2

  The Swordmaster’s Daughter

  The suns crept over the jagged peaks surrounding Emberfall, casting a soft golden light that kissed the stone rooftops and scattered shadows across the cobbled streets below. The kingdom, cloaked in a haze of morning dew, stirred gently, its quiet hum growing louder as life unfurled with the dawn. Thin wisps of smoke curled from chimneys, mixing with the fresh scent of damp earth and distant pines. Birds flitted from rooftop to rooftop, calling to one another as if to declare the day their own, while the first few merchants and soldiers began to populate the quiet streets, preparing for the bustle that was yet to come.

  In the shadow of Emberfall's castle, nestled in a modest stone house overlooking the training grounds, a young girl with mismatched eyes and an irrepressible grin tiptoed through her father’s door. Alyc Halcyhon stifled a laugh, watching Durk, the kingdom’s renowned swordmaster and her father, sprawled across his bed, snoring softly. His arm dangled off the edge, and his usually stern face was softened by the peace of sleep.

  With the precision of someone who had made a habit of this, Alyc lifted a nearby pillow, clutched it tightly, and tiptoed closer until she was right by his head. Leaning down, she whispered in a theatrical stage voice, “Durk Halcyhon, legendary swordmaster, feared across Emberfall, has finally met his match.”

  With a mischievous glint, she whacked him lightly with the pillow. Durk jolted awake, a confused grunt escaping him as his eyes flew open. His hand shot up defensively, and then his gaze landed on Alyc’s beaming face.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he muttered, trying to mask a grin. “Come to finish me off, have you?”

  Alyc burst into laughter, dropping the pillow and crossing her arms in feigned disappointment. “Not much of a fight for someone who’s trained half of Emberfall. I thought you’d at least have your sword drawn by now.”

  Durk rubbed his eyes and sat up, chuckling. “Very funny, little warrior. Just you wait until I have my morning tea I’ll have the energy to dodge at least a few more pillow attacks.”

  Alyc plopped down beside him on the bed, her laughter settling into a warm smile. There was a comfort in their mornings like this, an easygoing affection that carried them through each day. “You’re just getting slow, old man. What would the High King say if he knew his swordmaster couldn’t fend off his own daughter?”

  Durk snorted, tousling her hair affectionately. “The High King would probably hire you as his new swordmaster and tell me to retire.”

  Alyc’s grin widened as she swatted his hand away. “And I’d take the job in a heartbeat.”

  They shared a quiet laugh, the sound mingling with the morning light that poured through the window, casting a warm glow around them. Durk’s gaze softened, pride flickering in his tired eyes as he looked at her. She was his light, his little warrior spirited, fierce, and full of life.

  After a few more playful exchanges, Durk swung his legs off the bed and stretched, his muscles groaning in protest. Alyc hopped up beside him, already pulling on her tunic and tugging her boots over her worn stockings. She paused to adjust a loose strap on her chestplate, a modest piece of armor Durk had gifted her when she’d first expressed an interest in training.Durk, meanwhile, picked up his own armor from the corner of the room. It was a plain, sturdy set, its leather scuffed and marked from years of use. Though his title afforded him more elaborate attire, Durk had always chosen practicality over decoration. As he worked to fasten his chest plate, Alyc stepped over, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Here, let me help,” she said, tugging on one of the straps with practiced ease. “I swear, if it weren’t for me, you’d be walking around with your armor half falling off.” “Is that so?” Durk replied, his tone playful but his eyes warm. “What would I do without my little assistant? Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me how to swing a sword properly.”

  “Oh, I’ve been tempted,” Alyc teased, grinning as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Besides, someone has to keep you in shape. Imagine the shock if you showed up to train the soldiers looking like a lazy old bear.”

  Durk chuckled, swatting her arm lightly as he straightened his armor. “You’re too cheeky for your own good. One of these days, someone’s going to challenge you to back up all that talk.”

  “Let them,” Alyc said, her tone full of lighthearted confidence. “They’ll be so stunned by my skill; they won’t know what hit them.”

  He shook his head, clearly amused, and reached for his sword. As he buckled it at his side, his expression grew thoughtful. “You know,” he began, adjusting the sheath, “tonight is a special night.”

  Alyc’s brow furrowed slightly as she caught his gaze. “Because of the Departure Feast?”

