(14 years later)
Ryker awoke to the muted sounds of the city slowly coming to life. The sun was still several hours from rising, and even the softest touches of pink that heralded its daily pilgrimage had yet to appear, which meant it was time for his training to begin. Sliding from his rough sheets and onto the cold stone floor of his bedroom, he began doing the Samsara. When Ithius had trained him all those years ago, the fluid-like stretches had seemed like a waste of time for his young body, but now in the middle of his third decade, the limbering of his muscles had become essential to perform his daily functions, let alone sword training.
Moving from the Viper and into Fading Light, he felt the stretch deep in the tissue of his right shoulder and a pleased sigh escaped his lips. Over the last decade and a half, his already muscular fighter’s physique had enlarged substantially, thanks to the thousands upon thousands of swings of his blacksmith's hammer. Though not the tallest man, he had developed a thickness about his chest and arms that belied the strength he could bring to bear–it was exactly the way he remembered his father being. A part of him longed to test himself against a true opponent, to see what he was now capable of, but the greater part of him was grateful for yet another day of peace. Yes, he missed his former life, but he had come to love Dast as a son, and reveled in being able to give him a normal upbringing.
After a quarter-span of the Samsara, he was ready to practice his sword forms. Moving through the main living area, he pulled back a plank on silent hinges and checked on the Katana of Speed, making sure it was still there, before making his way out to his secluded courtyard. During the day, the gates would be open to allow customers to enter his workshop, where they would request repairs, make commissions, or buy the product he already had on hand. But in the darkness of the early morning, it was his temple, a shrine to remain worthy of the title Blade Bearer. At forty spans to a side, the courtyard was large enough to allow him to bring all of his techniques to bear, and he did so, pushing to the absolute limits of what he was capable of, just like he did every day. He missed training with the Katana, but a sword he had made to replicate its dimensions was a good substitute.
A half-span before the sun rose, he ceased his efforts and moved on to the rest of his morning. After a brief wash from a nearby water barrel, he went to the forge and lit the great furnace.
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A sliver of light inched its way into Dast’s room, somehow managing to land directly on his closed eye even though he had stuffed blankets around the window to prevent this exact scenario the night before. His vivid dreams suddenly melted away and he hopped out of bed with a gusto that felt unnatural for one his age. Usually, he would bemoan the earliness of the hour and groggily reposition his body to extract every morsel of blissful slumber that he could, followed by a few moments of bracing himself for the cold floor. It was a ritual that made him routinely late for his morning chores and exercises, but he needed today to be different. It was the last day to sign up for the dueling competition which would be held at the Summertime Festival next week, which meant it was his last opportunity to convince Uncle Ryker that he should enter.
For as long as he could remember, he had looked forward to this part of the Summertime Festival more than anything else the entire year. As a child, he dreamed of what it would be like to win the tournament, the glory he would feel and the respect it would garner from his peers. In the last few years, it had been one of the driving factors that pushed him in his combat training. Between the daily practice with the extra heavily-weighted practice sword, the sparring sessions with his uncle, and the hours spent everyday using a hammer, he really felt that Ryker would cave and let him sign up, what else could his training be for?
True, that dream had been somewhat shattered a few days ago when he asked about signing up and Ryker had rejected the idea immediately–apparently, all of his extra effort, which few to none of the other town boys put in, was purely to make him a better blacksmith. “So you can feel if a blade is off-balance, not so you can be injured in a meaningless competition.” Ryker had said emphatically.
Well, that may have been why his uncle wanted him to learn the blade, but when Dast had been running an errand in the market yesterday and overheard Ava talking with her friends about how much she enjoyed watching the competition, his resolve to enter had been revived. Tossing and turning the night before, he had finally come up with his best chances of getting Ryker on his side: venison. Though not a good hunter, his uncle loved the gamey meat, and Dast figured it was the perfect way to put the blacksmith in a more open mindset.
