I met Trendil at first light. He stood casually in the courtyard, leaning against the wall, munching on an apple. The first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted stone. The air was crisp, biting against my skin, and despite the supposed warmth of this enchanted place, I felt the chill deep in my bones. My head pounded slightly, and there was a sour sickness stirring in my stomach. I had taken the bandages off the night before; the wound was healing nicely, but it wasn’t the wound that was bothering me. No, it was the wine. This younger, more energetic body of mine apparently wasn’t as resilient when it came to indulging.

“Feeling alright, my lad?” Trendil asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he tossed the apple core into the bushes.

I forced a smile, unwilling to admit my discomfort. “Fine, just fine. Not used to such soft beds, is all.”

“Oh, I can change that for you if you’d like—no trouble at all,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get used to it.” I waved him off. “What are we doing out here so early?”

Trendil straightened up, brushing his hands against his tunic. “Straight to it, I like that about you, lad. Good. Your light weaving, although impressive and quite unusual, isn’t going to protect you—or me—out there in the real world. Until we can work out this other power of yours, the best and quickest way to prepare you is the good old-fashioned way—with a sword.”

I blinked, caught off guard. A sword? Why would I need lessons in swordsmanship? If only he knew... I’d probably run more men through with a blade than he had eaten meals. The thought stirred a strange mix of nostalgia and bitterness within me. Trendil didn’t know who I really was, or what I’d been through. I’d fought in battles that would haunt even the most hardened soldiers, wielding a sword as naturally as one might wield a quill.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, misreading my expression. “We’ll go slow. It’s not as difficult as people make it out to be. It’s all about muscle memory and focus. Staying focused, very focused. Now come along, follow me.”

As we walked, we passed the library. I sneaked a glance inside and froze for a moment. Books were flying through the air, darting from one shelf to another, arranging themselves as though guided by invisible hands. Was Trendil really this powerful, that he could manipulate the entire library while talking to me? I shook my head and kept walking, curiosity tugging at my thoughts. Soon, we passed a closed door, wrapped in thick iron straps. It felt ominous, as if something dangerous lay beyond, held back by the heavy bindings. Was it keeping something out—or something in?

Two more doors later, we reached the end of the corridor. Trendil flicked his wrist casually, and the large double doors in front of us swung open with a creak.

The room beyond was enormous—if you could even call it a room. It felt more like a grand hall, the ceiling towering so high that a fall from it would mean certain death. A wooden staircase hugged the side wall, leading up to a mezzanine dotted with chairs and tables. One wall slanted outward as if it had been carved from the very mountainside itself, with massive windows stretching along its entire length, offering a panoramic view of the snow-capped peaks outside. The mountains stood tall and silent, their icy ridges shimmering in the early light, a stark contrast to the warmth inside.

Weapon racks and training dummies were scattered around the hall, along with shields and armor. The hay-stuffed targets stood waiting, their blank faces daring us to strike. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of admiration for the space—it reminded me of the training halls back in the king’s army, though this place was grander, more suited for legends than mere soldiers. I could only imagine how much stronger my men would have become with access to such a facility.

Trendil strode forward, gesturing toward the back of the hall. “There are some practice swords in the back. Go ahead, grab one. They’re weighted like real swords but blunt, so we don’t have to worry about you slicing your own feet off on the first day.”

He chuckled at his own joke, but I barely heard him. I made my way to the rack of training swords, each one dulled but still deadly in the hands of someone who knew how to use them. The sword I chose was nothing special—its balance was slightly off by a quarter-inch, and the grip had worn smooth from years of use. But it would do. I gave it a few exaggerated swings, letting the blade slice through the air in wide arcs, more for Trendil’s benefit than my own.

I could feel his eyes on me, assessing, and I hid a smile. He didn’t know it, but I’d been wielding swords longer than he had probably been alive.

“Alright, King Nidus, come over here and listen carefully," Trendil said, his voice light but with an edge of seriousness. "The most important thing when it comes to using a sword, or fighting with one, is very simple—don’t get hit. It’s the first thing you should avoid because if not, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. For today, all you have to do is stop me from landing a blow on you.”

I’d run the same routine with new recruits before, and it had always brought me some wicked satisfaction to watch them stumble around, dull steel clanging off their legs, arms, and backs all day. Did Trendil think this would be fun for him? I couldn’t help but smile.

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"Seems simple enough. Whenever you're ready."

Trendil lunged forward, his movement fluid but predictable. I took a simple step back and to the side, dodging him easily. He smiled, narrowing his eyes. “Very good. How about this?”

He advanced again, this time more deliberate, his sword held out in front of him. I watched him carefully—his hips shifted just slightly, betraying his intention. His arm flexed downward toward my leg, but I merely stepped back and lifted my leg like I was stepping over a small fence. Trendil’s blade met nothing but air.

“So, you’ve got fast eyes, lad. Alright, let’s step it up. Can’t say you see many people fighting with single attacks anyway—it’s a lot more frantic, a lot more dangerous.”

