3

  FireFang

  The suns had nearly set, casting Emberfall in a soft, amber light as Alyc and Durk returned home after a long day of training. The warmth of the day still lingered, mingling with the scents of the village a faint mixture of wood smoke, freshly baked bread, and the earthy aroma of the fields. It was a comforting backdrop, one that Alyc had come to love as much as the home she shared with her father.

  “Go on,” Durk said, nudging her toward the washroom with a grin. “You first. You’ve earned it after that spar with Sace today.”

  Alyc smirked, taking the hint. “You mean you’re trying to avoid getting called old and slow again?”

  Durk chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re going to regret that tomorrow when we’re back on the training grounds, little warrior.”

  “Promises, promises,” she teased, ducking into the washroom and shutting the door behind her.

  As the water filled the tub, she sank down into its warmth, sighing contentedly as the aches of the day began to melt away. Her mind replayed the events of the sparring session her near victory against Sace, the laughter shared with her fellow competitors, and, above all, the love in her father’s eyes as he’d watched her. She felt a spark of excitement for the evening ahead. The Departure Feast was one of Emberfall’s grandest traditions, and tonight, she would stand beside her father and the other warriors of her kingdom, honored as one of their own.

  After her bath, Alyc dried off quickly, pulling on the simple yet finely stitched tunic she’d saved for special occasions. It was a deep red, the same shade as Emberfall’s banners, and she paired it with a brown leather belt, decorated with small, etched designs of flames that her father had once carved. She smoothed the fabric over her shoulders, glancing in the small mirror with a grin. For once, she didn’t look like a scrappy, mismatched kid. Tonight, she looked…almost like a warrior.

  Stepping out of the washroom, she found Durk waiting, ready for his turn. “Not bad,” he said, giving her a quick nod of approval. “You might even make the High King do a double take tonight.”

  Alyc laughed. “Only if he’s lost his eyesight.”

  Durk chuckled and slipped into the washroom to clean up, leaving Alyc to her thoughts. She wandered around their small home, her fingers brushing over the mementos scattered throughout framed sketches of her mother, a well used sword that Durk kept by the door, and a half worn wooden Thyndar she’d played with as a child. Each item seemed to hold its own piece of Emberfall’s history, reminders of the legacy she was slowly stepping into.

  When Durk returned, his hair still damp from the bath, he looked every bit the part of Emberfall’s renowned swordmaster. His tunic, a dark green with embroidered silver detailing, complemented the sturdy leather belt he wore, which bore the scars of a hundred battles. Alyc admired his strong, steady presence, a mix of esteem and admiration settling over her. This was her father the warrior, the mentor, and the man who had raised her with unwavering love and strength.

  “Excited for tonight?” Durk asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “More than excited,” she replied, a hint of nerves creeping into her voice. “But it feels…big, somehow. Like it’s more than just a feast.”

  Durk smiled, a spark of something unreadable in his eyes. “That’s because it is. Tonight, you’ll stand among Emberfall’s finest. It’s a place you’ve earned, Alyc. So enjoy it, and remember tonight is about celebrating you and everything you’ve worked for.”

  Alyc beamed, feeling a swell of respect at his words. There was something in his tone that felt different, though something that made her wonder if he had more to say. She was about to ask him when he cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling with a familiar warmth.

  “Now, go wait in the main room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Alyc stood in the main room, adjusting the belt around her tunic as she waited for Durk. The warm light of the setting suns spilled through the windows, casting a golden glow over the room, which was still and quiet, almost expectant. She was lost in thought, wondering what her father was up to, when his voice broke the silence.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Alyc turned, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

  “Close your eyes,” Durk repeated, a hint of mischief in his voice. “Trust me.”

  She let out a small laugh, closing her eyes obediently. The sound of his footsteps grew closer, and she could sense him standing right in front of her. She felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder, and a faint, sweet aroma drifted up to her nose.

  “Okay, open them.”

  Alyc’s eyes blinked open, and she let out a soft gasp. In her father’s hands was a small, homemade cake, decorated with a few fresh berries and a smear of frosting that had clearly been crafted by hand. Beside it, he held a short, sleek rapier, its polished hilt catching the last rays of the suns light streaming through the window.

  “Happy 15th birthday, my little Ember,” Durk said softly, his voice warm and brimming with love.