After completing his morning stretches, he made his way down to the courtyard and retrieved the lead filled training blade. At two spans from hilt to tip, it was the length of a standard long sword. Ryker had made it with a hollow core, which had allowed him to begin training with a full size blade at only 12. Each month, a small amount of lead was added to the center, ensuring that the exercises he was required to complete with it were always at the threshold for what he was capable of. Ryker had just adjusted the weight the previous week, and Dast’s arms were already dreading the impending torture. It was his least favorite aspect of sword training, although he knew how important it was. Sweat was already beading on his brow as he brought the sword around his head and then downward in a slow, methodical swing. It wasn’t just the increased weight that made the exercise hard, the shifting of the small led balls added an entirely different dimension. These two variables also made it so his muscles continued to exert themselves at the deepest stretch part of the movemnt–which, according to his uncle, was the best way to get them to grow.
Despite the difficulty, he kept each movement measured and timed–the rhythmic pounding coming from the forge kipping pace for him. After a full minute, the first motion was complete, the blade tip hovering 6 inches above the ground, and he shifted his feet as he began the next. With agonizing slowness, he made his way through all thirty movements.
The purpose of the weighted training blade wasn’t to directly improve his swordsmanship. Rather, it was meant to make sure that even under constant strain, his muscles completed the movements as they were meant to be–or so his instructor loved to remind him.
Since it wasn’t a sparring morning, after completing the forms, he quickly rinsed off in the water bucket and made his way inside to make breakfast. Ryker was many things, but a good cook was not one of them. Somehow he managed to make even their daily fare of bread and eggs taste like poison, which was why Dast was in charge of all the cooking. He had been doing it for years at this point, and only vaguely remembered the old woman who had been hired to make their food in his younger years.
Taking two heaping plates out to the workshop, he caught Ryker’s eye and gestured one plate in front of him, getting a smile and a nod from the older man. It took a few moments for Ryker to get to a good stopping place, and as was their custom, Dast sat the plates down and waited. It was the same routine that they had shared for years, but today, Dast’s mind was so focused on his grand plans.
“Achhhemm!” Ryker cleared his throat, causing Dast to jump as he was dragged from his daydreams and earning a laugh from his uncle. “Where did you go, Dast?”
A good natured chuckle was his reply. “Sorry Uncle. I was just thinking about everything I want to do today.”
“You mean helping me in the forge, organizing the ingot pile, and doing inventory, right? Because that is what I was planning on.” It was said goodnaturedly, as everything Ryker said was. He was a good guardian, strict and fair and always trying to help Dast see the best in everyone and everything.
“Well, I was actually thinking I should do all of that tomorrow. I realized last night that it has been several months since I caught us some fresh venison, and I figured it would save us money if we didn’t have to buy our meat for a change.” Dast said, reciting the detailed reasons he had come up with the night before.
A proud smile graced Ryker’s face before he tried with a laugh of his own. “Well, how very thoughtful of you, Dast. That sounds like a great idea–provided you are willing to do your other chores tomorrow, I am wholly supportive of your plan. Although, I am obliged to admit that the thought of fresh venison is a deciding factor for me.”
With permission granted, Dast tried his best to not eat suspiciously fast as he cleared his plate and headed inside to retrieve his bow.
Ryker watched Dast’s retreating form with visible fondness. How he loved his charge and their life together–of course, that was in large part due to who Dast was as a foster son. Sure, Ryker had done his best with the boy, teaching him by example to work hard, care about right and wrong, and have respect for every individual, regardless of their status in life. But, somehow his effort had been magnified tenfold, which he attributed to Dast’s heritage.
Though still a young man, and far from blooming into his full self, he already possessed a work ethic that rivaled most adults and on top of that, he was dependable. Where Ryker had taught him to respect others, Dast had a natural kindness that reminded Ryker of the Queen. He wished that he could allow him to enter the upcoming competition because he deserved it.
