Wyn was surrounded by fire. He felt the heat scorch his throat, and his eyes watered from the ash. He tried to yell his father’s name, but no sound left his throat. A moment later, he was falling, deeper and deeper into the cold dark of the cellar, his hand outstretched towards the dim light above.

Wyn woke up, his hand sticking into the air, his face damp. He took a moment to breathe, calming himself down as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Been a while since the last time I had one of those, He thought. Oh well, it probably wouldn’t be the last, but less frequent was still better.

On his first day as an adult, Wyn got up before sunrise. Though that wasn’t anything unusual for him, he always preferred to practice the sword in the brief time before the sun crested over the Windfall mountains. Since there was no sunlight to come in through the windows, he got dressed using the dim illumination of a single, small lightstone lamp he’d purchased a few years ago, at great expense.

He left his home without saying goodbye to his mother, as she hadn’t yet woken, in fact the only people up at this hour would be the farmers or people like him who just liked to start the day early.

He’d heard from the occasional merchant that Straetum was an odd town. It was a small, countryside community, but larger than almost any other village on the Northern Plateau, and shockingly prosperous thanks to its export of magical stones and monster parts. It had supposedly been around since the fall of the five kings over a millennium ago. Built just a short walk from the Windfall Mountains, on the banks of a river by the same name, it had been Wyn’s home his entire life, and he was all too familiar with its sights and sounds.

The nostalgic smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the cluttered dirt streets, likely Eldress Selene baking as she often did in the morning. A distant sound of metal clanging meant that the blacksmith, Kern, had gotten up early to work on a project today. Each sound, smell and sight had a story, known only by the tight-knit community of several hundred people.

As he walked to his favorite spot, he exchanged pleasantries with some of the farmers who were running errands in town. Over the years of waking up this early, he’d come to know most of their names. Since many had been present for the advancement ceremony the previous day, he received a bounty of encouragement, with a few even handing him various gifts until his hands were full. He politely thanked each one and made his way out of the town limits, carrying the things with him, humming a tune from his childhood, the one he’d heard on that day. He still didn't know why only he could hear it, but it always helped to calm him down.

A quick hike took him to an enormous tree a little way outside of town, some called it the Spear of Straetum, or just the Spearwood. The trunk of the massive fir was wider than twice his wingspan, and though he’d thought it was large as a child, he only appreciated it more now. Even with eight years of growing, he still couldn’t touch the lowest branches. It was in the shade of this tree that he and Corrin had made that promise so long ago, sometimes he wondered if Corrin even still remembered. But it had become a habit for him to practice his swordsmanship under the shade of the enormous tree.

First, he stretched, warming up his muscles before starting. While he did so he took the time to enjoy the calm and refreshing atmosphere. This tree was almost at the foot of the Windfall mountains, and the faint scent of fresh pine mixed with the clear mountain air was invigorating. Wyn breathed in and out slowly, calming himself until he felt ready to start.

Clearing excess thoughts from his mind, he drew his sword from his belt and took the first form, his stance was wide, and his weight was on the balls of his feet as his body yearned to begin. He exhaled softly before closing his eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, he let his body take over. The forms of the kata had long since been engraved into his muscle memory. His sword whistled softly through the air as his feet danced across the grass, which was damp from the morning dew. This was by no means a particularly challenging set of moves, but he approached each form with immense care.

A thrust forward practiced thousands of times, a sidestep honed to perfection, by now he could probably go through these in his sleep, but he still focused intently on each move. His feet were bare, so he could feel the grass in between his toes as he glid over the soft earth, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next.

This dance continued for almost thirty minutes before he was interrupted by Corrin’s voice calling out to him. He was walking towards Wyn holding two practice swords. Sheathing his own real blade, Wyn turned to look at his friend.

Corrin’s white hair was tousled messily, he was on the shorter side, unlike Wyn who had several inches on even the taller villagers, and he had a sort of wild feel to him, like you never quite knew what he was thinking. But Wyn did, he’d always known.

“So, couldn’t sleep huh? You’re never up this early,” Wyn teased.

“Maybe four hours tops? I was tossing and turning all night,” Corrin grumbled.

“Wow you must be desperate then, challenging me without even taking a nap, that loss yesterday really got in your head huh?” Wyn smirked, leaning casually against the tree.

“Shut up, we’re going to settle this right, your lead isn’t growing any bigger,” Corrin grinned confidently.