  Alyc’s breath caught as she stared at the rapier. It was elegant but sturdy, perfectly sized for her grip. Her hand reached out instinctively, fingers grazing the cool metal of the blade, and she felt a surge of emotion as she realized what this gift meant.

  “Is this…is this really for me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  Durk nodded, a gentle smile on his face. “Your first sword. I figured it was time. You’ve proven you’re more than ready for it.”

  Alyc’s eyes shimmered with gratitude as she looked up at him, her heart swelling with delight. “Thank you, Dad. I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything,” he replied, setting down the cake and carefully placing the rapier in her hands. “But I’d say it deserves a name, don’t you think?”

  Alyc looked down at the blade, her fingers wrapping around the hilt with a sense of familiarity and comfort. She thought for a moment, letting the feeling of the sword in her hand settle into her bones.

  “FireFang,” she whispered. “It’ll be called FireFang.”

  Durk’s smile deepened, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. “A fitting name, little warrior.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, father and daughter, bound by a shared love and honor. Alyc felt a warmth settle over her, not just from the weight of the sword in her hand but from the overwhelming feeling of love and belonging that her father’s gift had instilled in her.

  “Now,” Durk said, his tone lightening, “before we lose all the light, let’s try that cake. I made it myself, so I won’t make any promises about the taste.”

  Alyc laughed, a genuine and delighted sound as they cut into the small cake together. It was simple but sweet, and as they shared the moment, Alyc felt like her heart could burst with happiness.

  Durk gave her a final, look as he set his hand gently on her shoulder. “Happy birthday, Alyc,” he murmured.

  She looked up at him, her voice steady but soft. “Thank you, Dad. For everything.”

  And with FireFang at her side and the taste of cake still sweet on her tongue, Alyc knew this would be a night she’d remember for the rest of her life.

  As Alyc and Durk stepped outside, the suns were dipping low in the sky, casting Emberfall in shades of warm gold and amber. The two suns, their dual glows softening to hues of burnt orange and pale pink, painted long shadows across the cobbled streets and bathed the buildings in a serene light. The air held a gentle warmth, mingling with a faint evening breeze that carried the scents of wood smoke and wildflowers.

  Alyc glanced up at her father, who walked beside her with a quiet, proud demeanor. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so at ease, and her heart swelled with gratitude as she clutched the hilt of her new rapier FireFang feeling it’s comforting weight at her side.

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  “It’s strange, isn’t it?” Durk mused as they strolled along the winding path toward the Great Hall. “How these feasts never lose their significance, even after all these years. I remember my first Departure Feast, just a young man, nervous and full of dreams.”

  Alyc smiled, eager to hear more. “What was it like back then?”

  Durk chuckled, his gaze distant with memory. “Grand and humbling, much like it is today. There’s always a sense of something bigger than yourself, a reminder that we’re part of a legacy. I was filled with admiration, but also a sense of responsibility. Knowing you’re walking in the footsteps of warriors who came before you…it gives the evening a certain weight.”

  Alyc nodded, soaking in his words as they walked. The road ahead of them was lined with banners bearing the emblem of Emberfall, their vibrant reds and oranges reflecting the kingdom’s indomitable spirit. People milled about, some in small groups, others with families, all heading in the same direction. A few townsfolk recognized Durk, nodding respectfully, while some waved at Alyc, their smiles warm and encouraging.

  “Tonight,” Durk continued, “you’ll feel what it’s like to be a part of that legacy, Alyc. It’s more than just a celebration. It’s a reminder of who we are and what we fight for. And someday, it will be you standing there, guiding others.”

  Alyc’s listened quietly. The thought of representing Emberfall, of carrying on its legacy, was both exhilarating and daunting. She looked at the hall up ahead, its grand silhouette rising against the dusky sky, and felt a mixture of anticipation and reverence.

  “Thank you, Dad,” she said quietly, feeling the weight of his words settle over her. “For everything you’ve taught me.”

  Durk smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s my honor, little warrior.”

  As they neared the Great Hall, the setting sun cast a final golden glow over Emberfall, the warm light seeming to bless the father and daughter as they stepped forward, ready to join the night’s festivities.

