Gabriel stepped into the familiar training yard, his mind still lingering on the necklace tucked beneath his clothing, its weight a constant reminder. The day of rest had done his body good, rejuvenating him for the rigorous training that awaited. Yet today feels different, as if a shift was about to occur in my training.

Perching himself on a weathered bench, Gabriel watched the warriors on the field. He keenly analyzed their form, footwork, and technique. The intensity of their sparring matches intrigued him, each duel akin to a battle for survival. Even amidst the inherent brutality, there was a fairness to it. A person’s worth could be defined not by status or wealth, only by their skill with a sword.

He contemplated the true meaning of his training. To his surprise, he found himself relishing the physical strain on his body, eagerly anticipating each opportunity to improve. The thought conflicted with his principles. He loathed the comfort of the strenuous exercises, for they held a purpose he could never condone—death.

Rufus, locked in a fierce bout with a smaller, more agile opponent, captured Gabriel’s attention. The smaller boy showcased impressive skill, landing swift blows that tested Rufus's defenses. However, Rufus's strikes grew fiercer, overwhelming the boy's ability to keep up.

While Rufus relied on brute force, the smaller boy displayed superior finesse in his swordsmanship. He adapted his strategy to rely on nimble dodges rather than direct parries; the blows must have proved too forceful for him to continue deflecting. Despite the smaller boy's valiant efforts, fatigue eventually overcame him, and Rufus delivered a savage jab to his ribs, sending him crashing to the ground.

Cheers erupted from the onlookers, and Rufus puffed out his chest in triumph. His eyes swept across the crowd until they locked with Gabriel's. “Enjoy the show?” he taunted.

The silent defiance in Gabriel's eyes denied Rufus the satisfaction he sought.

Growing increasingly irritated by his lack of reaction, Rufus proclaimed, “I challenge you, Gabriel, to a spar,” his voice dripping with arrogance.

I can’t deny a formal challenge. It is an unwritten rule that all must accept.

To compound matters, his eldest brother Leoman stepped forward. “Accept the challenge, Gabriel. We already know you're useless. Don't embarrass us further,” he said.

It was poor form for Rufus to challenge a barely trained boy, years his junior. Yet, with Leoman's support, there would be no one to speak up in Gabriel's defense. Lovren was absent, journeying to the mines of Alarc with his father to negotiate steel contracts.

Gabriel felt trapped—caught in a web of social pressure and the need not to appear weak. He scanned the surroundings, searching for an escape. His eyes met Janus's, who scrunched his face but reluctantly nodded, subtly signaling him to accept the challenge.

With unyielding silence, Gabriel rose from the bench and made his way to the rack of swords. I won’t allow others to call me a coward. Even if it means inevitable defeat. Dignity and grace will be my shield.

Selecting a sword, Gabriel approached Rufus, his stoic demeanor unwavering. Head held high; he met Rufus's fierce glare. No words were exchanged. Instead, Rufus lunged forward, initiating the challenge. The intensity of his attacks surpassed anything Gabriel had experienced so far. It became apparent to Gabriel that Rufus intended to harm him once again. Protecting his head became his primary focus.

Deflecting Rufus’s overhead blow, Gabriel swiveled to counter a jab aimed at his torso. Gabriel mustered all his skill to parry the incoming strikes. His performance had improved since their previous encounter, but with each impact, his arm grew increasingly numb. Sustaining the stance proved difficult. Remembering the smaller boy’s strategy from earlier, Gabriel shifted his approach, relying on footwork and agility to evade Rufus's blows.

He managed to dodge the first few strikes, gracefully moving from left to right. But as Rufus swung low in a wide arc, Gabriel's focus on dodging hindered his ability to parry the blow. Awkwardly jumping back, his footwork faltered, causing him to stumble, but he managed to keep his feet. That split-second delay proved costly, as Rufus exploited the opportunity, landing a powerful swing onto Gabriel's unprotected left arm. The impact elicited a cry of pain, causing Gabriel to collapse to the ground. Though the swords were wooden, they could still break the skin when they were swung with such force. Blood trickled from his arm; drops falling to the sandy ground.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The sight triggered a familiar wave of nausea. “Not again” he whispered. “Hold it in.” He begged his body to comply. The mutterings were useless. Overwhelmed, he found himself on his knees, emptying his stomach yet again.

Rufus’s laughter reverberated through the training yard. “He can’t even handle the sight of blood without vomiting—what a weakling.” The crowd joined in, their mocking laughter piercing Gabriel’s pride. But it was the glances of pity that stung the most. Shame washed over Gabriel as he realized the extent of his weakness. He couldn’t let the situation deteriorate any further.

