Atop a mound there lays old battlements, time had not been kind to the stone structure, its whitewash had long since disappeared and the hinges on its gates were rusted. the moat was in an abysmal state filled with rocks and sediment, the old wooden bridge that allowed passage was the only thing that looked like it would last.

Inside the walls was a grand keep its structure was odd, walls would protrude and intersect while windows were seldom seen, there was a large open training yard with a large, rusted star embedded into the stone that hid beneath the layers of dirt and grim from the love the yard had received. The keep had many spires all of which were at a slant their construction would seem poor but the servants who walked up them every day seemed content.

Deep below the mound lays the remnants of an old and grand cistern its rooms stretching far beyond the walls of the castle above, few of those rooms were actually used for water however as the cistern was in great disrepair. One of the nonfunctional rooms was blocked off with a set of stairs that led further down, there in the confines of the darkness was an old library its books long since forbidden by law. There was only one shabby piece of parchment that lay with its content exposed.

The parchment contained very few lines, dating back only six generations from the first Hrafn to grace the Beorgas region with his presence to Gelach Hrafn the current head and his child Aodh Hrafn.

Little was known about Aodh outside of the castle, but he was both an incredibly smart and dumb young man who would soon come of age. That young man was sitting atop one of the keeps many wonky spires reading a book leisurely with a cup of tea. The book the boy was reading was on the architectural tendencies of the ancient empire, he was always fascinated with how far the continent had devolved from the time of the empires fall of such a country that once ruled their entire continent.

Once Aodh had finished his cup of tea he put down his book intent on basking in the suns warming gaze but as the sun baked into his jet-black hair that was held together in a ponytail by a midnight blue ribbon, he felt regret for looking, as he witnessed his father gather the men at arms for training the silver lines on his black mask glistened in the light.

Aodh begrudgingly walked away from one of the keeps few windows and headed into the darkness of the castle. Going down the stairs the boy had the appearance of a ghost as he waded through the fishy smell of spilt oil in the dim halls lit by rows of lamps.

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Once at the courtyard Aodh sighed in regret before pushing off the ground with his long, nimble legs as he hurried to catch up with the others running laps of the yard. his black formalwear was hardly the right outfit, but he was late and had no time to be picky with clothes, especially when his father was running the drills.

Aodh felt like something wasn’t right his ears felt not the usual insults that came barrelling his way nor the shouts of exhaustion from the other men at arms.

After the warmup concluded Aodh stood there pondering what could make his father so lenient, especially on such a good day for training, there were no signs of rain nor was the sun incinerating his scalp.

However, while he had been lost in thought his father had announced sparring, he would have been fine if everyone hadn’t already run away from his father pairing up with however they could. in the throng of fleeing men Aodh could even see some of his friends give him a look of pity or amusement.

Now with a headache brewing Aodh decided to walk towards his father knowing that escape would just book him in for a whole new world of hurt.

Jokingly Aodh asked.

“So, who died?”

“No one, why?”

“You were going easy on the warmup and were doing sparring instead of a drill.”

“Ah, you have to conserve your energy for tomorrow.”

“what’s on tomorrow?”

“…Seriously?”

“What?”

“The ritual”

“Oh… yeah, I forgot about that.”

“Just grab a sword.”

Aodh had realised after his father mentioned the ritual but seeing his attempt to waste more time thwarted Aodh went to the racks and grabbed his training sword. it was a long two-handed sword, well-used too with a fair bit of weight to its soft wooden form, all thanks to its metal core.

Aodh sauntered back over to his father with a slouched back, even still he was the second tallest even amongst so many grown men, the only one taller was his father who looked more akin to a beast or a tower.

Aodh dug his right foot into the ground and pushed off lowering his posture further striking the back of his father’s knee.

Gelach fell to the ground but as he did so he struck hard at Aodh’s neck causing him to fall flat and cough up a little spit.

Despite the harsh attack Aodh did not complain, it was his father’s punishment for such an underhanded move, but even though it was underhanded he was still given advice as if he had done it properly.

“If you go for the knee’s keep your body to the side of your opponent, never expose your neck.”

His father’s words held no contempt which made Aodh dread the exercise more as he couldn’t throw aside his father’s hard work by fucking around.

Aodh resumed his assault and with every defeat he would receive a comment, few of which contained praise, but it was present nonetheless pushing Aodh on to try and survive more than three strikes.

The sparring continued and Aodh managed to remain standing until the end a stark contrast to the year before when he would be half dead on the ground after only a few bouts, remembering this Aodh let out a self-deprecating laugh as his father walked away to resume his duties as the lord of the estate, not even a drop of sweat gracing his masked figure.