  Durk nodded, his smile softening. “Yes, but it’s more than that. Tonight, the whole kingdom gathers to honor the ones who represent us at the Trials. And someday, that might just be you.” His hand rested on her shoulder, steady and firm. “You’ve got the heart of a warrior, Alyc.”

  Alyc’s teasing demeanor softened at his words. She looked up at him, feeling a swell of joy and affection. “I’m going to make you proud, Dad. I promise.”

  Durk nodded, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You already have, little warrior.”

  With one last adjustment to her armor, Alyc gave her father a playful salute. “Now, come on. If we don’t hurry, the soldiers will start the morning drills without us, and I don’t want them to think I’m getting soft just because I’m babysitting the swordmaster.”

  Durk laughed, ruffling her hair one last time before they headed out the door together. Their laughter mingled with the sounds of Emberfall waking, a morning ritual full of love, strength, and a bond that was unbreakable.

  The streets of Emberfall were alive with the early stirrings of the day. As Alyc and Durk walked side by side, the kingdom around them buzzed with a quiet, familiar energy that felt as natural as breathing. Golden light washed over the earthy hues of Emberfall’s architecture buildings crafted from stone and wood, adorned with intricate carvings that paid homage to the kingdom's fiery spirit. Banners bearing the kingdom’s emblem a blazing suns flanked by wings of fire fluttered in the morning breeze, bright and proud against the warm toned facades.

  Market vendors were already setting up their stalls, filling the air with the clinks of metal and the smells of fresh bread and herbs. Alyc’s eyes darted from one familiar face to another, her smile widening as townsfolk called out friendly greetings.

  “Morning, Durk! Morning, Alyc!” an elderly baker called, lifting a flour dusted hand in greeting as he arranged loaves in his stall.

  Durk waved back, chuckling. “Morning, Caster. Save us a loaf, will you? Alyc here eats like she’s feeding an army.”

  Alyc rolled her eyes, grinning as she nudged him. “Maybe if someone didn’t wake me at the crack of dawn for training, I wouldn’t be so hungry.”

  They continued down the bustling street, passing blacksmiths already hard at work. Sparks flew from their forges, casting bursts of light into the air as the rhythmic clang of hammers filled the street. One of the smiths, a burly man with arms like tree trunks, looked up and nodded respectfully to Durk.

  “Training hard, are we?” he called, his voice carrying over the noise.

  “As always,” Durk replied, clapping a hand on Alyc’s shoulder. “Keeping this one in line is a fulltime job.”

  Alyc laughed, shaking her head as she waved at the blacksmith. She loved this walk through Emberfall in the morning, with its vibrant sights and sounds and the sense of belonging that wrapped around her like a warm cloak.

  They passed by a series of statues, each depicting figures from Emberfall’s long and storied history. Durk paused in front of one particular statue, a bronze figure of a woman standing tall, her sword pointed downwards, her gaze resolute.

  “That’s Elara the Bold,” Durk murmured, his voice soft with reverence. “Led her army to victory in the Battle of Scorched Valley. They say she fought for three days straight without rest, keeping Emberfall safe from invaders.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Alyc looked up at the statue, admiration shining in her mismatched eyes. “She looks fierce.”

  “She was,” Durk replied, his hand resting on her shoulder. “She fought for her people, for her kingdom. She didn’t have to be the strongest she just needed the will to stand, no matter what.”

  They walked on, Durk pointing out landmarks and recounting tales of Emberfall’s heroes and legends, stories he’d shared with her countless times but that never seemed to lose their magic. Through these tales, she could feel the weight of Emberfall’s legacy a history of resilience, courage, and fierce loyalty.

  As they neared the training grounds, Durk gestured to a stone bridge that arched gracefully over a narrow river. On each end stood two statues warriors with swords drawn, their faces hardened with determination. “The Guardians of Ember,” he said, a note of calm in his voice. “Symbol of Emberfall’s eternal promise to protect its own.”

  Alyc nodded, feeling a sense of quiet pride settle over her. Emberfall was more than just her home it was her heritage, a part of who she was. Durk’s stories, the statues, the proud emblems on the banners they all reminded her of the responsibility that came with being a part of this kingdom.

  “Ready for the day, little warrior?” Durk asked, his gaze steady.

  Alyc straightened, her smile unwavering. “Always.”

  The training grounds sprawled before them; a wide expanse of packed earth ringed by wooden fences. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and leather, mixed with the faint metallic tang of steel. Alyc’s heart skipped a beat as she spotted the other competitors already assembled, each one a familiar face, yet each as distinct and formidable as the heroes her father had just described.

