Ban stood in the clearing, his wooden sword at the ready. It was a beautiful spring day in Besart, and he would much rather be doing pretty much anything else, but his grandad John had dragged him out for training yet again. The lessons began three months ago, when his grandad first introduced the subject. Ban was ecstatic and could hardly contain his excitement.

Jump to three months of these gruelling, repetitive lessons and the sweet excitement of doing something new had very much soured.

His grandad John, a grizzled old man with a bushy beard and piercing eyes, stood before him, holding a real sword which looked menacing in his seasoned hands.

His stance was firm, even though the sword he held was practically a mini siege weapon. It was just over half his size, it was pretty amazing to see him hold it as if it weighed less than a stick, every time Ban had tried to lift it he ended up having to arch his back to get it up in the air.

"Now, remember Ban," his grandad said, his voice gruff but gentle.

"A sword is not just a weapon. It's an extension of your arm, your heart, your soul. You must treat it with respect and honour. Use it only to defend what’s important to you."

Ban nodded solemnly, taking in his grandad's words and pondering whether defending his right to sleep-in counted as a valid use. He had heard this speech many times before, and honestly, he was tired of hearing it. It sounded too preachy for his liking.

He admired his grandad more than anyone else in the world, and he always thought that if he ended up even a bit like him, he could be happy with himself, but the repetitiveness of it all was more than his teenage brain could handle.

"Okay, let's begin," his grandad said, raising his sword. "First, the basic stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, sword held out…"

“…in front of me. Yep, I know.” Ban interrupted, mimicking Grandad’s stance with the grace of a dancing bear – awkward but eager to impress.

"Good, good," his grandad said, nodding approvingly. "Now, watch me carefully. I'm going to show you the first move. It's called a parry and counter."

And with that, his grandad launched into a series of graceful, fluid movements, deftly parrying and striking with his sword. Ban watched with his mouth slightly agape, trying to keep up with the intricate steps. Every time Ban thought he was getting the hang of a movement and feeling happy with himself, his grandad, almost as if having a sixth sense, would stop and correct every small error he was making.

He didn’t know why his grandad bothered with training him; his fighting abilities were bottom tier, he remembered when his parents had him tested as a kid, and all they found out was that he was as common as a blade of grass, with no special magic nor fantastic strength, agility, endurance or anything else for that matter.

Hours passed, the sun began its descent, shadows grew long, and Ban's posterior turned a shade of red usually reserved for overripe apples. Exhausted and yearning for a nap, Ban pondered whether a well-constructed bed could be considered a legitimate defence against imaginary invaders.

Even though his body felt broken, as they walked back to their small cottage, Ban couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for his grandad, obviously cut with a fair share of resentment. He had always known him to be an awe-inspiring swordsman, but he had never fully appreciated the depth he was willing to go to make Ban's life miserable.

“Grandad, how did you get so good with the sword?” He decided to ask instead of, why do you want me to be miserable?

His grandad chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "Ah, grandson! Do you think I was never young? When I was your age, I complained about my training all the time.”

“I grew up in a bustling city, unlike this quiet village, but just like you, all I wanted to do at fourteen was mess around. But sometimes the unexpected happens and changes your perspective forever."

"What happened?" Ban asked, feigning interest but mostly hoping for a break as he was struggling to walk without aching.

"Nothing as grand as you might think. The simple answer is I was called to enlist and faced my first battle." his grandad replied, his voice growing serious.

Ban's eyes widened with some curiosity, but his brain was already composing a mental ode to the deliciousness of meat pies. Trying to seem still interested, he said, "Oh…sounds exciting, I guess."

He always assumed Grandad was a farmer for a relatively poor noble out in the sticks; when would he have seen combat? More importantly, people from big cities like Serenas or Pey did not typically decide to up and leave to settle in a place like Besart.

There wasn’t anything wrong with Besart as such. It was just a tranquil little farming village, it barely had any connection with the capital, for the most part, locals kept to themselves and traded with passing merchants and the old crazy fool looking for adventure who typically ended up picking up a few odd jobs around town.

His grandad gave him a stern frown. “I wouldn’t call it exciting. I hope you never have to wield your sword against a human, killing, maiming, causing pain and seeing it reflected in the eyes of the person you’re up against is something that stays with you, sometimes for the rest of your days.” His grandad John gave him the look Ban could recognise as the ‘let me know this lesson has sunk in’ stare.