Ever since he had asked the week prior about competing in the yearly tournament, Ryker had replayed the conversation over and over again in his head. He deserved to fight in competitions. He was a natural talent–strong and agile. He had a quick eye for his own mistakes and was quick to learn moves used against him. Though he still had a long way to grow to reach his full potential, he was the natural heir for the Blade of Harmony, and it showed. But how could Ryker live with himself if the prince was injured in some backwater competition? He had given up everything to protect the prince, and that was to say nothing of the King’s own sacrifice. No, he couldn’t in good conscience allow Dasterion to enter the tournament, even if he wished he could.
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Dast relaxed his hold on the taut bowstring and felt the fletching graze past the corner of his jawline as it ripped through the air and into the buck. Some sixth sense must have warned the creature of its impending doom, as it raised its head towards the incoming object, causing the arrow to take it in the side of its neck rather than the eye Dast had aimed for.
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The heavy-headed hunters shaft caused the beast to tumble backwards, its neck twisting its body around as it screamed. Never one to cause suffering, the second shaft ended its plight only a few heartbeats later and Dast stripped down to the waist in anticipation for the grisly task of preparing the beast to take back home. Though the deer was on the smaller end of the spectrum, he still had several leagues to traverse to make it back to the town and it wasn’t economical to carry all of the weight. Unwinding the rope from his waist, he strung the beast by its hind-quarters from a nearby tree, and removed the parts that he wouldn’t be needing, the intestines and bladder chief among them.
After cleaning his kill, he washed in a nearby stream and then hoisted the buck over his shoulders and began on his return journey. Thoughts of Ryker agreeing to his request continued to fill his mind as he trekked back, as they had all day, which eased the strain on his shoulders and caused the trip to blur by. As he traversed the hilly country, avoiding difficult ground, he debated whether he should use some of his small savings to get spices to make the soup better. After what felt like only a few minutes, he crested a low ridge, which brought Winbreak into view where it sat nestled in the small valley. The Darrow river came in from the opposite end of the valley and wound straight through the middle of the town. In the early evening light, its sparkling current beckoned him homeward.
Before he continued, he forced himself to simply sit and take in the vista. He loved this time of year and the way the surrounding greenery made the red-tiled rooftops stand out as they peaked over the thick stone wall.
Winbreak was around 30 leagues from the nearest major town, and almost 200 from the nearest city. He had a hard time imagining anything bigger than it, since his whole life had been spent here. To him, and all of his acquaintances around his age, which either lived in the town proper or else on farmsteads not far from it, this was as big as the world was.
Rousing from his reverie, he continued down the dusty path, causing the view to be lost from sight as it was engulfed by the large trees that dotted the foothills. After another quarter span, the road leveled out; his surroundings changed from trees to the small farms that supplied the town with many of its fresh produce. By this point, his neck and arms burned from the strain of carrying the buck, and he was forced to forego waving to his friends and neighbors as he usually did. Instead, he kept his vision focused on the road in front of him and increased his pace, forcing one leg to step in front of the other over and over again, despite the growing pain he felt.
He was confident he would be able to make it back without resting until events fell out of his control. At the second to last bend in the road, lifted his gaze upwards towards the town, measuring the distance left to travel. His lapse in concentration caused him to not see the two young women picking berries along the edge of the road, and by the time he looked back down, it was already too late. The nearest one was only a foot away from his leading leg, and he was forced to do an awkward shuffle to avoid impact, which he managed to do, until the girl looked up and a pair of dark green eyes caused him to fumble.
Ava.
It was a singular thought that was followed almost instantly by his back foot tripping on a small stone, causing him and his load to tumble sideways and a very-unmanly, voice-cracking squawk to escape his lips. Thankfully, his head, neck, and shoulders were cushioned by the deer’s body, and he wasn’t hurt, although in the moment, he wished some physical pain had come from it to possibly save himself from some of the embarrassment he was feeling.
