After days of sitting in the carriage, Leah’s patience was wearing thin. The first day of travel had been novel, she’d been captivated by the dense forest, so different from the rolling hills and high peaks of Ironhold. Towering trees, lush undergrowth, and the scent of earth and pine all painted a picturesque scene she wasn’t used to. But after hours upon hours of the same scenery and nothing to do but sit and wait, the allure had worn off. Now, the journey felt endless.
She shifted restlessly and sighed. “Father, how much further?” Her tone carried more than a hint of desperation.
Her father, who had been reading a book for most of the journey, looked up. His small, lean frame was at odds with his reputation as one of ironhold’s strongest mages, a fact that Leah was always quietly proud of. His gentle brown eyes met hers, and he offered her a small smile.
“We’re getting close now, sweetie,” he said reassuringly. His voice had the same calming effect it always did, but even that wasn’t enough to quell her impatience.
Finally, as the carriage crested a hill, a town came into view. Leah leaned forward, her spirits lifting as she eagerly took in the sight. But as they got closer, her excitement faded. Elderwood was small, with narrow streets, modest buildings, and none of the bustling energy she was used to in the larger cities near Ironhold. It was…underwhelming.
She sighed inwardly, reminding herself that she could still find ways to make the trip worthwhile. There had to be something of interest here.
Her father’s voice broke her thoughts. “Remember, Leah,” he said with a serious tone, “be respectful. The man we’re about to meet wields great power, and you must show him the proper decorum.”
Leah nodded, her thoughts turning to Alaric Rimor. She’d heard of him, of course—a legendary tier 7 swordsman with a fearsome reputation. It wasn’t often she felt worried about meeting someone, but the stories she’d heard of Alaric made her feel both curious and cautious.
They passed through towering iron gates, flanked by guards who granted them entry with silent authority. The manor ahead was as imposing as she’d imagined. She caught her father’s glance, his firm expression reminding her again to be on her best behaviour. Leah straightened and took a steadying breath.
As they stepped out of the carriage, Leah’s frustrations faded for a moment. The grandeur of the Rimor estate and the stoic butler who awaited them added an air of formality that she found oddly exciting.
“Welcome, Lord Valerant. Please follow me. Master Rimor is waiting,” the butler said, his tone formal and brisk. Leah exchanged a glance with her father, wondering what the famous swordsman would be like.
They walked through high-ceilinged halls, past timbered arches and carved wooden doors that spoke to the family’s wealth and taste. Leah’s initial frustration was forgotten as she took in the sights of the manor. Finally, they were brought before an expansive set of doors, which the butler swung open to reveal a large, stately office.
Her gaze settled on Alaric Rimor. He was seated behind a grand desk, dark hair partially obscuring his face. Even without moving, he exuded an aura of quiet power that seemed to be almost visible. Leah found herself momentarily caught off guard, her breath coming a little shorter as she took in his presence. This man was no ordinary noble.
As Alaric looked up, his intense gaze met hers, and Leah felt a chill run down her spine. There was something in his eyes—a depth, a strength, that made her feel as though he could see right through her. It was a feeling she didn’t particularly enjoy, it made her nervous.
The butler cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Master, I present Lord Valerant.”
Alaric nodded, his expression shifting to a small smile. “Welcome to Elderwood,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “I trust your travels were not too difficult?”
Her father responded with a respectful nod, exchanging polite words with Alaric while Leah remained silent. But soon, her initial curiosity faded, and she found herself growing restless again as the two men spoke of topics that didn’t interest her.
Finally, Alaric glanced at her. “Perhaps you’d like to explore the manor,” he suggested. “I have some matters to discuss with your father.”
Leah looked at her father, who gave a slight nod. “Thank you, Lord Rimor,” she replied politely before excusing herself.
Once out of the office, Leah let out a small breath of relief. The tension of the meeting dissipated, and her curiosity returned as she wandered through the manor. She noted the maids and guards going about their duties, each seeming content in their work. It was a small detail, but it told her that the Rimor family was likely fair to those who served them.
Turning a corner, she overheard two maids chatting quietly.
“Did you hear, Bella? It seems the young lord will be going to Ravenspire,” one whispered.
The other laughed softly. “Good! All he ever does is train or disappear into the forest. The poor boy’s obsessed.”
Leah smiled to herself, intrigued. So, Alaric’s son would also be attending Ravenspire. She remembered hearing that Alaric had two sons, though she couldn’t recall the name of the younger one.. Kyle?
