The sun rested on the horizon as sweat trickled down Iris’s face, knuckles whitening on her blade's hilt. Standing in front of her was a knight, foreboding in stature, shrouded in dark plated metal. He was of folklore. Legends told that a single swing of his greatsword would end lives by the dozen, no, ended hundreds of lives, yet she had met his blade with hers time after time as their shadows stretched across the ground. Everyone who knew his name lived in fear of the mere wandering thought of his presence, besides one person. Iris Caldera was the only thing that stood between the mythical knight and his mission. She didn’t know how he found them out here in the Highlands but he was here now, and If he defeated her she could not imagine the unspeakable things he would do to the people inside the cabin behind her. It was her duty to protect them or die trying. 

His helm was on, yet you could still see a cold battle-hardened complexion peering through his visor. To the knight, she was just another opponent who had yet to soak his blade and armor with their blooded entrails. The air between them bended, the tree’s stood still, no leaf dared to fall and interrupt their melee. Ravens circled from up above waiting for their meal. Their eyes locked, each pair determined to be the last one standing.

"FOR INVICTIA!" Iris bellowed, breaking the tension and charging forward.

She planned to end the battle in a series of three precise and epic blows without giving the knight a chance to retaliate: An overhead strike onto his helmet, followed by a blow to his shin to lower him to the dirt, and a final single slash across the throat, between his chest piece and helmet. It was a perfect plan.

She sprung off of the ground, leaping as high as she could, swinging her weapon down over her head with unmatched speed and conviction connecting it perfectly with the front of the knight's helmet.

KLANG

The strike was perfectly executed. The knight should have staggered backwards in pain but he didn't budge, not moving even an inch, taking the impact of her blade to the front of his head like it was nothing. Her sword flew out of her hands, clattering to her side as her body was propelled backwards into the ground. She looked up to the knight looming over, with only a small dent in his helm. Iris’s mind was invaded by the notion of death. Fear shuttered across her face, but only for a second.

"My life won't end here," she muttered, spitting blood and dirt out of her mouth.

She decided to do what no sane person would do before their death. She provoked the knight, yelling and calling him slurs that would put any pirate or outlaw to shame. The knight was furious, foaming at the mouth, for his moment of triumph over his prey was ruined. 

In anger, he prepared to strike her down. He grasped his great sword in both hands and swung it in an intricate pattern, gathering momentum, getting ready to slice her body clean in half with one swipe. Dust lifted off the ground as the blade picked up speed, becoming a blur to the human eye, forming an almost solid crescent around his body. The blade inched closer and closer to Iris who held her breath in anticipation. Her hands and feet dug deep into the ground, muscle fibers tensing. Her eyes focused, tracking the blade which sliced through the air at impossible speeds, waiting for the last moment to leap out of the way. She counted down,

Three,

Two, 

One…

"Iris, come please, the food is ready," a voice called from behind.

The female voice was all too familiar to Iris as she rolled her eyes. She stood up and picked up her sword, readying herself to resume the fight, ignoring the voice calling her name, but it called back louder this time,

"The scarecrow will wait until after dinner! This hot meal will not!"

"Ugh, coming, Mom," she complained.

Her focus broken, she turned back towards her opponent, the knight who was on the verge of ending her life, but all that was there was a beaten down sack filled with straw, strapped to a wooden pool sticking out of the dirt, wearing a now dented rusted metal pot. She pointed her blade at the war torn dummy and spoke, mimicking a deep gravelly voice that was clearly not her own.

"I'll be back for you." 

Sticking her sword into the ground she hurried off towards the cottage.

Bursting through the door, she entered an all too familiar area, a wooden table thrust over to the right side of the small room with a huge stewpot atop a flame taking up the rest of the space. Her mother greeted her by bending down and scanning her body, making her wince whenever she touched a cut or bruise. “That hurts,” Iris whined, attempting to scuttle out of her mothers reach. “Pull up a chair and let me clean your wounds,” she ordered. “Battle wounds,” Iris mumbled under her breath, complying, trying not to squirm as her mother pressed a damp cloth to her gashed knee.

Holding back tears and many deep breaths later, Iris felt relief after her mother finished the treatment. “What do you say now,” she said expectantly. “Thank you,” Iris answered, which made her mother smile and kiss her on her brow before returning to attending their dinner. “My little hero,” she chuckled to herself while she went back to stirring the pot of stew.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Iris sat impatiently at the table watching her cook. She became mesmerized by the flames crawling up the sides of the pot and the vapor rising from the liquid inside of it, imagining a witch brewing her toxic concoctions to poison the neighboring village for making fun of her nose. Planning her revenge on those pesky kids and their parents. Lost in her subconscious she was unable to hear the heavy pair of footsteps approaching the door. 