“Sorry Grandad, I understand”, not being sure he did but looking appropriately chastised.

His grandad softened his expression, patting Ban on the back. "No need to apologise, Ban. It's important to understand the gravity of what using a sword means. It's not just about technique or skill. It's about responsibility. I know you’re a good kid."

His grandad stared into the distance but kept talking to Ban, “After everything that’s happened to our family, I’m glad you never lost your personality, but it’s easy to get lost in your emotions, and taking a life is something you never do lightly or get used to.”

Ban nodded as they walked back to their cottage. He couldn't help but feel like if he stuck around too long, another lecture was bound to come his way, so he tried to speed up the pace.

Besart was looking much the same as usual. Adin, the village chief, seemed to be finishing his harvest for the day now that the sun was setting and gave them a polite nod when he noticed them walking past. The rest of the village was much the same as usual, with a few people closing shop for the day except for the public house, which looked to be getting livelier as people finished their long day.

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Ban always wondered why Grandad decided to build his home so far from everyone; it felt like they were so far from the village that they might as well start their own.

As they were finally nearing their cottage, Grandad John suddenly came to a halt, causing Ban to bump into his back. No words were exchanged between them as they seemed to feel the same thing, it was difficult to explain how exactly but something felt prickly on his skin. It was almost as if it was too silent for the time of day, with no birdsong or insects chirping.

They could see their home, nestled by the edge of the forest. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place, but upon closer observation, some playful shadows gave him a feeling of wrongness he couldn’t quite comprehend.

He looked over to Grandad John, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surroundings. Ban followed his gaze and spotted a flicker of movement in the dense foliage at the edge of the clearing. His grandad instantly spotted the same movement, and alarm flashed through his face.

"Stay behind me Ban." Grandad John whispered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The peaceful serenity of Besart's spring day seemed to shatter as an eerie silence descended upon the clearing. Ban's heart pounded in his chest as he clutched his wooden sword, his fatigue forgotten.

Out of the shadows emerged two cloaked figures, one big and burly with a bald head and a smaller man next to him who appeared to be missing half his teeth as he smiled.

“Look, Omar, I've been saying it – these little townlets are always worth a visit. These folks have nothing but time on their hands, spending their days making babies. You know that young ones always fetch more.” Said the smaller man.

Without missing a beat, and primarily out of hysterical fear, Ban said with a cutting smirk, “Look Grandad, I’ve been saying it – if people can’t stop buggering the donkey, they deserve their teeth being knocked out when he kicks”.

The larger man didn’t react to the joke while the smaller man simply scowled at Ban.

Grandad John's muscles tensed, and he took a defensive stance and unsheathed his sword. The strangers followed suit and instantly drew their weapons. Ban's heart raced as he wondered whether being a smart-ass was conducive to a long life; all the while, the tension in the clearing heightened.

“Most people don’t care whether their slave can talk, right?” The smaller man said again as his missing teeth created a sinister smile that sent shivers down Ban's spine.

His grandad shifted his position so he stood like a solid wall between Ban and the intruders, his seasoned eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. The grizzled swordsman gripped his sword tighter, the metallic glint reflecting his resolve.

"Ban, go get Adin," Grandad John murmured, his voice carrying a mixture of caution and authority. Ban obediently shuffled back a few steps. By this point, he had his wooden sword clutched tightly in his hands, his earlier fatigue replaced by adrenaline.

Grandad was right. Adin was the village chief, and if anyone could get people armed quickly, it’d be him.

As Ban continued to edge his way back slowly. The two men noticed him and began to move around his grandad in a semi-circle, but his sword seemed to be enough deterrent to prevent them from trying to stop him.

The larger intruder, Omar, finally spoke in a gruff tone. "Where are you going little boy? Don’t you want to stay for the picnic? Ray, I think this old timer wants to show us how to swing around some rusty iron."

Ray, the smaller man, licked his lips as if savouring the moment. "Should we sell them both, Omar? Double the profit."

“Don’t be daft. Who is going to pay for a slave with one foot in the grave?”