Maybe he would make an interesting sparring partner. The thought of training brought a smile to her face, and she decided to find a courtyard where she could spend some time training. After being cooped up in the carriage for so long, she needed to move.
She found an open space in the courtyard, a small patch of cobblestones, and removed her cloak, letting the cool air brush against her arms. Taking a steadying breath, Leah slipped into her starting stance, holding her daggers with a familiar, comforting grip.
She began slowly, focusing on her footwork. Her feet glided over the stones, each step smooth and measured. She shifted her weight forward, then back, twisting into a sweeping motion as her daggers cut through the air with a soft whisper. Gradually, she increased her speed, each movement flowing into the next like water. Her mana began to stir and she let if flow through her body, guiding her movements as her martial form began to take over.
Her mind drifted as she moved, falling into the rhythm of the form. Her body remembered the sequence instinctively, each step and twist perfectly balanced. She struck low, then high, her blades cutting invisible paths through the air. She danced across the courtyard, her movements fluid and precise, feeling her muscles loosen and her frustrations melt away.
After what felt like half an hour, she became aware of someone watching her. She finished her final sweep and straightened, turning toward the source of the gaze.
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A boy stood at the edge of the courtyard, around her age, with dark hair and striking blue eyes that reminded her of Alaric’s. His resemblance to Lord Rimor was unmistakable, and she realized this must be the son the maids were gossiping about. Despite herself, she found him rather attractive—though any admiration was immediately dampened by the reminder of his father’s intimidating presence.
Leah raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of mischief. She’d been bored for far too long, and here was something interesting at last.
“What are you looking at?” she taunted, crossing her arms.
The boy’s expression shifted through several emotions, from surprise to confusion and then to irritation. Leah couldn’t help but smirk. She decided to press further, enjoying his discomfort.
“I’m talking to you. Are you slow?” she continued, her tone playful but challenging. “Servants aren’t allowed to stare.”
His expression changed to one of barely-contained anger, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction. Finally, something entertaining.
Without a second thought, she tossed one of her wooden training daggers toward him. He caught it instinctively, his grip steady. Good reflexes. This might be fun.
She grinned, slipping back into her fighting stance. “Let me teach you a lesson,” she said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Before he could respond, she lunged forward, her other dagger ready. This boy might be the only interesting thing in Elderwood, and she intended to make the most of it.
----------------------------------------
I stared in shock at the girl before me, trying to piece together what had just happened. One moment, I’d been walking by, and the next, I was defending myself against this whirlwind of a girl who had somehow decided I was worth attacking.
But as her blade moved in a swift, circular arc toward my side, I felt the impact of her skill, and all thoughts disappeared. I had no time to think, only to react. My focus narrowed to the rhythm of her strikes and the placement of my own blade, meeting hers in desperate attempts to parry.
Every movement she made felt like flowing water, smooth and continuous, each strike connecting flawlessly into the next. Her stance was fluid. I realised that she wasn’t merely talented; she was dangerous.
With a grunt, I brought up my blade to deflect a quick thrust aimed at my shoulder, the wooden impact resonating up my arm. She didn’t give me a second to breathe, immediately following through with a sweeping strike aimed low at my legs. I managed to jump back just in time, but it threw off my balance.
I tried to regain my footing, but she was on me again, pressing forward, leaving me on the defensive. I couldn’t help but feel impressed and maybe a little frustrated. I prided myself on my own skill with a blade, yet here I was, scrambling to hold my ground.
She moved in, shifting her weight and turning her body to slice horizontally. I felt the air shift as her blade connected, and I knew that if she’d been wielding real steel, the fight would already be over. But her wooden blade still packed a sting as it glanced off my side, jarring me back into focus.
I forced myself to calm down, to stop letting her relentless attacks dictate the fight. Taking a steadying breath, I adjusted my grip on the hilt, grounding myself as I’d been taught.
I let the mana flow through my body, feeling a shift as my muscles tensed in anticipation. Time seemed to slow as the energy empowered me, sharpening my senses and steadying my beating heart.
My blade came up in a defensive stance, angled just right to deflect her next strike. Immediately I felt the difference, I easily parried her attack, but she didn’t slow down, lunging forward with a quick jab. This time, I sidestepped and twisted my wrist to parry, using her momentum to push her slightly off balance.
I felt myself adjusting to the rhythm of the fight, letting my body grow accustomed to the movements. Slowly, I began to sink into my form, though wielding a dagger instead of a sword made it more challenging. Still, even with the smaller blade, the familiar flow helped steady me, guiding each movement with purpose.