  Alyc’s heart skipped a beat as she and Durk reached the entrance to the Great Hall. The building stood tall and imposing, its stone walls adorned with grand banners that flapped softly in the evening breeze. The golden glow of the setting suns bathed the entrance, where the five competitors were already gathered, each one standing proudly in the fading light.

  Bregund Forwart was the first to greet them, his expression calm and composed as always. He gave Alyc a respectful nod, his movements precise, like every gesture was carefully considered. “Alyc, Durk,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you both. Ready for tonight?”

  “More than ready,” Alyc replied, her grin wide as she glanced at the others.

  Beside Bregund stood Sace Vilgar, towering and solid, his amber eyes gleaming with a quiet strength. He clasped Durk’s hand, their handshake firm, an unspoken understanding passing between them. “Another year, Durk,” he said, a smile breaking through his rugged exterior. “And it looks like we have quite the group to represent us this time.”

  Durk chuckled, nodding at each competitor in turn. “I’d say Emberfall couldn’t ask for a better lineup.”

  Vienna Hast stepped forward next, her sharp gaze assessing Alyc with a faint, approving smile. “Looking fierce tonight, Alyc,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “I think you might outshine all of us if we’re not careful.”

  Alyc laughed, brushing off the compliment but feeling a flush of satisfaction. “Only if you let me, Vienna.”

  Magra Broost, a shadowy figure in his dark cloak, offered a silent nod from where he stood slightly apart. He had an enigmatic air, his presence quiet but intense. He looked to Durk, a hint of respect in his expression, before turning to Alyc with a glint of acknowledgment in his eye.

  Finally, there was Brook Browner, who clapped Alyc on the back with a hearty laugh. “Alyc! You’re looking like you could take on a whole army yourself tonight!” His booming voice filled the space, his easygoing demeanor adding a sense of lightheartedness to the group.

  Alyc chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. “Not quite, Brook. But maybe I could take you down if I had to.”

  They all laughed, and the camaraderie between them was palpable, a bond forged over weeks of training, shared victories, and countless hours spent on the training grounds. Durk watched with a hearty smile, his gaze lingering on Alyc as she shared in their banter, now truly a part of Emberfall’s elite.

  With a final nod to each other, the group turned to enter the Great Hall together, their footsteps echoing as they walked through the doors. The sound of applause greeted them, the gathered townsfolk and warriors rising to honor Emberfall’s chosen competitors.

  As Alyc took her place beside Durk, she felt the warmth of the applause and the excitement in the eyes of those around her. This night was more than a feast; it was a rite of passage, a celebration of all that Emberfall stood for, and a moment that would stay with her forever.

  The Great Hall of Emberfall was filled with a hushed anticipation as the High King rose from his place at the head of the long table. He stood tall, his dark cloak trimmed with gold, bearing the emblem of Emberfall emblazoned across his chest a brilliant suns with fire wreathed wings. His presence commanded respect, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd of warriors, townsfolk, and the five chosen competitors.

  He raised his hands, and the murmur of conversation faded to silence. In that quiet, the king’s voice carried powerfully, filling every corner of the hall.

  “Tonight, we gather not just for food and drink,” he began, his tone rich and resonant, “but for a celebration of Emberfall’s spirit a spirit that lives in each of you, in the sweat and grit of our warriors, and in the resilience of every person who calls this kingdom home.”

  Alyc felt a shiver of gratification ripple through her as she listened. The High King’s words seemed to strike at the heart of what it meant to belong to Emberfall.

  The king’s gaze shifted to the five competitors, his eyes gleaming with approval. “To our brave competitors,” he said, gesturing toward them, “you stand here tonight not only as individuals, but as symbols of the strength and honor of Emberfall. The Trials ahead are a test, yes a challenge that will demand your best. But they are also an opportunity to show the world what it means to be from this kingdom. I have every faith that you will bring us victory.”

  The crowd erupted into applause, and Alyc joined in, glancing with admiration at her fellow competitors. The king’s words had a weight to them that felt almost tangible, filling her with a sense of duty and purpose.

  The High King raised his hand, silencing the hall once more. “We have gathered here tonight to honor your dedication and to celebrate the journey you will soon undertake,” he continued. “You carry Emberfall with you, and that is no small burden. But know that you are not alone. You have the support of everyone here and the strength of all those who came before you.”

