Eight Years Ago

Whose idea had it been to make it all the way to the lake in one go? Oh right, it had been Wyn’s. That thought made him even angrier. With each step, Wyn could feel his aching legs want to give out, and each breath was ragged and dry, like shards of glass poking him in the chest.

“This–was a terrible idea,” He wheezed, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Corrin, running a few steps ahead, also seemed to be on the verge of collapse. “I hate you,” He was gasping for breath too.

Only a few weeks ago, they’d ventured into the spirit glades and survived thanks to the mysterious man, Sezim. Wyn wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, but it had changed him. He couldn’t be a simple baker’s son anymore. The things he had seen seemed to resonate with something deep within him, and the idea of becoming a knight seemed right in a way that nothing else had.

Of course, that had led to this, this… “training” that he and Corrin had devised. He was becoming more convinced that it was a terrible idea. Deciding that they needed to train their bodies, the two of them had begun running every day to and from a nearby lake. Two years of playing with Corrin meant that the both of them were accustomed to running, but they still usually had to stop several times during the trek.

Then, Wyn had proposed they try to make it in a single run, an idea that had proved basically impossible. Still, even as he wanted to throw up, fall into the grass and lay there until he died, he kept going.

Corrin hadn’t stopped yet. So Wyn wouldn’t either, it was that simple. Maybe the feeling was mutual. He almost hoped it wasn’t. If they’d been running through this pain for all this time because they were both too stubborn to lose, he might cry.

He shut off his brain, thinking wasted energy, he just had to run. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Running was all there was, he ran. What was his name again?

Finally, blessedly, after spirits-knew how long, they crested the hill that led down to the lake. They both promptly collapsed, letting gravity take over as they rolled the rest of the way down the hill in a stupor, coming to a slow stop at the edge of the water. Wyn almost passed out on the spot, but he was so thirsty.

He dragged himself the last couple feet, pursing his lips and drinking from the surface of the lake. All the water around Straetum was safe to drink thanks to the work of the water-spirits in this lake and the streams that came out of it, a fact he’d never been more thankful for. As he silently prayed a thousand thanks to them, he gulped down as much as he could manage. A moment later he threw it back up on the shore, his stomach heaving after the intense run. Two repetitions of this later, he was finally able to keep some water down, and spent what felt like the next hour trying not to pass out while lying on his back.

Once breathing became only mildly painful, he and Corrin got up and found their “good sticks” from the nearby woods with which they could practice fighting. They’d snuck around the garrison to watch the town guards practice, and it seemed like fighting each other was an important part of training.

“I think his foot was like this,” Wyn started, angling his stance like he remembered one of the guards doing, “Or maybe it was like this?”

“I think this feels better,” Corrin said, trying something else.

“Well let’s find out,” Wyn said, “Ready?”

Corrin grinned, “Bring it.”

The fight did not last long, as soon as Wyn got hit on the hand he yelped out and dropped his stick, clutching his fingers tightly. The spars were sloppy of course, neither had any real experience with a sword. They were like, well, eight-year-olds poking around in the dark, but something was happening, Wyn could feel it.

Hours later, the sun had begun to set, and the two boys set out for home, walking this time. At least until Corrin started running, then it all began again.

Their training the next day was postponed, as Corrin took ill. Fenfreth said it was likely food poisoning, and after a lengthy interrogation, they’d gotten it out of him that he’d eaten some berries by the lake that were supposedly toxic.

Wyn said supposedly, because he wasn’t sick at all, and he’d eaten the same berries. But maybe he was just made of stronger stuff.

***

A few weeks later, and they’d managed to keep up their training. Wyn had heard some of the students at school making fun of them behind their backs, but it didn’t really matter to him. Once Corrin had felt better, they’d resumed with newfound vigor. However, today was their day off of training—Wyn’s father insisted that proper rest was just as important as working hard, and if his father said it, it must be true.

With the day to himself, and a loaf of sweetbread in hand, Wyn was still deciding what he wanted to do. He was walking through the streets of Straetum for some inspiration, humming the song he’d heard in the glades, and noticed a lavender colored spirit drifting in the air nearby. That sort of color was rare for light spirits, so on a whim, he decided to follow it.

Through the winding streets it went, from the tips of some roofs, down into the flowerpots in the windowsills of shops. Eventually it sped up and turned a corner. He quickened his pace to follow and heard a commotion from the side street it had turned down: the sound of children’s voices, and dull thuds.

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He made the turn to find the spirit had disappeared, in its place were three boys, a few years his senior, standing around a girl his age. He recognized her instantly; her bright red hair was a standout in Straetum, and she was in his and Corrin’s class. The boys he didn’t recognize, and they were bigger than he was, which would make sense if they were older.

One of the boys grabbed her by her hair, “Why don’t you go home you phoenix spawn, swim back to the isles where you belong.”

The girl fought back weakly, but she was outnumbered and outsized, “This is my home! Let me go!”

“Fine,” The boy smirked as he threw her to the ground. She curled up like she was expecting something, and a moment later Wyn saw what.

They were throwing rocks at her, picking up stones from pebbles to larger ones and winging them at her, laughing the whole time. Each rock landed with a thud against her small frame, and Wyn could hear the quiet sounds of her choked sobs and gasps as each one landed.

Wyn’s fist slammed into the gang leader's face. The boy was knocked off his feet, driven backwards by the momentum of Wyn’s entire weight. Wyn looked down at his fist before glancing back. He’d run into the alley and punched him without even realizing what he was doing.