Her eyes narrowed as she regained her footing, seeming to register my shift in approach. Her strikes grew even faster, but now I was more prepared, my blade moving in deliberate arcs to counter hers. Her fluid, water-like style met my own form, and for a moment, we were locked in a back-and-forth, neither one willing to give an inch.
I felt my confidence return as I matched her pace, gradually pushing her back, a new rhythm developing in the clash of our blades. Each time her weapon came close, I deflected it with precision, moving my feet in sync with her attacks. She was skilled, no doubt, but I could sense a hint of frustration as I began to turn the tide.
Just as I thought I might gain the upper hand, she pivoted, switching her grip and moving low in a sweeping attack. I blocked it, but her blade connected with mine at a strange angle, twisting my wrist and nearly knocking the weapon from my hand. Before I could recover, she stepped back, raising her free hand.
Something shifted in the air—a ripple, a sense of energy gathering. My instincts screamed at me to retreat, but I held my ground, eyes widening as she summoned water from seemingly nowhere. The liquid coiled around her hand, shimmering in the sunlight.
“Seriously?” I muttered, realising she wasn’t just skilled with a blade. She had a water affinity too.
With a small, smug smile, she directed the water toward me in a sharp arc, and I barely managed to sidestep it as it crashed into the ground where I’d been standing. The shock of the impact sent droplets flying, some splashing onto my face. I tightened my grip, feeling a surge of determination. If she wanted to up the stakes, then I’d meet her challenge.
Ignoring the dampness on my face, I focused, channeling all my attention into my blade work. She moved forward again, switching seamlessly between swordplay and water manipulation, her form somehow enhanced by the flowing energy of her magic. I gritted my teeth, parrying another strike just as she sent a twisting stream of water toward my feet.
I jumped back, but the water followed, snaking around my ankle and pulling. I twisted free, pivoting to avoid her next strike, but she was relentless, using her water to force me off balance while pressing in with her blade.
Taking a risk, I moved forward, bringing my blade down in a heavy arc, aiming to break her rhythm. She sidestepped, but I was ready, pivoting and following up with a horizontal swing that forced her to deflect rather than attack. I saw her eyes narrow, recognising that I’d read her move.
“Nice try,” I muttered, feeling a small surge of pride.
She smirked, seemingly unfazed, and as we clashed again, I realised she had been holding back. The water gathered at her side again, forming into thick, tendril-like shapes that darted toward me as we fought. I tried to dodge, blocking her strikes while twisting to avoid the streams of water that seemed to have a life of their own. Each movement she made felt like part of a larger dance, the water amplifying her already fluid style.
I was forced to adjust, stepping back and realigning, but she didn’t let up. With a quick movement, she extended one tendril toward my wrist, aiming to pull the weapon from my hand. I countered by jerking my arm upward, swinging the blade down hard, and severing the water tendril before it could latch onto me.
A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but it quickly faded as she refocused. In one swift movement, she twisted her blade and sidestepped, sending another stream of water at my legs. The moment I dodged, her blade was upon me again, forcing me to give up any ground I’d gained. Her style was relentless, and I could feel myself starting to tire.
Finally, she moved with a speed that caught me off guard, ducking low and slicing upward, her wooden blade aimed at my stomach. I tried to block, but she was too fast, her water tendrils wrapping around my ankles just as her blade connected with my side, causing a burst of pain. The impact drove me back, and I stumbled, realizing too late that I’d fallen into her trap.
Before I could recover, the water coiled up my legs, locking them in place. I fought against it, but her control was absolute, and I could feel the tendrils tightening. She stepped closer, her eyes glinting with triumph as she raised her hand, and the water surged up, capturing my arms and locking them in place.
I struggled, feeling my muscles strain against the hold, but the water was unyielding. She had me completely restrained, her magic binding my arms and legs in a firm grip that left me unable to move. Frustration and a hint of admiration flickered through me as I realized I was entirely at her mercy.
She smirked, leaning forward slightly as she surveyed her handiwork. “Not bad,” she said, her tone casual, almost teasing. “But you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to keep up.”
I glared, catching my breath and suppressing the urge to laugh despite my frustration. This girl was something else—more skilled, more powerful than I’d expected. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied, forcing a grin.
But even as I steadied myself, my mind was already replaying the fight, analyzing every move, every misstep, searching for ways I could have turned the tables. The taste of defeat lingered bitterly. I hated losing.