As the first light of dawn broke across the vast desert sands, casting golden hues across the endless dunes, Malin, Maya, and Abel trudged onward, exhaustion tugging at their limbs. The memory of last night’s attack was fresh in their minds—those strange, skeletal figures with empty eyes and hooked weapons. None of them had any answers, and though they hadn’t discussed it much, the encounter had left them wary, glancing over their shoulders as they moved.

Finally, when the sun was well above the horizon and the heat began to press down on them, they agreed to make camp, needing rest after the sleepless night. Abel, who had been particularly silent since the attack, took it upon himself to survey the area for anything out of the ordinary before he allowed them to settle down. Satisfied, he gestured to Malin, who was hunched over, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Malin," Abel called out, his tone firm but not unkind. He reached into his pack, pulling out a spare sword with a well-worn hilt. He walked over, holding it out. "Take this. It’s time to train."

Malin looked up, eyes wide with surprise. He hesitated, glancing at the blade in Abel’s hand. The weapon gleamed faintly in the morning light, its surface dotted with small scratches that hinted at battles fought. "Train?" Malin echoed, a trace of nervousness in his voice.

Maya, sitting nearby with her spear resting across her knees, gave him an encouraging nod. “You know as well as we do, Malin. Out here, if you can’t defend yourself, you’re as good as dead. We got lucky last night, but next time… we might not be.”

Taking a deep breath, Malin nodded, finally reaching out to grasp the sword’s hilt. It felt heavy in his hand, more solid than anything he’d held before. The weight was a reminder of just how different his life had become from the simple baker’s existence he’d left behind.

Abel’s gaze softened slightly as he watched Malin’s fingers wrap around the hilt. “You don’t need to be a master swordsman overnight,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “But you do need to learn the basics. Out here, even a small advantage could be the difference between life and death.”

Malin swallowed, his eyes darting between Abel and Maya. He felt the weight of their expectations, their quiet faith that he could handle this. “Alright,” he murmured, squaring his shoulders and trying to mimic their confidence. “Teach me.”

Abel stepped back, motioning for Malin to follow him to a flat patch of sand a few yards away. The desert around them stretched wide, with only the distant silhouettes of mountains and the whisper of wind to witness this moment.

“First, stance,” Abel said, planting his feet firmly apart and motioning for Malin to mirror him. “Your feet need to be steady, grounded. Keep them shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees slightly—don’t lock them. You want flexibility, not stiffness.”

Malin nodded, adjusting his stance as best as he could. He felt clumsy, like a child imitating an adult’s movements, but he was determined to learn. Abel walked around him, occasionally tapping his leg or shoulder to correct his position, all the while offering brief, precise instructions.

“Good,” Abel murmured after a few minutes of adjustments. “Now, grip. You’re holding it too tight.” He reached over, positioning Malin’s fingers more loosely on the hilt. “It’s not about strangling the sword; it’s about control. If your grip is too tight, you’ll tire out quickly and lose flexibility. Keep your hold firm, but allow for movement.”

As Malin adjusted his grip, he could feel the difference—a subtle shift that made the weapon feel less foreign. Abel’s instructions were clear, and with each correction, Malin began to feel a bit more at ease.

“Alright,” Abel said, stepping back and drawing his own sword. “Now, let’s go over basic attacks and defenses. Start with a forward swing.” He demonstrated, sweeping his blade through the air in a controlled arc. “Don’t just throw the blade; guide it. Use your whole body, not just your arm.”

Malin watched closely, trying to memorize the movement before attempting it himself. His first swing was awkward, the sword wobbling slightly as he overextended his arm. Abel gave a small shake of his head.

“Try again,” he instructed, his tone patient. “From the shoulder, keep your movement tight.”

Malin tried again, this time focusing on keeping his movement controlled, imagining the blade as an extension of his own arm. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt more balanced, more deliberate. Abel nodded in approval.

“Better. Now, let’s add a defensive move,” Abel continued, lifting his sword to demonstrate a block. “When someone strikes at you, don’t just hold up your blade and hope for the best. Angle it, absorb the force, then push it away.” He demonstrated, deflecting an imaginary blow and returning to his stance.

Malin copied the motion, lifting his sword and angling it as Abel had shown. The thought of having to block a real strike was daunting, but he tried to push the fear aside. He needed to be ready, to face whatever came his way, and that meant learning every skill he could.