Summoning every ounce of composure in an attempt to suppress his lingering nausea, Gabriel rose calmly. With a brief bow, he said, “You have won the challenge.” Refusing to give Rufus the satisfaction of a reaction, Gabriel walked away, his head held high.

Anger teased him, tempting him to lash out and inflict pain upon Rufus. But he quickly quelled those dark thoughts, despising the darkness that threatened to consume him. Causing harm to others went against everything he believed in. The line between right and wrong had always seemed clear, but now Gabriel felt it blurring, causing him to question his own convictions. He despised the darkness that tugged at his heart, urging him to succumb to violence.

Ser Rodrick approached Gabriel at the edge of the training yard having witnessed the fight’s end. “You did well to accept the challenge,” the master said, “but you need to overcome this weakness. You must learn to control yourself.”

Gabriel, consumed by shame, confessed his struggle. “I don’t know why it happens. I can’t control it.”

Ser Rodrick studied him for a long moment. Finally, he said, “The only way to overcome weakness is through practice. You must face the sight of blood again and again until it no longer affects you.”

Gabriel doubted whether that day would ever come. Part of him wondered whether he even wanted it to. Perhaps his body was revealing what his heart had already known. I can never be a warrior, nor do I want to become one.

Unable to find words to respond, Ser Rodrick intervened. “Go run some laps for now,” the master said through a tone of understanding.

Gabriel was about to obey when he saw a messenger speaking to Leoman. The messenger appeared breathless, and his gestures were frantic. Then, Leoman looked towards Gabriel and began to approach. As his eldest brother drew near, he wrinkled his nose in disgust, an expression that mirrored the disdain he often held for Gabriel. He couldn’t help but wonder what he had done wrong, what new trouble awaited him. Gabriel’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms.

Leoman turned his attention to Ser Rodrick, issuing a stern command that sliced through the air. “An old witch has been spotted in a nearby village, not ten leagues from here. We need to find this witch and drown her in the ocean’s abyss. Gather the soldiers, ready the horses, and meet me outside the southern gates in fifteen minutes,”

Though Gabriel harbored no fondness for his brother, he couldn’t help but respect Leoman’s aptitude for commanding. Within seconds of learning about the old witch, he had orchestrated a plan to capture her.

Ser Rodrick said, “It will be done, my crown prince.” Usually a bastion of authority, he bowed low, his subservience a stark departure from his usual demeanor.

A vicious smile stretched across Leoman’s face, rendering Rufus’s sneer as harmless as a sheep in comparison. “We are going hunting,” he said, promptly turning away before Ser Rodrick had even straightened from his bow.

Ser Rodrick swiftly organized the men, selecting two dozen seasoned warriors and issuing rapid-fire orders. The men wasted no time in fulfilling their directives, displaying a level of efficiency that left Gabriel in awe.

With his hands still clenched tightly, Gabriel’s thoughts spiraled. Who was this old witch? Could she be the same woman that gave me the necklace? I’ve never believed in coincidences. The witch being hunted must be the same woman. The more he reflected on their encounter, the stronger his intuition grew that the old lady possessed magic. Her eyes had been so unnatural, her words so unsettling—words that continued to haunt him. He fervently hoped her ominous prophecy would never come to pass.

Instinctively, Gabriel placed two fingers on his heart to ward of the dark. And when his fingers found the place above his heart, they also found the necklace. Beneath his linen shirt, he could feel the bumps and grooves of the necklace.

Worry gnawed at him as he imagined the potential doom that awaited the old witch. Would they find her and drown her in the depths of the ocean; her body shackled with manacles and heavy iron anchors? The mere thought filled Gabriel with a sense of dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that the old witch didn't deserve such a cruel fate.

And yet, his unanswered question lingered in his mind, why would I no longer be a prince? Doubt lingered, urging him to cast aside the necklace and sever his ties to her prophetic words. Perhaps then, his future wouldn't be bound by them. But he grappled with conflicting beliefs. Gabriel didn’t believe in magic; he had dismissed magic as a tool employed by the church to maintain control, but now, he found himself questioning his own skepticism.

The necklace felt ominous—a tether to a destiny he couldn't comprehend. But despite having worn it for less than a day, the necklace felt attached to him; he couldn't bring himself to let it go.

Though Ser Rodrick was absent to witness his command, Gabriel heeded the master's previous instructions. He started to run, desperate to quell the turmoil within his racing mind. With the necklace nestled against his chest, Gabriel ran more laps than he ever had before.