Swinging open, a bearded man ducked under the frame. He held Iris's wooden sword in his hand and carried a stern look on his face. A low voice reverberated in his rib cage carrying heavy but smooth notes that escaped from his lips.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your blade outside? It will rot.”

"Mom rushed me when I was engaged in combat, it's not my fault," she argued.

"Don't you pin your mistakes on me, young lady," her mother scoffed, not even looking away from the pot.

Iris looked down at the table, murmuring, "Sorry, mam," knowing she wasn't on the winning side of the argument. Her father’s eyes softened looking at his daughter's pouting face. He couldn’t bear not seeing a smile on it. Sitting down, he held the sword out to her to take and tried to cheer her up by telling her favorite tale, The Evil Knight of Versia, the taker of souls, the slayer of thousands! No man or woman could stand before his might! 

Iris tried to maintain her facade but could not hold back her excitement for the story and the room soon filled with her infectious smile and own heroic feats and adventures she had gone on during the day. Her father, engrossed, listened to every detail of the stories. Finishing an exaggerated retelling of how she climbed up the tallest tree in all the lands, her father chimed in.

"Well, the day at the smithery was not filled with adventure, but I did finally finish the order from the City of Asobert. Ten bucklers and twelve short swords. Their garrison will not be needing any more equipment for a while."

Iris's ears perked up to. She leaned over the table and whispered into her dad's ear,

"How much you gonna get for it?"

Her father, seeing a mischievous and greedy little smirk on his daughters face, burst into laughter,

"That's my daughter,” he sang. “The soul of an adventurer and the mind of a merchant. Always asking the important questions! The lands of Invcitia, no, the whole continent itself, beware for Iris Caldera will be the strongest and richest in all of the land," 

More laughter and stories filled the room as her mother served the hot stew.

The moon rose from out of the sun's ash’s while Iris let out a strained burp, barely finishing her fourth bowl. She watched her father in awe as he gulped down his sixth helping. He slammed the bowl down on the table in the satisfaction of beating his nine year old daughter at their contest. Out of breath and room in her stomach, Iris let out a groan, "How, how do you eat so much? Is your stomach a bottomless abyss?" Food stuck in his beard, he remarked, "Once you're my size, you will be able to eat like me, a real warrior!” He then turned around and asked for his seventh helping. Her mother, not impressed with either of them, sighed, pouring another bowl. Iris stuffed to the brim as if she was a pig fit to be served to a king let out a long yawn, sticking her arms high in the air as she did.

"I think it is time for you to go to bed." Iris's mother spoke while noticing her daughter's eyes start to get heavy. “We have an early day planned. The village market is tomorrow, and we need to get salt, wool, brea-"

"WHAT," Iris exclaimed, interrupting her mother by letting out a squeal of joy, using what little energy she had to jump up from the table.

“I can't wait! Can we go to The Caldera Smithery? Please, Dad? Please, please, please," 

Her father quickly looked away, holding his hand to the side of his face, avoiding eye contact with his daughter, knowing that if he met her eyes he would not be able to refuse her request. Seeing her husband's helpless expression her mother came to his rescue.

"I will let you visit your father at the smithery after you help me finish all of our responsibilities first, and that starts with you going to bed now."

Thrilled, Iris raced straight from the table to her room, her head teeming with ideas of adventures she would embark on in the town the next day. 

Dressing for bed, Iris realized she had forgotten her sword, again, and tiptoed towards the door, attempting to not alert her parents. Hearing voices outside, curiously, she softly touched her ear to the hardwood. Faintly, she heard her mother speaking on the other side.

"Honey, what's wrong? Your eyes are wandering. Why are you distraught?"

“I guess I can’t hide anything from you,” her father said.

Cracking the door open slightly, Iris saw her father sitting at the table, fiddling with his fingers while her mother next to him. Letting out an exhausted sigh, his head drifted into his hands. His large frame shivered in the warm room as his foot furiously tapped the hardwood floor. 

"A courier arrived today. He gave me an order for three-hundred spear heads—a decree from the King himself. From what I've heard, every smithery in the kingdom had the same request. It can mean only one thing." 

 Her mother gasped, putting a hand over her mouth in shock.

"Why, why now," she repeated.

Both stood up from the table and embraced, resting their heads atop one another’s, trying to find comfort in each other's arms.

Iris didn't understand what her parents were talking about, and before she could the hinges let out a cry of protest after she opened the door a little too wide. Panicked, she skipped back into her bed as fast as possible, shutting her eyes tightly, trying to fall asleep as two sets of feet glided across the floor towards her room. She listened to her door open tentatively, hoping that her parents did not see her spying on them.

"How will we tell her?" her mother said quietly.

Silence followed the question, but her father ultimately whispered back,

"Let her rest for now. Let her be a child for a little longer." 

The light escaped from the room, leaving Iris alone. She laid beneath her covers with only her thoughts to keep her company drifting ever so closer to sleep.