  Bregund Forwart was the first to catch her eye. Lithe and agile, he moved with a disciplined grace that reminded her of the sleek, silent predators she’d read about in her father’s books. His skin was tanned from long hours spent under the suns, his dark hair tied back in a simple knot. He stood at ease, his hands clasped behind him, his gaze calm and focused. Though he didn’t say much, Alyc could sense an inner strength, a quiet determination that marked him as a force to be reckoned with.

  “Bregund,” she greeted him with a nod, which he returned with a respectful smile.

  Next was Sace Vilgar, a towering figure with broad shoulders and a chest as solid as a fortress wall. His amber eyes gleamed with a wisdom born of countless battles, and the lines etched into his weathered face told stories Alyc could only guess at. His long beard was flecked with gray, adding a touch of rugged dignity to his already imposing presence. When he saw Durk, his face broke into a rare, warm smile.

  “Durk,” he rumbled, his voice as deep as the earth. “Still putting these youngsters through their paces, I see.”

  Durk chuckled, clapping Sace on the shoulder. “Someone has to keep them in shape. Good to see you, old friend.”

  Alyc grinned, sensing the shared history between the two men. Sace’s presence was like a mountain steady, unwavering, a figure of quiet authority.

  Then there was Vienna Hast, a woman of striking beauty and intelligence. Her red hair flowed freely around her sharp features, and her eyes sparkled with a calculating light that missed nothing. Vienna was known for her wit as much as her swordsmanship, and as she met Alyc’s gaze, her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

  “Alyc,” she said, her voice smooth and poised. “Ready to watch the great Durk Halcyhon work his magic?”

  Alyc laughed. “I’ll take notes.”

  Further down, Magra Broost stood partially hidden in the shadows, a figure cloaked in mystery. His movements were deliberate and quiet, as if he were more shadow than flesh. His eyes, Alyc noted, seemed to gleam an eerie green in the dim light. He gave her a silent nod, his gaze unreadable, and she felt a thrill of intrigue mixed with a hint of wariness. Magra’s skill was as much rumor as fact, and his enigmatic aura added a layer of danger to his otherwise unassuming demeanor.

  Last but certainly not least was Brook Browner, a veritable giant of a man with shoulders broad enough to rival a tree trunk. His beard, a thick reddish brown, added to his rugged appearance, and his booming laughter filled the air as he greeted Alyc with a hearty pat on the back.

  “There’s my little warrior!” he said, his grin infectious. “Here to show us how it’s done?”

  Alyc chuckled, playfully shoving him back. “Only if you promise not to crush me.”

  As she greeted each of the competitors, Alyc felt a sense of camaraderie settle around her. These were more than just allies; they were her friends, her family. She saw the way her father exchanged nods with each of them, his pride unmistakable. In their eyes, Alyc saw the same respect they had for Durk the acknowledgment that she was his daughter, but also that she was becoming a force in her own right.

  Durk’s hand rested on her shoulder as he surveyed the group, his gaze steady and full of joy. “All right, you lot,” he said, his voice carrying a note of authority mixed with warmth. “Let’s get to work.”

  With that, the day’s training began, the competitors ready and eager, united by a shared purpose and a bond forged in the fires of Emberfall’s indomitable spirit.

  The training grounds grew silent as Durk stepped to the center of the group, his presence commanding their undivided attention. He raised a hand, and each competitor instinctively fell into a circle around him, their faces attentive and respectful. Durk’s gaze moved over each of them, pride evident in his eyes as he took in the diverse mix of warriors he’d helped train and shape.

  “Today marks the end of many months of training,” Durk began, his voice steady yet filled with warmth. “You’ve pushed yourselves hard, endured every challenge I’ve thrown your way, and shown the strength and resilience that define Emberfall. Each of you stands here today because you’ve earned it, because you embody the spirit of this kingdom.”

  The competitors exchanged glances, the weight of his words settling over them like armor. Durk nodded, as if confirming a silent promise between them. “Tonight is the Departure Feast,” he continued, “a tradition that goes back as far as Emberfall itself. As you represent this kingdom, you carry its heart and its honor. Show discipline, respect, and humility. Remember, this is a celebration of what you have accomplished, but also a reminder of the responsibility we all share.”