Grandad John's gaze remained fixed on the intruders, his expression unwavering and uncaring for their jabs. "You won't find easy pickings here. Turn back, and you might live to see another day."

Omar chuckled, a deep, menacing sound that reverberated through the clearing. "You hear that, Ray? The old man thinks he can scare us off. They say with age, the mind is the first thing to go. I guess they’re right."

Ban had still only made it about ten steps back. He knew he should run and get help, but his gaze was transfixed on the scene before him, legs completely frozen in place.

Without warning, the big man lunged forward, his massive frame charging at Grandad John with surprising speed. Ban's grandad met the attack head-on, his sword flashing in a defensive arc. The clash of steel echoed through the clearing as the smaller man, Ray, circled, waiting for an opening.

Ban's eyes widened as he watched the deadly dance unfold before him. His grandad's years of experience were evident as he skilfully parried Omar's powerful blows. The dense forest seemed to amplify the sounds of combat, creating a cacophony that resonated through the trees.

The smaller man tried to get a few pokes in that his grandad masterfully parried, putting his attacker off balance. Grandad capitalised by giving him a backhanded smack to the nape with his free arm and allowing enough time to get ready to counter another slash from his bigger opponent.

As the battle raged on, Ban grabbed his wooden sword tighter, his palms sweating and making it feel as if it might slip from his grip at any moment. He felt a surge of conflicting emotions – fear for his and his grandad's safety, anger at the attackers, and a paralysing panic as he found himself torn between following his grandad's orders and a burning desire to protect the only family he had left.

The clash of blades continued, and to Ban's amazement, his grandad seemed to be holding his ground against the larger, more powerful assailant. Grandad John's movements were fluid, and his counterattacks were precise, showcasing the skill that Ban had often dismissed during their training sessions. Grandad parried and countered the large man’s movements as the smaller assailant struggled to find his feet, looking concussed.

Omar, the burly intruder, growled in frustration as Grandad John skilfully evaded his strikes. The atmosphere in the clearing shifted, and Ban dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, his grandad could handle these two threats on his own.

“Just die already you sack of bones!” The bigger assailant was getting desperate.

Just as Ban's confidence in his grandad's abilities began to grow and he began believing that a happy end to this crazy situation was possible, a swift and unexpected movement caught his eye. A sharp, whistling arrow cut through the air, finding its mark with alarming precision. The arrow appeared to come out of nowhere and pierced through the defences of Grandad John, striking him in the side.

A panicked scream escaped Ban's lips as his grandad staggered backwards, the realisation of the mortal danger sinking in. Time seemed to slow as the once-fluid battle turned chaotic, and Ban's wooden sword fell from his hands. The clatter was lost amidst the sounds of conflict.

Grandad John's eyes met Ban's for a fleeting moment, a mix of sorrow and determination in their depths as he came to the realisation that he would not be able to fight his way out of this mess. "Run, Ban!" he rasped, his hand clutching the wound. But before Ban could react, another arrow found its mark, this time in Grandad John's chest.

“Grandad, no!”

The grizzled swordsman collapsed to the ground.

Ban's heart tightened, and a sharp pain gripped his chest as if he'd been punched. His steps faltered, and the once-clear world blurred into a haze. Hot tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision further. A gasp escaped his lips, a sound caught between shock and anguish.

A sinister laughter echoed through the clearing.

Ban could not comprehend what had just happened. Everything seemed fine what felt like seconds before; how could this be happening? Ban’s mind was totally blank, the emotions felt too deep and too intense to really comprehend and the shock and suddenness of it all left him truly empty. Almost as an echo, Ban started to hear in his mind his Grandad’s last words as if on repeat over and over, run Ban, run Ban, run Ban.

As if in a daze, he finally turned to flee as his grandad had instructed, but before he could take more than a few steps, a strong, rough hand clamped down on his shoulder. Ray, the smaller man with the missing teeth, stood behind him, a twisted grin on his face.

"Sorry lad, can’t let you leave the party just yet." Ray sneered, tightening his grip on Ban's shoulder and giving him a brutal hit on the back of the head.

Ban's heart pounded in his chest before he lost consciousness. The once beautiful spring day had transformed into a nightmare, and the shadows that now engulfed him seemed to mirror the darkness that had befallen his world.