22nd day of Dayhelm, 1367

The first rays of dawn had barely begun to pierce the night's veil when a resounding crash jolted Ebonheim awake. She sat bolt upright in her small cot, blinking to clear her bleary eyes while her cowlick jutted up like a defiant peacock's crest. Silhouetted against the early morning light stood a wild-haired figure, grinning like a delighted child who had just discovered a new plaything.

"Serrandyl?" Ebonheim's sleep-hazed brain struggled to process the sight of the boisterous warrior woman in her doorway. She squinted at the broken door barely holding on to its remaining hinges, then at Serrandyl, and groaned. "Serrandyl, we have doors for a reason, you know. You turn the handle, and it opens. Why'd you go and break my door?"

"Oh? I thought it was a piece of driftwood trying to impersonate one!" Serrandyl guffawed at her own jest, flicking her feline ears playfully, the booming sound of her laughter filling the hut.

Ebonheim winced at the noise, pulling her linen sheets closer around her as if they could shield her from the chaos. "Then what are you here for? It's barely dawn. The roosters aren't even up yet. Ugh...why are you here in this ungodly hour?"

"Ungodly?" Serrandyl's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "That's a strange choice of words coming from a god herself."

Rolling her eyes, Ebonheim ignored the jab. "What do you want, Serrandyl?"

Serrandyl strode into the hut, her muscular arms folded over her chest. The morning light streaming in from behind her cast an odd glow around her that almost made her seem otherworldly. Her grin widened, an unsettling sight for anyone not accustomed to her brand of humor. "I challenge you, for the right to rule over this village."

Ebonheim blinked, rubbing at her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, I challenge you," Serrandyl repeated, her smirk widening into a toothy grin as she tossed back her wild mane and puffed out her chest. "To see who gets to boss around this quaint little settlement of yours," she declared, slapping a clenched fist into an open palm.

Ebonheim yawned, dragging herself into a sitting position and rubbing at her eyes. "It's too early for this, Serrandyl," she muttered, casting an exasperated glance at the grinning warrior. "And what's with that 'boss around' talk? I don't boss anyone around, and I certainly won't start just because you fancy some sort of… spectacle."

"Well then," Serrandyl chuckled, leaning against the wall of the hut, her grin never leaving her face. "I suppose it's your leadership skills I'm challenging. A bit of friendly competition, nothing more."

Ebonheim groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. "Go bother Thorsten with your 'friendly competitions', Serrandyl."

But there was no escaping the insistent warrior. With a snort, Serrandyl reached over and yanked the blanket away. "Come on, Ebonheim! Time's a-wasting. Rise and shine!"

Ebonheim peered out from under her mop of bedhead, scowling at her as she tried to bury herself deeper under her quilt. "Ugh, I don't wanna," she muttered, pouting, "it's too early."

Serrandyl quirked her head at her as she reached over again, pinching Ebonheim's cheek and jiggling it like one would a baby. "Now now now, little one," she crooned in a mock-motherly tone, "get up and have some breakfast."

Ebonheim groaned and batted Serrandyl's hand away. "Stooooop!" she whined, flapping her arms as if to drive Serrandyl away. "Go bother someone else!"

"Well, that's disappointing," Serrandyl said, her face falling momentarily before she cocked her head to one side, her expression changing to one of mischief. "Are you scared, Ebonheim?"

Ebonheim sputtered, sitting up suddenly in her bed. "Scared?" she exclaimed. "Of what?"

Serrandyl leaned forward, her face just inches from Ebonheim's as she said, "That I might beat you."

"Don't be absurd," Ebonheim snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm not scared."

Serrandyl raised a brow, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "Well, that's a relief, I suppose. You're tiny. I wouldn't want you to break a nail or something."

"Hey!" Ebonheim retorted, her cheeks flushing. "I am not tiny! And I don't break nails. But more importantly, you can't even enter a house without breaking the door. How do you plan to run a whole village?"

Serrandyl huffed, her cheeks flushed crimson. "I can learn!"

Ebonheim shook her head, still lightly yawning. "You don't challenge a goddess, Serrandyl. It's not how it works."

"Then how does it work?" Serrandyl demanded, her tone playfully petulant.

Ebonheim paused, pondering Serrandyl's question as she shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, well," she began, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "First, you must approach the deity in question with the utmost respect. No breaking down doors, no noisy challenges."

Serrandyl's pout deepened at this. "Fine," she muttered. "Then I, Serrandyl, humbly request to be the leader of this village."

"Thank you for your request," Ebonheim replied, her tone formal but her eyes dancing with mirth. "Your application will be considered and you'll hear from us in six to eight weeks."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Serrandyl's jaw dropped as she stared at Ebonheim's smirking face. "Six to eight... You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

Ebonheim giggled at Serrandyl's stunned expression, then shook her head, her hair rustling against her silken gown. "Maybe a little," she said, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand. "Serrandyl, this isn't how things work around here. We don't fight for power. Besides, I’m not some tyrant that rules with an iron fist.”

"Sure, sure," Serrandyl chuckled, winking at Ebonheim before turning towards the door. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll be at the training grounds. Ready to take your throne… and probably your breakfast too."

With a dramatic flourish of her tail, she sauntered out of the hut, leaving Ebonheim to sink back into her bedding. Shaking her head at the absurdity of the early morning encounter, she leaned back onto her pillow, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she stretched and settled back into her cot.

After a moment of silence, her gaze wandered towards the gaping hole that was once her door. "I'll have to get that fixed," she mumbled, closing her eyes to settle into another nap before her day began.

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Ebonheim's golden eyes followed the sight of Serrandyl as she danced with Thorsten amidst the dust and sweat of the training ground. The morning sun shone down on the makeshift arena, casting a warm glow that reflected off their bodies as they sparred.

