In this world, birthdays were a grand occasion, but they weren’t celebrated every year—only on milestone ages: 5, 10, and 15. Turning five felt special, not just because of the milestone, but because my parents made the day unforgettable.
The morning began with a warm buzz of excitement. The house smelled of freshly baked bread and sweet treats that my mother had prepared for the party. Our small yard was decorated with simple, colorful banners made of cloth. Neighbors and their children started arriving, offering their congratulations. Some brought small gifts—carved wooden toys, sweets, or even a new set of clothes. It felt like the whole village had gathered to celebrate.
“Duke, come here,” my father called, his voice carrying over the cheerful chatter. He stood in the middle of the yard, holding a small wooden box. His grin made my heart race with anticipation.
“This is from me, son. You’re old enough to start learning to defend yourself,” he said as he handed me the box.
Opening it, I found a pair of small, polished daggers nestled inside. They were about 30 centimeters long, with sharp edges that gleamed in the sunlight. The hilts were simple but sturdy, fitting perfectly in my small hands.
“You’ve been practicing with wooden swords, but it’s time to feel what real steel is like,” my father said, his tone firm yet proud. He crouched down to meet my eyes, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “With a weapon in your hand, you must have a weapon in your heart as well. Do your best to protect your family and those you care about. Pin these words in your heart, Duke.”
His words sank deep into me, and I clenched the daggers tightly, staring back at him with determination. “I will never forget this, Dad,” I said, my voice unwavering.
My mother stepped forward next, her hands holding a neatly folded scarf. “And this is from me, Duke,” she said, her warm smile brightening the moment. “I made it myself.”
She gently wrapped the scarf around my neck, the soft, bright brown fabric feeling warm and comforting. “This will keep you safe and remind you of home when you’re out in the world,” she said, her voice full of love.
I tugged at the scarf lightly, feeling the warmth as if my parents were embracing me. “Thank you, Mom,” I said, pulling her into a hug. My dad joined in, wrapping his strong arms around both of us.
The party picked up from there. My father had organized games for the kids—races, pretend sword fights, and even a game where we had to pin a leaf on a moving target. The yard was filled with laughter and cheers.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Some of the adults set up a table with food—roasted meats, steaming vegetable stew, and freshly baked pastries that vanished as quickly as they appeared. I couldn’t help but beam as I saw the joy and liveliness around me.
At one point, I caught my father flexing his muscles playfully, drawing laughs from some of the neighbors. “Come on, it’s not fair! Look at those arms!” one of them teased, pointing at his biceps.
He grinned and struck another pose, making everyone laugh harder. I joined in, proud of how strong my dad was.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, lanterns were lit, casting a warm glow over the yard. People began gathering around the fire pit, and my father told one of his old adventure stories. His voice carried a mix of excitement and nostalgia as he described brave swordsmen and distant lands.
I listened intently, my awe growing with every word. One day, I wanted to be just like him—a protector, a hero, someone people could rely on.
----------------------------------------
A week after the celebration, the excitement of my birthday had died down, but my curiosity about the world beyond our home was growing. I decided to ask my parents if I could explore outside for a while.
“I won’t go far, I promise,” I said, sensing their hesitation.
My mother sighed but nodded. “Stay close to the village, and be careful,” she said, her voice tinged with concern.
My father ruffled my hair. “If you run into any trouble, remember your training. But don’t go looking for it, alright?”
I grinned. “Got it, Dad.”
As I wandered through the familiar streets, something unusual caught my attention near the village square—a small commotion. Three kids, a bit older than me, were bullying another child who was hunched down on the ground.
Anger surged inside me. Without thinking, I clenched my fists and marched toward them. “Leave him alone!” I shouted, surprising even myself.
The bullies turned to me, sneering. One of them, the tallest, stepped forward. “What’re you gonna do about it, runt?”
My response was swift. I darted forward, landing a punch to his side. He yelped and stumbled back. The second boy tried to grab me, but I kicked him in the "special part,” sending him crumpling to the ground.
The third bully, clearly shocked by how quickly his friends were taken down, didn’t even try to fight. He just ran, yelling something about getting his brother.
Panting, I turned to the kid they’d been bullying. As she stood and brushed the dirt off her clothes, I noticed her striking features. She was an elf, with shimmering blond hair and vivid green eyes that seemed to reflect the forest itself.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice soft but sincere. “My name’s Sylas.”
Her voice startled me. “Wait… You’re a girl?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
She chuckled, a light sound that eased the tension. “I get that a lot. I do look like a boy from behind.”
I scratched the back of my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I’m Duke. Sorry for assuming. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s alright,” she said, offering me a small smile. “You’re pretty strong, Duke.”
I grinned. “Thanks. My dad’s been teaching me.”
We stood there for a moment, her smile growing a little wider. “I think I owe you one.”
“Nah, we’re friends now. No need for that,” I said, extending a hand.
She hesitated for a second before shaking it firmly. “Friends,” she echoed, her smile now genuine.
And just like that, I’d made my first real friend outside of my family.