The morning air was crisp, and the sky a pale, washed-out gray as Mihai trudged to the training grounds. The ache in his muscles had settled into a familiar companion, his body slowly adjusting to the demands of Conall’s lessons. His new armor was becoming less of a burden, though the weight of his swords still felt like a challenge every time he took his stance.
Conall was already there, waiting with his arms crossed, his stern gaze appraising as Mihai approached.
“About time,” Conall said, though Mihai was early. “Don’t lose your energy in the first swing. Save it for when it counts.”
Mihai nodded, feeling the slight jab settle as encouragement rather than criticism. He drew his swords, adjusting his stance, focusing on what Conall had taught him about balance and flow. He took a deep breath, centering himself before lifting the right sword for a practice slash.
This time, the swing was smoother, less forced. The blade cut through the air in a clean arc, his grip steady. Conall watched with narrowed eyes, giving a faint nod as Mihai adjusted his left sword to follow, building on the momentum of his first strike.
“Better,” Conall said. “Not perfect, but better. You’re learning to feel the weight instead of forcing it.”
Mihai let out a breath, feeling a hint of satisfaction. He reset his stance, focusing on the advice Conall had given him. Slowly, methodically, he practiced each movement, his body learning to flow with the weight of the blades rather than resisting.
After some time, Conall raised a hand, signaling for a break. Mihai sheathed his swords, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. The effort left him sweating, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of control over the weight he carried.
As he caught his breath, Mihai noticed a figure approaching from the village. A woman with a cheerful, open face and an apron dusted with flour was heading their way, carrying a basket draped with cloth. She smiled broadly as she neared, her eyes crinkling with warmth.
“Well, there ye are,” she called out, waving a hand. “Worked up an appetite already, have ye?”
Mihai glanced at Conall, who looked a bit less imposing as the woman came closer. Conall gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile, though his usual stoic demeanor remained.
“Aye, we’ve been working,” Conall replied, gesturing to Mihai. “This one’s getting the hang of it.”
She beamed at Mihai, reaching into the basket. “I’m Nessa, by the way. Conall’s better half. If ye’re going to be training with this grump, ye’ll be needin’ all the energy ye can get.” She handed Mihai a thick slice of bread and cheese, and a flask of fresh water.
“Thank you, Nessa,” Mihai said, taking the food gratefully. He bit into the bread, savoring its warmth. “I need all the help I can get with this training.”
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“Ah, he’s puttin’ ye through it, is he?” Nessa winked, nudging her husband playfully. “Don’t mind him, lad. He’s only so serious because he cares.”
Conall cleared his throat, glancing away as if embarrassed. “I’ve seen enough blood spilled by those blasted beasts. Don’t need any more wasted youth because they weren’t prepared.”
A shadow crossed Nessa’s face, but she recovered quickly, turning to Mihai with a gentle smile. “Ye remind us of someone, Mihai. Our son… he’d have been about your age now.”
Mihai looked at her, feeling the weight of her words. He saw the pain in her eyes, carefully hidden behind her cheerful smile, and understood that their loss was part of the reason Conall was so driven to train him.
“I’ll do my best,” Mihai said quietly. “I won’t let you down.”
Nessa’s face softened, and she reached out, patting his arm. “Ye’ll do just fine, lad. And if this one gives ye any trouble,” she jerked her thumb at Conall, “ye come to me, and I’ll set him straight.”
Conall gave a huff, though Mihai caught the faintest glint of amusement in his gaze. “Enough chattering. This lad’s here to learn, not loaf about.”
With a last smile, Nessa waved to them both, her laughter lingering in the air as she headed back to the village. Mihai watched her go, a renewed sense of determination settling over him. Conall’s family had suffered because of the dark creatures that roamed this world, and Mihai felt the weight of that history in every swing of his swords.
“All right, then,” Conall said, his voice softer than before. “Back to it.”
Mihai nodded, setting his stance again. The day wore on, Conall guiding him through the fundamentals with an unyielding focus, each correction as precise as a blade’s edge. Mihai found himself gaining confidence, his movements becoming smoother, his balance steadier.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Conall called a halt, his expression showing the faintest hint of approval.
“Not bad,” he said, clapping Mihai on the shoulder. “We’ll make a warrior of ye yet.”
Later That Evening
Conall led Mihai to the village pub, where the warm glow of lanterns spilled onto the narrow cobbled streets. Laughter and the murmur of conversation drifted from inside, a welcome contrast to the day’s intense focus.
Inside, the pub was cozy and bustling, villagers gathered around tables with mugs of ale, sharing stories and laughter. Brokk was seated near the hearth, his fiery beard illuminated by the flames, a mug in one hand and his usual gleam of mischief in his eye.
“Well, look who it is!” Brokk bellowed as they entered, raising his mug. “Our new warrior, fresh from training!”
Mihai grinned, feeling a surge of pride at the acknowledgment. Conall guided him to a table near Brokk, who poured him a mug of ale with a flourish.
“Here ye go, lad,” Brokk said, sliding the mug over. “Consider it a reward for surviving a day with Conall here. I’ve heard he’s as tough as old leather.”
Conall rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just doing what needs to be done.”
As they settled into their drinks, Mihai noticed two figures at a nearby table, their features delicate and sharp, their eyes a shade too bright, their movements graceful yet detached. They wore hooded cloaks, but he caught a glimpse of pointed ears beneath the fabric.
“Elves?” he asked, nodding toward the pair.
Brokk leaned in, his tone low but tinged with amusement. “Aye, that they are. Rare sight around here. Elves mostly keep to their own, hidden away in their enchanted woods. Ye’ll only see ’em here if they’re on a mission… or if they’ve been cast out.”
Mihai glanced at the elves, curiosity sparking. He’d read about elves in tales, but seeing them here, surrounded by the bustle of the village pub, felt surreal.
“One’s a hunter, by the look of him,” Conall added, his gaze flicking to the elf’s slender, well-crafted bow. “The other’s a mage, I’d wager. Elves don’t take kindly to outsiders, but they respect skill. Just don’t expect them to stay and share a drink.”
As they spoke, the elves rose and slipped out of the pub, moving with a silent grace that seemed to blend with the shadows. Mihai watched them go, feeling a strange sense of connection—outsiders in a world that didn’t fully welcome them.
The conversation shifted, and Brokk regaled them with stories of his travels, his booming laughter filling the room as he recounted wild tales and near-misses. Mihai found himself laughing along, the weight of the day’s training lightened by the warmth and camaraderie.
As the night wore on, Conall placed a hand on Mihai’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, we continue. Balance, patience, and endurance. You’re making progress, but there’s more to learn.”
Mihai nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. The training was grueling, but with each passing day, he was beginning to see himself as part of something greater—a protector of the village, someone who could make a difference.
As they left the pub, Mihai glanced back at the warm glow, the laughter and voices fading as they stepped into the cool night. He looked at Conall, at Brokk, and felt the strength of their shared purpose. The path was long, and the challenges ahead daunting, but with each swing of his swords, with every lesson from Conall, he was readying himself for the darkness that lay beyond the village’s edge.