  He then turned his attention to Durk, who stood a few seats away from Alyc, watching the king with a calm, respectful gaze. “And to our swordmaster, Durk Halcyhon,” the king said, a note of admiration in his voice, “we owe much of this night to him. His dedication to training these warriors is unmatched, and we are grateful for his years of service and wisdom.”

  The hall filled with applause again, and Durk gave a humble nod, though a faint smile played at the corner of his lips. Alyc felt her heart swell, her admiration for her father deepening with each passing moment.

  Finally, the king’s gaze settled briefly on Alyc, and his expression softened, a hint of recognition in his eyes. “We also acknowledge those among us who are rising to meet the future new talents, who carry the potential to lead Emberfall for generations to come.” He gave a slight nod in her direction, and Alyc felt her cheeks flush with a mixture of honor and humility.

  The king raised his goblet, his voice steady and inspiring. “To Emberfall,” he declared. “May our strength endure, our unity prevail, and our warriors return victorious!”

  The crowd lifted their goblets in unison, echoing his words. “To Emberfall!”

  As the toast rang out, Alyc felt a renewed sense of purpose and belonging. The king’s speech had solidified the honor of the night, filling her with a sense of duty, and excitement for what lay ahead.

  As the feast began in earnest, the air filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking goblets, and the occasional cheer. Platters of roasted meats, fresh bread, and spiced vegetables lined the tables, and servants weaved through the crowd, refilling goblets and bringing trays of sweets. Alyc, sitting between Durk and Brook, felt herself relax into the warmth and camaraderie of the evening.

  It wasn’t long before the competitors began sharing stories, their voices rising above the din of the hall, each tale offering a glimpse into the experiences that had shaped them.

  Bregund Forwart was the first to speak, his voice calm and collected as he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful smile on his face. “There was this one time,” he began, his tone casual, “when our unit was caught in an ambush near the western border. The enemy had us outnumbered, and we were boxed in on all sides.”

  He paused, his eyes glinting with the memory. “But I had an idea. I signaled to my men to hold their ground and waited. Just as the enemy closed in, I led a charge straight toward their weakest line. They didn’t expect it, and by the time they realized what was happening, we’d already broken through.”

  The group murmured in appreciation, and Sace nodded approvingly. “Quick thinking, Bregund. Agility and composure just what I’d expect from you.”

  Bregund gave a modest nod, his expression serene as he took a sip from his goblet. Alyc admired his calm strength and thought of how many situations he must have faced to speak of a life-or-death ambush so casually.

  Next, Sace took his turn, leaning forward as he began his tale. “Speaking of ambushes,” he said with a grin, “there was this one battle in the northern hills. My unit had been fighting for hours, and we were losing ground. But the enemy hadn’t counted on my size.” He gestured to his broad shoulders, a glint of humor in his eyes.

  “I spotted their leader a big brute, almost as tall as me,” he continued, “and I knew that taking him down would turn the tide. So, I charged through, right to where he stood. The look on his face when he saw me barreling toward him…that alone was worth the effort.”

  The table burst into laughter, and Alyc shook her head, grinning. Sace’s presence was always imposing, but his gentle humor made it easy to see why his comrades respected him so deeply.

  Vienna was next, her sharp gaze dancing with mischief as she leaned in. “I may not be able to throw my weight around like Sace,” she began, smirking, “but brains can win battles just as well as brawn.” She recounted a story of how she had outwitted a rival commander by planting false information and watching as his forces scattered in confusion, ultimately handing victory to her side.

  The group laughed, and Brook leaned over, clapping her on the shoulder. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Vienna. Next time, I might just recruit you to outsmart my mother in law.”

  Vienna rolled her eyes but laughed, clearly enjoying the praise.

  When it was Magra’s turn, his voice dropped to a near whisper, and the table leaned in, captivated by the dark tone in his voice. “I can’t say much,” he murmured, his gaze flicking around the hall as if ensuring no one else was listening. “But there was one mission where I found myself…infiltrating an enemy encampment under cover of night.”

  Alyc shivered as Magra described slipping past guards, moving through shadows as if he were one himself. He didn’t give details, but the mystery of his words hinted at a world of secrets and silent danger, leaving the group in awe.

  Finally, it was Brook’s turn, and his booming laughter filled the hall before he eve