xenia glanced down at her attire as if noticing it for the first time. Right. She was still in her pajamas. And boots. Grinning, she replied, "Did you really think I'd wear armor under a blanket? Who does that?"
Velora's face shifted into an irritated frown. The contrast between them was striking: one beautiful sister, radiant in polished armor, towering half a head over the other - a beauty with raven-black hair, standing casually in soft blue pajamas.
"Are you sure you want to fight like that?" Velora asked skeptically.
"Why not?" Xenia replied nonchalantly.
"Because," Lady Hilla interjected, her fury now visible in her clenched fists and tightened jaw, "your father ordered you to wear armor during training!"
Xenia threw up her hands in exasperation, looking around dramatically. "And where is our dear father, if it's so important to him, may I ask?"
"You… you ungrateful girl!" Lady Hilla seethed. "He took you in, and this is how you thank him?"
"Oh, stop it with the accusations," Xenia snapped. "Let's just get this over with. Come on, bring them out."
But Lady Hilla wasn't done.
"He will hear of this."
Xenia laughed, a sharp sound that cut through the tension.
"From who? You? When was the last time you even shared a bed?"
Xenia thought her stepmother couldn't get any more furious, but Lady Hilla's eyes went wide with outrage seemingly drawing it from the air like a Sorcerer drew Soulfuel.
"Sir Baraton! Come forward!"
"Wait. Sir Baraton?" Xenia's smirk faltered as she heard the heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing from the entrance of the arena tunnel.
Out from the dark stepped a tall man clad in heavy plate armor, each movement of the intricate steel plating ringing out with an ominous clink. On his hip rested a massive greatsword - a real one, not a wooden practice blade. His steps were measured, purposeful, as he approached the center of the arena.
Upon reaching the gathering, he bowed first to Lady Hilla, then to Velora, and finally to Xenia.
"My Lady. Lady Velora. Lady Xenia," he intoned, his deep voice carrying a calm authority.
Xenia stood dumbfounded.
Sir Baraton was no ordinary knight. A vassal of House Jarakan, he had served Lord Askar's father with unwavering loyalty and distinction. Though age had begun to creep into his movements, his presence was as imposing as ever. He was a man forged by decades of battle, and even now, nearing the twilight of his service, he remained one of the most formidable warriors under the Fox's banner.
Xenia's mouth opened, but no words came out. She stammered slightly before managing to turn to her stepmother with a nervous smile.
"What is Sir Baraton doing here?"
Lady Hilla's lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile, and Xenia immediately regretted showing even the smallest crack in her composure.
"He'll be your sparring partner for today," Lady Hilla said, her tone deliberately even but unmistakably edged with triumph.
"You're joking," Xenia blurted before she could stop herself, her gaze darting back to the towering knight.
Sir Baraton remained expressionless. The man looked as though he'd stepped out of a battle legend - someone better suited to facing dragons than sparring with her.
"Not at all," Lady Hilla replied, her satisfaction growing. "Your father believes your training should be taken seriously. Sir Baraton will ensure you meet his expectations. We don't want you to get bored, do we?"
Xenia's eyes narrowed slightly as she caught the faintest challenge in Lady Hilla's gaze. She forced a laugh, feigning confidence.
"Well then, I suppose this will be quite the spectacle."
Velora's curiosity turned into something sharper. Her blue eyes glimmered as she looked between Xenia and Sir Baraton, her lips curving into a small, almost teasing smile.
"If anyone can manage it, I'm sure you can, sister," she said lightly, her tone laced with both support and subtle mockery.
Xenia shot her a glance, caught somewhere between irritation and gratitude.
She wants to see me humiliated just as much as she wants to see me succeed, Xenia thought wryly.
Sir Baraton unsheathed his greatsword, the blade's polished steel glinting under the pale morning light. While it wasn't his Soulweapon, Xenia knew well enough just how good Sir Barathon was with the sword. He held it loosely, the ease of his stance making the enormous weapon look like an extension of his arm rather than an instrument of destruction.
"Lady Xenia," he said, his tone respectful yet firm. "Shall we begin?"
Xenia hesitated for only a moment before drawing herself up, throwing her nervousness behind a confident smirk.
"If we must," she replied, her voice carrying an air of nonchalance. She stepped forward, standing across from him on the gravel arena floor, still in her blue pajamas.
"Without armor?" Sir Baraton asked, tilting his head slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.
"I didn't think I'd need it for morning exercises," Xenia quipped. "But don't worry, I'll try not to ruin your pretty armor."
The corners of Sir Baraton's mouth twitched ever so slightly.
"Very well," he said.
Xenia exhaled deeply and flexed her hands at her sides. The air around her seemed to ripple faintly, like heat waves rising off stone. A heartbeat later, green gas, now suddenly visible to the naked eye, coalesced in her palms, swirling and stretching until it solidified into a weapon. When the Soulfuel faded, a beautiful hand-and-a-half sword rested in her grip - sleek and deadly, with a faint shimmer that betrayed its ethereal origins.
Her Soulweapon.
From the corner of her eye, Xenia noticed Velora staring at the blade intently, her composed demeanor cracking for just a moment. A flicker of envy flashed in her sister's eyes before it was replaced by her usual calm curiosity when it came to her sister.
Sir Baraton shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on his greatsword.
"Even knowing your talents, I still can't fathom how you've managed to unlock both a Soulart and a Soulweapon at your age," he said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. "You are truly your father's daughter, Lady Xenia."
Xenia's lips curled into a confident smile, but inwardly, she had enough of the talk about her father.
"Let's find out just how much," she said, before launching forward with a sudden, precise strike, her blade cutting through the air like a streak of light.