Face, burning, he untangled himself from the dust-covered corpse and rolled to a sitting position. After taking in the blood that had smattered when he fell, he chanced a glance upwards. Moira, a red headed girl was doing her best no to laugh, although from the weird sucking sounds coming from her hand-covered mouth, she was about to fail. Ava was scolding her friend to silence as she moved forward to assist him.
It felt wrong that someone so perfect would approach him in his current state, and the usual awkwardness he felt in her presence was magnified several times over.
“Dast! My goodness! Are you all right?” she asked kindly.
“Wha..? Oh, uhh… Yeah.. I am fine, I think.”
“Are you sure? That was quite a fall and there is quite a bit of blood on you.” she insisted as she squatted down by him.
“ Yeah, the deer took the brunt of the damage thankfully.” he replied lamely. “And I think most of the blood was already here from the walk back.” He continued, cursing himself internally for not allowing more of it to drain before returning home.
“Well I’m sorry if I am to blame at all. I guess we are just lucky you were on foot and not on a horse.”
“Yeah, because a horse would have been walking blindly this close to the edge of the road.” Moira laughed.
“Hush, Moira.” Ava said reproachfully before looking back at him. “So what’s the special occasion for? If I remember correctly, you don’t often have the time to go hunting.”
The words surprised him. How did she know that about him? Did she remember their conversations from their school days two years ago? They had both still been children at the time, even if he had already developed feelings for her.
A snort from Moira reminded him that a question had been asked and instead of answering, he was staring dumbly into Ava’s face as his thoughts raced. Unable to think of a good excuse under the present circumstances, he settled on just telling the truth–at least most of it, even if it made him sound like a child.
“My uncle doesn’t want me to enter the tournament during the Summer Festival next week. I, uh, thought that some fresh meat might change his mind.” The words made no sense as he said them out loud. The chuckle from Moira didn’t help.
“Why won’t he let you join? And I think it’s a great idea.” She said with an emphatic glance at her friend.
“He says it is too dangerous, that it would be a waste to get hurt in a small-town festival.”
“Small town? Where is your uncle from, anyways?” Moira asked, rejoining the conversation, much to his chagrin.
“I’m not really sure actually. Everytime I bring it up, he says he doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“That sounds fishy to me.” Moira said disdainfully. “A person has a right to know where they are from. Unless they are trying to not be found.”
“Oh stop, Moira. You're always trying to start gossip.” Ava interjected.
“And you are always game to hear it unless it is about him.” Moira said, pointing at Dast.
The words caused Dast’s ears to burn momentarily, and he expected Ava to retort in some way, but to his surprise, a pretty flush coloring her cheeks was the only indication she had heard the comment. Suddenly feeling bold, he was about to come to her rescue when a cruel sneer stole everyone’s attention.
“Well, isn’t this a stereotypical sight: an orphan sitting in the middle of the street covered in filth. Typical.”
Dast didn’t even have to look to know who was speaking. Khrom, the village bully and the only person who he truly couldn’t stand. At almost two years older than Dast, he was nearing 17 and was already considered a man in the community, though he still behaved like he always had when no other adults were around, which boiled down to never saying anything to Dast unless it was insulting his heritage, or lack thereof, his station in life, or his size. Being the son of the mayor, he had Dast beat both in terms of heritage and station, and being two years older gave him the extra size–although Dast noticed with some satisfaction that the gap was closing.
“Ava, are you hurt?” Khrom asked, his tone of voice completely changing as he stepped closer and extended a hand to the still crouching woman.
Ugh. It’s not enough that he seeks to ruin my life, but now he is going after Ava too? Dast thought, his usual self control slipping.
“I’m fine, Khrom. It wasn’t me that was hurt.” She replied, allowing herself to be pulled back to her feet.
“I don’t know what I would do if that wasn’t the case.” Khrom said, shooting a quick but nasty glance at Dast. “I’ve made my intentions and feelings very clear.”