  Alyc felt her chest swell with anxiety as Durk’s words washed over her. She glanced at her fellow competitors and saw the same reverence reflected in their faces, each of them listening intently, absorbing every word.

  “Give your best in the sparring today,” Durk concluded, his voice softening slightly, his gaze resting on Alyc for a brief moment before moving on. “And remember this isn’t just about proving your strength. It’s about forging bonds that will carry you forward. Support each other, learn from each other. That is the true strength of Emberfall.”

  He straightened, a quiet strength radiating from him as he looked at each of them. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  With a shared nod of determination, the group dispersed, each competitor mentally preparing for the upcoming sparring session. Durk’s words had struck a chord, a reminder of both the weight of their duty and the deep, unwavering respect they held for their mentor.

  The competitors paired off, each preparing for a test of strength and skill under Durk’s watchful eye. Alyc found herself facing Sace Vilgar, his towering frame and seasoned gaze lending him a daunting presence. Yet, she felt a thrill of excitement tinged with a healthy dose of nerves; Sace’s experience was well known, but Alyc was determined to give him a true challenge.

  Sace drew his training sword, his stance relaxed but alert, eyes studying Alyc’s every move. “Ready, little warrior?” he teased, his voice warm but edged with respect.

  Alyc nodded, gripping her own sword tightly. She centered herself, recalling the hours spent in this very spot, perfecting her footwork, her strikes, and her defenses under her father’s careful guidance. With a measured breath, she settled into her stance, alert and ready.

  They circled each other, the rhythm of their movements slow and deliberate at first. Alyc’s eyes tracked Sace’s every shift, studying the small adjustments he made, searching for an opening. Without warning, she lunged, her blade arcing swiftly toward him. Sace countered easily, deflecting her strike with a smooth, practiced motion that sent a slight shiver up her arm.

  Undeterred, Alyc pressed forward, each strike more precise than the last. She focused on maintaining her balance, adjusting her stance just as Durk had taught her, her feet moving in perfect coordination as she weaved in and out of Sace’s reach. Her mind was sharp, her focus unbreakable, and she could feel a growing confidence in each movement, her strikes landing closer and closer to her mark.

  Sace’s eyes crinkled with a hint of humor as he countered her attacks, his own movements calm and controlled. His experience was evident in his ease, his sword meeting hers with an almost casual grace that Alyc couldn’t help but admire. But she was determined to give him a real challenge, to prove that she was more than just Durk’s daughter.

  She pressed forward with a feint, drawing his blade to the side before twisting and aiming a quick jab toward his shoulder. For a split second, she saw an opening, her heart leaping with excitement as her blade moved in.

  But her foot slipped, just barely, and in that instant of imbalance, Sace reacted with a speed that left her breathless. His sword met hers with a quick parry, redirecting her momentum just enough to send her sprawling off balance. Before she could recover, the flat of his blade touched her shoulder, signaling his victory.

  Alyc froze, a mix of frustration and awe bubbling within her as she looked up at him. Sace’s face softened, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he lowered his sword and offered her a hand.

  “You’ve got talent, Alyc,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “But remember control is everything. Even a small slip can turn the tide of a fight.”

  She nodded, absorbing his words, her cheeks tinged with both embarrassment and gratitude. “Thank you, Sace. I’ll work on it.”

  He patted her shoulder, his gaze warm with respect. “I have no doubt. You’re already a formidable opponent just imagine what you’ll be with a little more time.”

  As they shared a respectful nod, Alyc glanced around to see the other pairs locked in their own intense battles. Bregund moved with a disciplined precision against Magra, each strike measured and controlled, his calm demeanor contrasting with Magra’s mysterious and almost shadowy style. Meanwhile, Vienna and Brook sparred with contrasting approaches, her sharp, calculated movements clashing with his raw strength and relentless energy. Every clash of swords and scrape of boots on the ground filled the air with a rhythm that seemed to pulse with the spirit of Emberfall.

  Alyc watched her friends in admiration, feeling a sense of belonging that filled her with quiet sense of being in a big family. These weren’t just competitors they were comrades, allies, and, in many ways, family. Durk’s voice carried over the training grounds, offering advice, adjusting stances, and occasionally sharing a wry comment that drew laughter from the group.

  As the session continued, Alyc felt her confidence returning. She and Sace sparred again, this time with a renewed sense of determination. She focused on each movement, grounding herself in every step, every swing. Th