Wyn simply shrugged and held out his hand, Corrin tossed him one of the practice swords and settled into a low stance, one he’d developed himself. “Fine, but don’t complain when I kick your ass again.” Wyn spun his sword around confidently before he took a stance of his own, one-foot forwards, the other back, sword held in front of him. It was a traditional, textbook posture, nothing truly unique about it, but such things were passed down for a reason: it was effective.

A moment passed in silence as they stared at each other. It was posturing of course; they both knew how the duel would start.

Corrin shot forwards faster than any normal human, his sword a blur. Wyn calmly stepped into the strike and blocked it, the crack of wood against wood echoed down the hill. Corrin would’ve toppled over from his momentum being halted, but instead he let the force of the blow whirl him around and struck from the other side, unleashing a vicious flurry of attacks. The rest of the swordsmen in their village would be thrown off by such an onslaught, but though he was forced back, Wyn carefully and calmly deflected each strike, looking for an opening.

After feinting towards Wyn’s head, Corrin dropped to the ground and attempted to sweep his leg out, which was exactly the kind of thing Wyn had been hoping for. He lifted his front leg slightly, barely dodging the attack before pushing Corrin backwards with his foot. Corrin quickly recovered by rolling with the kick, but now Wyn was on the offensive.

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He strode forward, swinging down heavily. Knowing he couldn’t block the blow from his position, Corrin rolled to the side, only to be met by another thrust which he barely deflected. He scrambled away from Wyn, who pursued him relentlessly. Whereas Corrin had been a hurricane of slashes and speed, Wyn was methodical, every thrust of his stick having a purpose, he pressed Corrin harder.

Wyn’s brow was slick with sweat from fending off the initial attack, but now he smiled confidently, growing surer of his impending victory, Corrin was sloppy today, and Wyn wasn’t the type to go easy on him for it.

As Wyn thrusted once more though, Corrin didn’t attempt to block it. Instead shifting his body ever so slightly out of the way, letting the wood graze just past him.

Had he dodged any further, he would’ve been off balance, any less and he would’ve been hit squarely on the chest, but his spacing was perfect. Even with real blades it may not have pierced his cloak.

Quick as a mousetrap, Corrin sprung upwards with his sword poised, he’d banked everything on dodging the attack, and the gamble had paid off, as Wyn was in no position to deflect the strike.

In a split second, Wyn knew he couldn’t avoid the attack entirely, so instead he let go of his own weapon and knocked the flat of the sword aside with his left arm. Were they using real swords it likely would’ve mangled Wyn’s arm, but it was possible, and a thrust simplified the angle of attack, making the move easier to execute.

Corrin’s shit-eating grin morphed into a look of confusion and then pain as Wyn slammed his right fist into Corrin’s gut, and then used the momentary distraction to move into his space and knock the sword from his grasp. Wyn pressed his advantage, grabbing Corrin by the arm and throwing him over his shoulder. He crashed into the soft dirt; his breath forcefully expelled for the second time.

Wyn finished by pressing his knee against Corrin’s chest, he drew his fist back before letting it fly straight for Corrin’s face.

It halted abruptly, an inch away from contact, and they both knew the fight was over.

Wyn stood up, holding out his hand, and Corrin took it, grimacing.

“Was all that really necessary? I think I’d rather get hit by the sword, the wood just stings, but that shit hurts,” Corrin said.

Wyn laughed, “Maybe not, but a win is a win my friend.”

“Ya know, if they had been real swords, that would’ve been your arm,” Corrin said, trying to salvage some pride.

“Come on, you didn’t notice? I beat you with my right only at the end.” Wyn teased, waving his right arm for effect. “Besides, if these were real swords, your little dodge there would’ve been a stupid move to bank on.”

“It worked didn’t it?” Corrin smirked.

“My new record begs to differ. What does that make it? Something like nine hundred and thirty-two to…” Wyn trailed off, waiting.

“Eight hundred and seventy-six…” Corrin grumbled.

“Exactly,” Wyn grabbed his sword and started walking back towards town. “So, as the loser, how about you treat me to breakfast before we head to the dungeon?”

Corrin stretched before following, “Hey! Some of those are in dispute! I was rusty after recovering from that broken leg… but yeah, I could eat.”

Wyn just smiled, “Cool, I was thinking eggs.”

“Breakfast huh?” A voice, Elder Terris’, called out from behind them, having approached unnoticed. Elder Terris was a large man, both in stature and personality. Beards weren’t particularly fashionable in Straetum, but his seemed to fit. His hair was brown with specks of gray, and when he smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes had started to show.