Dast’s stomach clenched at the words. True, he had never expressed his feelings to Ava, but that was because he was still underage, not because he didn’t want to. He had been daydreaming about her for over three years now, and though the words had never been spoken, he always thought they would court eachother one day. Or had he just imagined all of their shared glances over the last couple of years?
“And I thought I had been clear with mine too.” Ava said with more force than she usually use, “I still don’t feel ready to make such a big decision. I am young and have time to consider what it is I want in life.”
Dast’s heart shuddered when he caught her glance discretely his way when she said that sentence.
“Oh sure, sure, you have plenty of time!” Khrom assured her, “But does your father? Word is that his shop is getting a bit behind on its taxes, and an alliance between our families would surely give him just a little more time to make ends meet.”
Years of pent-up frustration at Khrom and longing for Ava came to a head when he heard the blatant manipulation and Dast found his feet quickly and squared off in front of Khrom.
“Are you seriously trying to exploit her into marrying her right now? It has been clear over the years that you are dumb, but this is on another level.”
Dast had been the object of Khrom’s frustration for years, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was get a rise out of him. Predictably, the statement redirected the man’s attention to himself and gave Ava some breathing room.
Stepping into his face, Khrom reached out and shoved Dast, or at least he tried to. In the last two years since they had really had an altercation, their difference in size had shrunk quite a bit, and the sparring with Ryker wasn’t done in name only.
Rather than taking the shove head on, Dast rotated his body, causing his body to twist rather than fall backwards. Adjusting to the rhythm of the fight is essential. Sometimes you need to use an opponent’s momentum to your advantage. He heard Ryker say as he moved with the motion of the shove, bringing his fist across and slamming it cleanly into Khrom’s jaw. Khrom fell backwards with a cry not dissimilar to the one he had uttered only minutes earlier, and his two cronies moved forwards, their hands on their swords.
In truth, Dast hadn’t noticed the two other men earlier, their presence when Khrom was around was ubiquitous, but his blood was up, and rather than shy away, he stepped forward, ready to see blood. A gentle hand on his chest stopped him and he looked down to see Ava’s worried face looking at him.
“Everyone just stop!” she commanded.
“Oh it's too late for that.” Khrom said, spitting out a small amount of blood. “The little welp thinks he has grown teeth and needs to be taught a lesson before he gets out of hand.”
The latter part was said as he got to his feet and drew his blade.
“You struck first and you're the one on the ground.” Moira observed, earning an exasperated sigh from Ava.
“That’s not helpful, Moira. Look, this is all just a misunderstanding. Besides, I could never love a man who fights someone three to one.”
Great, point out his winning odds, that is sure to help him see reason. Dast thought.
“You would deny me the chance to see justice done? I was assaulted and I will have retribution.”
“He doesn’t even have a sword, Khrom. Do you really think anyone would respect you for fighting an unarmed man? This isn’t the way.” Deep down, Dast knew that Ava was trying to help, but he bristled at her defending him. He could handle himself.
Khrom stopped for a moment as if thinking. “You’re right. Plus it isn’t public enough. Tell you what, Ava, I will spare the orphan today, on the condition that we fight in the tournament.”
“I’d love to make your humiliation public.” Dast replied.
“But Dast–”
“Enough, Ava.” He said, though the words came out harsh even to his own ears. “I can handle myself. I’ll see you at the tournament, Khrom.”
Brushing Ava’s hand off of him, he scooped down to pick up the deer.
“Tch. I said I would spare you. But the buck stays. Compensation for the wrong you have done me today.” Khrom said, earning a chuckle from his two friends as they pulled their swords free of their scabbards too.
Dast almost retorted, until he saw Ava’s face and knew that she was about to come to his rescue again. Frustrated, he left the deer on the ground and made his way into Winbreak, empty handed and covered in dust and blood.