They practiced the swing and block repeatedly, Abel correcting Malin’s form whenever it slipped. After about an hour, sweat dripped down Malin’s forehead, and his arms ached from the unfamiliar strain. Still, he pushed himself to keep going, determined not to disappoint his companions.

Maya stood up, watching with a critical eye. “Alright, enough repetition,” she said, her voice light but firm. “Let’s see how you handle an opponent.”

Malin’s eyes widened as Maya stepped forward, her own blade at the ready. She raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

Taking a deep breath, Malin nodded, tightening his grip on his sword as he tried to recall Abel’s instructions. Maya circled him slowly, her movements smooth and controlled, each step measured. She wasn’t in any rush, giving him time to find his footing.

Then, without warning, she lunged forward, her blade aiming for his shoulder. Malin instinctively lifted his sword to block, angling it as Abel had shown him. He felt the impact jar through his arms but managed to deflect the blow, stumbling back slightly.

“Good,” Maya said with a nod, pulling back and circling him again. “But don’t retreat every time. Stand your ground. Find your balance.”

They continued, Maya’s strikes coming faster as Malin struggled to keep up. He blocked some, missed others, but each time he learned, adapting to the rhythm of her attacks. He could feel his body beginning to understand the motions, even if his mind still raced with uncertainty.

After a few rounds, Maya stepped back, and Abel took her place, his expression serious. “My turn,” he said, raising his sword. “You’ve learned the basics. Now let’s see if you can put them together.”

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Malin took a deep breath, his muscles already sore, but he braced himself. Abel didn’t hold back as much as Maya, his strikes swift and powerful. Malin barely managed to block the first few, his arms straining with the effort. Abel’s strikes were calculated, each one testing a different part of Malin’s defense.

“Don’t just block,” Abel urged between strikes. “Counter. Make each block an opening for an attack.”

Malin gritted his teeth, trying to follow Abel’s advice. After deflecting a downward swing, he attempted a hesitant counter, swinging toward Abel’s midsection. Abel sidestepped easily, smirking slightly, but he nodded in approval.

“Good effort,” he said. “You’ll get there.”

They continued, Malin’s movements becoming slightly more confident with each attempt. The morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows as they sparred, the sounds of clashing metal echoing across the empty sands. Malin’s breath came in heavy pants, and his muscles burned, but he could feel a change within himself—a resilience, a newfound strength.

After what felt like hours, Abel finally lowered his sword, giving Malin a nod. “That’s enough for today. You’ve done well.”

Malin let out a breath of relief, sinking to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Despite his exhaustion, a small smile crept onto his face. He had survived his first training, and though he was far from being a skilled fighter, he felt more capable than he had before.

Maya placed a hand on his shoulder, her gaze warm. “You did great, Malin. You’re learning quickly.”

Malin looked up, meeting her eyes with a grateful smile. “Thank you… both of you. I know I still have a lot to learn, but… I’ll get there.”

Abel sheathed his sword, his usual stoic expression softening for a brief moment. “Just remember, out here, survival isn’t about being the strongest. It’s about being prepared.”

They sat together in silence for a few moments, the weight of the morning settling over them. Each of them was lost in thought, contemplating the journey that lay ahead and the dangers that awaited. But for now, they had each other, and with every step forward, they grew stronger as a team.

As they packed up their camp and prepared to continue their trek, Malin felt a surge of determination. He wasn’t the same helpless baker he used to be.

In the Osuninya Bakery, Nahra adjusted the fabric wrapped tightly around her head and shoulders, glancing nervously at Zara as they prepared to step into the bustling marketplace. She wore layers of rugged, travel-worn clothing, borrowed from some of Zara’s male acquaintances who had no idea they were helping disguise a princess. The heavy fabric covered her features well, obscuring her delicate face and soft curves. The only parts of her visible were her eyes, wide and apprehensive as they peered over the scarf wrapped around her lower face.

"How do I look?" Nahra asked, her voice a near whisper, muffled by the layers and edged with uncertainty.

Zara stepped back to take her in, appraising her from head to toe with a critical eye. The older woman had done her best to prepare Nahra for their venture into the heart of Bulsi-Jan's crowded marketplace, a place where the wrong look, word, or gesture could give away their identities. With Nahra’s slim build and the graceful way she carried herself, even the rugged disguise did little to hide her true nature.

“You look… as much like a young adventurer as we could hope for,” Zara said with a reassuring smile, reaching out to straighten the scarf around Nahra’s head. “Just remember—no talking. Your voice will give you away in an instant.”