Wyn turned and bowed respectfully, “Yes elder, Corrin was going to be treating me to a meal as the loser of our bout.”

He noticed Elder Irym, the other tomb guard–previous tomb guard beside him. Elder Irym couldn’t have been more different. He was much smaller, and mousy, with rounded glasses and salt and pepper hair that had just started to go gray. He didn’t look intimidating at first, but his quick and efficient fighting style was one that Corrin had done well to learn from.

“I saw,” Elder Terris laughed heartily, “You two are frighteningly strong already, sometimes I wonder what the purpose in training you was.”

Wyn smiled as Irym responded in his soft, monotone voice “Yes, well considering Corrin still can’t confidently list the first-floor monsters, I’d say he at least may have needed more.”

Corrin stiffened at the words, now defeated twice in the last minute. Wyn tried his best to relish it while he could.

Elder Terris slapped his friend on the back and laughed again, “Perhaps, but in terms of slaying them, you must admit he’s already surpassed us. Regardless Corrin, I’ll save you from paying for breakfast today, as I’ll be covering both of you before we head to the tomb.”

Only now did Corrin bow, “Thank you kind elder.” He practically prostrated himself, and though he was somewhat poor, considering their new job–high paying as it was–it may have been a bit dramatic.

“Then for my reward,” Wyn said, “I could really use some help carrying all these gifts.”

Corrin gawked, seeming to notice the large pile of books, desserts, and coins that were placed at the base of the tree. “That is so not fair.”

***

The walk back to town seemed to go quicker with the others with him, and soon they found themselves in a seat at a local diner. Something like this would usually be considered quite a luxury this far out in the mountains, but with a dungeon so close, there were more than enough resources to afford it. The materials and magic stones from the dungeon were almost enough to support the economy of the small town entirely on their own.

“So how are you boys feeling?” Elder Terris opened as they got their drinks, hot chocolate for Corrin and tea for everyone else.

“Excited of course Elder,” Wyn replied. “We’re finally adults after all. Guarding the tomb is a great honor.”

“That it is, I can only hope we’ve adequately prepared you for the job.”

“Your teachings have been more than adequate. We’ve truly been blessed to have such wise instructors,” Wyn said.

Elder Terris scoffed, “You’re laying it on a little too thick Wyn, and Corrin, you’re not laying it on enough.

Corrin looked up from the fork tower he’d been building, “What was that?”

“Nevermind…” Terris sighed, by now used to the mannerisms of Wyn’s best friend.

The food arrived shortly after, Wyn had ordered an omelet–a new egg dish on the menu–which was apparently from Nladia, the country just across the Serpent’s strait from the capital of Taravast. He pondered how a small diner had even heard of such a recipe, considering Straetum was on the complete opposite side of the continent.

When he asked Elder Terris about it, the older man merely laughed. “I sometimes forget how young you boys are. What do you know about the Veldias highway?

Corrin’s head popped up from devouring his heaping pile of syrup-drowned pancakes, “It runs the length of Aeora from here to Taravast, it’s called that because it’s the main route through the grass sea, right?”

“Exactly right! Most of the information we get about the rest of Aeora comes from the merchants on the highway that come to trade. It usually takes a couple years to filter down to us though.”

“Have you ever been to the capital?” Corrin asked.

Elder Irym spoke up, “I have once when I was much younger. It takes a year or more to get there from here, so most never get the chance.”

“What was it like?”

“Big,” Elder Irym smiled softly. “Big and loud.”

“That’s a terrible description,” Corrin pouted.

“Fine fine, Taravast is built on the sea, a body of water so large you can’t see the other side, it stretches out as far as the eye can see, and ships are always coming in and out of the port, but from the top of the city on the cliffs, they’re so far away they look as small as ants. I can’t remember much else about it, but I remember that clearly.”

Wyn glanced over as Corrin failed to respond immediately. His eyes were looking off into the distance, as if trying to look upon that sight from all the way across the world. “The sea…”

Wyn may have felt something in that moment as well, but he shoved it down without thinking, locking it away.

They finished up the meal, talking about simple nothings as they ate. Wyn had to admit the Nladian’s may have been onto something with such a dish, the “Omelet” was quite delicious.

“Well boys, ready to go?” Elder Terris clapped them on the back. A firm nod from each being the only response they’d give.

It was time to go to the Tomb.