It felt great, for about five seconds, until the two lackeys realized what had happened and turned their attention towards him. His vision flashed as he took a blow on the head, clumsily throwing up a hand to block the strike that followed to his stomach. It was in vain, as the hit sent him sprawling, the taste of dirt on his tongue. This was nothing like the sparring with Corrin, where they stopped when either one landed a glancing blow. It was real.

In his swimming vision he saw the girl curled up against a wall, looking towards him out of the corner of her eyes. She was trembling with fear, he knew that feeling, when he’d been in the forest, facing down that giant wolf. But there was no mysterious stranger to come save the day this time, all she had was him. He’d have to be enough.

“Don’t worry…” Wyn said, forcing a smile onto his face. “I’ll win.”

He shot to his feet and charged one of the boys, who was surprised by his sudden speed, but the size advantage was doing Wyn no favors. His tackle forced the boy a few feet backwards, before an elbow slammed into his lower back, putting him back on the ground. A moment later, a kick sent him flying again, and he had to fight back the urge to vomit. For the first time, he realized that fighting hurt.

The boys walked towards him, “Just get lost baker boy. Why are you even helping her?”

Wyn spoke before he could even think, “A knight protects people.” What was he saying? Did he think he was some hero out of one of his books?

A blur of white shot past him, crashing into one of the boys, “I agree,” Corrin said, “We have to act the part, right?”

“Where the hell do you people keep coming from?” The leader looked around like he was expecting more children to come crawling out of the walls.

Corrin tried to crack his knuckles, but he couldn’t get it to work. “Let’s do this.”

Wyn got to his feet once more, and the fight began anew.

***

Wyn was pretty sure the ground had a crush on him. Or maybe it was the other way around. He couldn’t seem to get away from it. He didn’t dare move, that would make the pain come back.

“So,” Corrin groaned from next to him, “That didn’t go well.”

Wyn didn’t respond with words, just letting out a long grunt of pain.

“Hey, crying girl, are you ok?” Corrin certainly had a way with words.

Still, the girl mumbled out a meek, “Yes. Um, thank you…”

“See that Wyn? I’d say that means we actually won.”

Wyn chuckled a bit. Ow ow ow!

Ok bad choice, no laughing. He tilted his head just slightly enough that it didn’t hurt, but he was able to see the girl more clearly now. She was looking towards them with a look of concern in her eyes, but it was clear she didn’t know quite what to make of the situation.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why is your hair red?” Corrin asked, “I’ve never seen anything like it before…”

The girl looked down, her eyes tearing up again. “Well–”

“It’s just so cool! I’m jealous, I wish I had red hair like that. Though… actually the color might be too pretty for me. I want more of a tough guy look,” Corrin said earnestly, causing the girl to look back up in shock. She paused for a moment, and then let out a faint, musical laugh.

“It's just how I was born; I’m told people from my grandmother’s home all have red hair like this.”

“Woah, really?” Corrin asked, “Where’s that?”

“The burning isles, have you ever heard of it?” she asked, her voice growing slightly louder.

“Mmm… maybe. Wyn, have they talked about it in school?”

“No, we’ll have to visit it once we become knights. It sounds cool right? The burning isles,” Wyn tried out the name on his tongue, it was a cool sounding place. “Oh wait. Corrin, we’re being rude. Excuse me, what’s your name?”

The girl smiled, “It’s Khaeli. You’re Wyn and Corrin, right?”

Corrin laughed, “That’s us, and don’t forget it! We’re the soon-to-be knights of Straetum!”

“That’s amazing,” She said without a hint of sarcasm, “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course! It’s our destiny.” He paused, “You want to be our friend? You tell us about the burning isles, and we’ll make sure those guys don’t mess with you anymore!”

“Um… Corrin, I really am thankful. But didn’t you lose that fight?” she said hesitantly.

“Don’t worry, we won’t lose to them for much longer. We’ve been training.” He said smugly, “It’s only a matter of time before we can kick their butts. But also, would you say we lost Wyn?”

Wyn grinned, “That depends, did you feel protected Khaeli?”

“Well, I guess I did,” she said, glancing up to the sky.

“Then I don’t see how we lost.”

Khaeli giggled at that one, “How chivalrous of you. Maybe you really are going to be knights. In that case, I would love to be your friend. Thank you for protecting me.”

Wyn looked up at the sky too. The clouds passed by so lazily, and each day seemed to pass so slowly. It would be another eight years until they were adults and could venture to Taravast. Until then, he resolved to enjoy these peaceful days for as long as he could.

***

When he finally got home, Wyn’s father was waiting for him in the kitchen. He eyed him over once, examining the black eye and bruises on Wyn’s face alone.

“So Wyn, why were you fighting?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I had to save a girl.”

The hint of a smile played on his father’s face. “Well, I suppose that’s as good a reason as any.”

There was a long pause, Wyn kicked his legs under the table, waiting for the inevitable scolding.

“Did you win?”

“Of course.”

“Good job,” His father said warmly, “You want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven.” He pulled a rack out of the stone oven, the smell must’ve surely been wafting through the room, but Wyn’s nose was swollen shut so he couldn’t smell very well.

“I would love some!”

His father sat down with him, listening intently as Wyn regaled him with everything that had happened that day, the fight, making a new friend, and them all playing in the river after he and Corrin could move again.

Though he could hardly taste them—his nose was kinda messed up after all—for some reason, the cookies seemed delicious.