Nahra nodded, tightening her grip on the simple satchel slung over her shoulder, its contents holding nothing of value to an onlooker, but crucial for the tasks ahead. Her fingers fidgeted over the strap, her eyes darting anxiously to the market entrance. “I understand, Zara. I just… I’ve never had to hide like this before. What if… what if someone sees through it?”

Zara took her hands, giving them a firm squeeze. “They won’t. I’ll be doing all the talking, remember? All you have to do is keep your head down, nod when I speak to you, and look like a weary traveler with a grudge against the world.” She chuckled softly, her tone warm and reassuring. “We’ll be fine, Nahra. I’ve done this many times before. You just have to trust me.”

Nahra managed a small, grateful smile, though her eyes still held a flicker of fear. She wasn’t used to this kind of deception, to hiding behind a mask and playing a role. But she knew this was necessary. If she was to gain the power she needed to protect her family and her kingdom, she couldn’t afford to let fear hold her back.

Zara sensed the hesitation lingering in her, and her expression softened. “Nahra, I know this isn’t easy. But remember why you’re doing this. You’re stepping out of the palace, out of the safety of your title, to gain the strength that only the truly brave dare to seek. You’re doing this for the people you love. And that makes you stronger than any disguise.”

Nahra took a deep breath, allowing Zara’s words to sink in, grounding herself in the purpose behind this mission. She straightened, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. “You’re right. I can do this.” Her voice was still soft, but there was a determined edge to it now.

Zara gave her a nod of approval. “That’s the spirit. Remember, let me do the talking. If anyone asks, you’re my nephew, a shy young man new to the city. And you don’t speak because…” She paused, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’re still sore about an old love that went wrong. It’s a story most people won’t pry into.”

Nahra stifled a chuckle, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “A broken heart. I suppose that’ll do as an excuse.”

“Good,” Zara said, pulling her own scarf over her head and adjusting the modest cloak around her shoulders. “Now, stay close to me. And whatever you do, keep your head down.”

Together, they stepped into the swirling crowd of the marketplace, the cacophony of voices and scents washing over them in an overwhelming wave. Merchants called out their wares, from vibrant spices to hand-forged weapons, their voices blending with the shouts of customers and the haggling of traders. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, incense, and the subtle metallic tang of newly forged steel.

Nahra stayed close to Zara, keeping her head slightly bowed, her eyes flitting from stall to stall. She’d seen markets before, of course, but nothing quite like this. Here, people from all walks of life mingled—travelers, merchants, and mercenaries, each moving with purpose and intensity. She couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement mix with her nerves. For the first time in her life, she was anonymous, a face in the crowd rather than the princess watched by everyone around her.

As they passed a stall selling small trinkets, a merchant called out to them, his voice gruff but inviting. “You there! Young man with your aunt—care for a charm to bring you fortune?”

Nahra glanced up instinctively, but Zara immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her forward. “Not today, friend,” Zara replied smoothly, her voice carrying a familiar ease that Nahra envied. “My nephew has no need of luck charms. He’s stubborn enough to make his own luck.”

The merchant laughed heartily, nodding in agreement. “Aye, he looks the type! Well, if he ever changes his mind, you know where to find me.”

They moved on, Zara keeping a steady pace, her gaze sharp as she scanned the crowd. They had a destination, a particular shop tucked away in a shadowed corner of the market where they could begin their search for the tools Nahra needed.

“See?” Zara murmured to Nahra as they walked, her tone low and reassuring. “Just like that. Keep your head down, stay quiet, and let them make their own assumptions. Most people aren’t looking too closely anyway. They’re too busy worrying about their own lives.”

Nahra nodded, grateful for Zara’s guidance. Her initial nervousness was beginning to ease, replaced by a cautious confidence. They continued weaving through the crowd, Zara leading them expertly through the maze of stalls and vendors.

Finally, they reached the dimly lit corner of the market where Zara’s contact waited—a quiet, unassuming man who dealt in weapons and enchanted trinkets, the kind that most people didn’t talk about openly. He was discreet, and Zara trusted him enough to help them get what they needed without raising suspicions.

Zara gave Nahra one last reassuring squeeze on the arm. “Remember, let me handle the talking. Just stay close.”

Nahra nodded, taking a deep breath as they approached the man’s stall. This was it—the first step on her journey to gain the power she needed, to protect the kingdom and those she loved.