With that, he came at me faster, his sword cutting through the air in sweeping arcs, crisscrossing in rapid succession. I shifted my weight, raising my sword to meet his. My blade twisted at just the right angle, deflecting his blow downwards rather than absorbing it directly. The momentum gave me an opening—I stepped forward and prodded Trendil lightly in the chest with the tip of my sword.

I couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed for him. Was this the same man who had effortlessly taken out a group of armed men with wind and a dagger? This...this was almost too easy.

Trendil grinned, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes. "So, you can hold a sword. Very well, let’s see how you handle this."

He lunged again, this time faster, more precise. His sword arm moved with greater certainty, and each blow came harder and quicker than before. I met each strike, deflecting the blade away and shifting my position to dodge when necessary. He spun low, aiming for my legs, and I parried down. When he aimed for my shoulder, I flicked my sword vertically, catching his blade and letting the momentum carry it past me.

The speed of his attacks increased. It wasn’t just his arms moving—his whole body was involved now, his sword almost a blur as it came at me from all angles. Was he using his wind magic to enhance his movements? His breathing had become heavier, almost imperceptibly, but enough for me to notice. He was pushing himself.

I took deliberate steps back, moving toward the rack of training swords while blocking each strike. His blows were relentless, and I could feel my muscles beginning to ache from the effort. As he aimed another strike at my midsection, I spun, extending my sword out in front of me. Switching hands mid-spin, I grabbed another training sword from the rack, bringing both blades up just in time to block his next attack.

Trendil nodded, impressed. The air in the room shifted—a gust of wind filled the hall, and his next strike came faster than I could have anticipated. His sword arced high, aiming for my neck. My right arm came up, blocking the blow at the last moment. The blade glanced off mine, diverting downward. Without hesitation, I twisted my left wrist, punching out with the other sword, the steel forming a wall between us. At the same time, I leveled the sword in my right hand at Trendil's throat.

He stepped back, a faint look of irritation crossing his face. I smiled and rolled my neck, feeling the familiar strain in my muscles. This was my world. I may have spent a few years on a farm, been dragged across space and time by some god, visited a realm of mystic creatures, but in the end, I was a man of steel. I knew the weight of a sword, the balance, the limitations—and how to push past them.

The fight continued, each blow coming faster than the last. I deflected every strike, my body moving on instinct. My arms, although young and firm, were beginning to ache, but it was a good ache—an old friend, one I had spent many hours with in the heat of battle. The sun rose higher, filling the great hall with light, and still, we fought. Neither of us stopped for breath, the clanging of swords echoing through the chamber.

Finally, Trendil coughed, staggering slightly. Sweat poured down his face, and his breathing was ragged. He took a step back, lowering his sword. "And now, lad, you are fully trained on how to use a sword," he said with a straight face, locking eyes with me.

We stood there for a moment, staring at each other in silence—until we both burst out laughing. The sound of our laughter echoed through the great hall, a rare moment of levity in a world filled with hardship. Trendil wiped his brow, still chuckling, but the exhaustion was clear in his voice.

"I might’ve pushed a bit too hard there," he said, leaning on his sword for support. "Where in the world did you learn to fight like that? I won’t lie, lad—I put everything I had into trying to land a blow on you."

“Sixty years as an Imperial Guard to King...” I stopped myself, the words slipping out before I could think. Damn. In all the excitement, I had blurted it out. I was proud of my past, but I needed to be more careful. This wasn’t the time to reveal everything.

Trendil raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Ha, very well, lad. Keep your secrets...for now, anyway.” He sheathed his training sword and clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on, I could use a drink. I bet you could too.”

He turned and walked toward the door, and I followed, relieved that he hadn’t pried further. He thought I was lying—well, who wouldn’t?

We headed back to the kitchen, where last night’s meal had been cleared away. In its place, a fresh spread had been laid out—soft bread, cheese, and clusters of grapes, along with two jugs of water. I couldn’t help but wonder if Trendil had done all this himself, or if something else was at work, like the enchanted books I’d seen floating around in the library.

We sat down, eating contentedly after the intense workout. The bread was warm and soft, its flavor simple but satisfying, especially after the exertion. Trendil, still catching his breath, smiled as he tore into a chunk. “Ah, this bread... it's from flour grown a thousand miles away, on the northern slopes of Seredin. Finest crop in the land my father used to say.”

I nodded politely, even though I had no idea where Seredin was. But Trendil seemed happy to share, and I was content to listen as he regaled me with tales of the place—the weather, the rolling hills, and how the longer days of summer made for a richer, finer wheat. It was easy to picture it in my mind as he spoke, a land far away from the cold mountain we now occupied.

As Trendil’s voice flowed, I found myself relaxing more, allowing the warmth of the kitchen and the quiet rhythm of his storytelling to soothe the weariness from the training. For a brief moment, the weight of everything—the past, the magic, the uncertainty of the future—seemed to lift, leaving only the simplicity of shared food and conversation.