With a smirk on her face, Serrandyl feinted, making Thorsten brace for an attack from the right. But as he moved to block, she spun around him and tried to land a blow on his left side instead. Thorsten's superior combat experience shone as he managed to pivot just in time to catch her attack on his shield.

Ebonheim watched, spellbound. She could see the raw power and speed in Serrandyl's movements, but she also sensed the grace and fluidity of her motions. Every shift of her feet and subtle tilt of her hips sent her attacks precisely where Thorsten stood.

There was a wild energy to Serrandyl—a visceral ferocity that thrived on instinct and reactiveness. Ebonheim had been enthralled by her fighting spirit at first sight, but now she found herself admiring her even more.

They circled each other, trading blows in a dazzling dance of parries and counters. Sweat glistened on Serrandyl's skin as she fought, her wild mane swept back in a smooth ponytail, her muscles taut with tension as she lunged and ducked. In comparison, Thorsten's style was rigid and stoic—it was plain to see that his unyielding demeanor matched his brute strength.

"Ebonheim!" Thorsten's voice broke her reverie. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to learn a thing or two?"

Ebonheim shot him a glare, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm watching," she replied, "but I'm taking it easy today. Besides, I'd rather have a pillow fight with a bear than spar with you when you're using a weapon and a shield."

Thorsten only chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking as he parried another of Serrandyl's strikes. He was obviously enjoying the match. "Oh, I can see that, your highness," he called out, his tone teasing. "Just remember, a god can always learn from her people."

She stuck her tongue out, but did not offer a rebuttal. Instead, she turned her attention back to their sparring match, her eyes narrowing in concentration. She watched as Serrandyl switched tactics, resorting to swift jabs and quick footwork in an attempt to outmaneuver the more heavily armored Thorsten.

Despite the apparent difference in size and strength, Serrandyl held her ground. Her agile form darted in and out of Thorsten's reach, always just a step away from his retaliating strikes. Her sharp claws glinted under the morning sun as they swept through the air, aimed at Thorsten's exposed areas. Yet, for all her speed and strength, Thorsten seemed unflappable, his shield and axe always in the right place at the right time to deflect her attacks.

Ebonheim couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle. She knew Thorsten was a skilled warrior; she had seen him train and fight off dangers threatening the village. But it was rare to see him spar like this, with such grace and finesse. It was almost as if he were dancing rather than fighting, his movements fluid and precise.

But, as the match continued, it became clear that Thorsten was gaining the upper hand. His larger build and experience allowed him to read Serrandyl's moves before she even made them, enabling him to block and counter her attacks with ease. It wasn't long before he managed to sweep her legs from under her with a swift movement of his axe, sending her sprawling onto the dust.

As Serrandyl laid on the ground, gasping for breath, Thorsten extended a hand to help her up. Ebonheim watched as Serrandyl accepted the hand, pulling herself up with a huff of laughter. "You're a tough one, Gustaffson," she said, grinning at him.

Thorsten returned the grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And you're a worthy adversary, Serrandyl," he replied, a note of respect in his voice.

Ebonheim couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. For as long as she could remember, she had been the one receiving Thorsten's praise. But now, here was Serrandyl, a new member of their community, earning his respect. It stung a little, but she also couldn't deny the sense of pride she felt for Serrandyl. The beastkin warrior had managed to hold her own against one of Ebonheim's best, and that was no small feat.

Serrandyl patted herself on the chest with a fist as she laughed at the compliment. "Psh," she chuckled, "I've been training with my father since I was a cub. What do you expect?"

Thorsten's shoulders shook as he laughed at this, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I'm sure," he said, giving Serrandyl a playful pat on the head with his large hand. "You've done well."

Serrandyl shoved Thorsten's hand off her head and scowled at him, her cheeks reddening. "Don't patronize me," she huffed as she turned to face Ebonheim. "What do you think?" she asked. "Am I fit to lead this village?"

Ebonheim hesitated, suddenly nervous at being put on the spot. "Well," she began, glancing at Thorsten before continuing, "I have to admit, you're good."

Serrandyl's ears perked up at Ebonheim's words, and her eyes grew wide. "Really?" she exclaimed.

"But!" Ebonheim added quickly as Serrandyl's expression turned to one of glee. "Leading the village is more than just being good at combat." She gave Serrandyl a gentle pat on the shoulder before continuing. "And just in case you try and break my door down again to challenge me, don't bother. Engin and the elders are the leaders of the village. I'm just the goddess. So if you want to lead, you'll have to ask Engin."

Not even a breath passed before Serrandyl ran off to find Engin. "Engin! Engin! Engiiin!" she yelled as she bolted up the slope towards the village. "Engiiiiiiiiiiin!"

Ebonheim rubbed her forehead with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she watched Serrandyl race off.

"Did you really just tell her to go ask Engin for a leadership position?" Thorsten asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

Ebonheim stared at Thorsten blankly for a moment before finally nodding. "Yeah? Don't worry. He'll be able to convince her to give up on the idea," she replied, giving him an uncertain smile. "Probably."

"Sounds like you're just trying to make Engin a target too now," Thorsten said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Do you want to keep fixing my door whenever she kicks it down?" Ebonheim snapped at him, giving him a cross look.

Thorsten laughed, shrugging his broad shoulders. "You can't deny she's got a lot of spirit," he said, shaking his head as he recalled the chaos of her entrance the previous morning. "No wonder she gets along with you so well."

Ebonheim huffed and rolled her eyes, then smiled to herself as she turned away from Thorsten to follow after Serrandyl. "Well, let's hope she doesn't get into too much trouble."