The morning air was cool and damp as I left the Fallow house, the scent of dew-soaked earth clinging to my boots. Maren had packed a small satchel of herbs for me to trade—bundles of dried thistle, wolfsroot, and fever-leaf wrapped in cloth and tied with twine. She handed it to me without a word, her eyes already scanning the treeline.
Corin stood near the goat pen, inspecting a broken latch, while Valerie argued with a rooster.
"Be back before midday," Maren called. "And don't dawdle by the bakery again."
"No promises," I muttered, slinging the satchel over my shoulder.
The path down into the valley was familiar, worn with years of foot traffic and the occasional runaway sheep. I took it slow, trying not to crush the herbs in my pack. Sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, catching on the morning mist. Birds called lazily from the branches. For a while, everything felt… normal.
But halfway down, I saw movement in the tall grass.
Monsters—large, hunched creatures with mottled fur and twisted limbs—were scrambling through the brush, frantic. They looked less like hunters and more like prey. That was my first warning.
The second came when they froze.
They sensed him before I did. Turned back, quivering. Then I heard it—a faint shift of wind, the hush of something absolute.
He appeared from between the trees.
Tall. Pale. Cloaked.
But he didn't charge them. He didn't roar or draw attention. He simply walked, calm and certain, like the forest itself was holding its breath around him.
They tried to flee.
He followed.
Not fast. Not angry. Just... steady. Like he already knew they wouldn't make it far.
The monsters bolted into the brush, stumbling over roots and each other as if they knew their end was inevitable.
And then they died.
Not with the crashing chaos I'd imagined. Not with fury or thunder.
With silence.
His blade whispered through the air—too long, too graceful to belong to a mere traveler. Light bent around it. Shadows stretched toward him like loyal pets.
One swing. Two. Three.
Bodies dropped in halves, clean and quiet.
I didn't even realize I'd been holding my breath until the last creature fell and the clearing grew still again.
He didn't stop to check the bodies.
He just kept walking, deeper into the trees, as if the whole thing had been an afterthought.
I stood there, heart pounding, caught between awe and fear.
I didn't know his name.
But I would never forget that silhouette.
Then I ran.
By the time I reached the market, I was drenched in sweat. My arms full of jars and bundles from Maren's errand list felt laughably out of place now. I handed them off, stammering about a monster attack, about a man with a blade.
Maren just stared.
"Slow down, Joren. What are you talking about?"
"There were monsters—big ones! They came out of the trees, and he just—he cut them down like it was nothing!" I waved my hands like that would help. "He didn't even break a sweat."
Valerie snorted. "You sure it wasn't just a scarecrow having a dramatic day?"
I ignored her. "His blade bent the light. It was like... like the shadows were fighting for him."
Maren's eyes darkened. Not doubt. Recognition.
"Lucien Vale."
I blinked. "You know who he is?"
She didn't answer. Just took the herbs from my hands and turned away.
"I want to take the exam," I said quietly.
She paused mid-step. "What?"
"The swordsmanship exam. I want to be a swordsman."
Valerie stared at me, then burst into laughter. "You? With a sword? You barely survive feeding the chickens."
I didn't look at her. Just kept my eyes on Maren.
Maren's hands trembled slightly as she packed the bundles into her stall.
"It won't be easy," she said.
"I know."
"And you could fail."
"I know."
"But you still want to do it?"
I nodded.
She studied me a moment longer, then nodded once.
"Then we'll talk to Corin tonight."
Valerie looked like she wanted to say something snarky, but didn't. Maybe it was the way I said it. Maybe she saw I wasn't joking.
Either way, the words were out.
I was going to try.
And for the first time, that felt like enough.
That evening, after the sun had dipped low and we returned home, I found Corin on the porch sharpening one of his old knives.
"Corin?" I said, hesitant.
He glanced up. "Hmm?"
"I want to take the swordsmanship exam."
He didn't react right away. Just set the blade down, wiped his hands, and gave me that look. The one that measured more than it let on.
"Why?"
"I saw someone today... a swordsman. He was—" I fumbled for the right words. "He was like nothing I've ever seen. He stopped monsters like they were nothing. And I realized... I want to be like that. Strong. Capable. Someone who can protect others."
Corin sighed. Not disappointed. More... resigned.
"It's not a path of glory, Joren. Swordsmanship doesn't forgive mistakes. It demands sacrifice."
"I know."
He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded.
"Then you better not waste the chance."
"I won't."
I didn't go to bed right away.
Instead, I did what I always did when something big and scary got stuck in my head: I went to the clearing.
My so-called training ground.
It was barely that. A few stumps for targets. Dirt patches from failed drills. One bent pull-up branch I'd fallen off of twice.
Still. It was mine.
I picked up the stick I'd carved weeks ago. Worn smooth now, barely holding together.
And I started swinging.
Sloppy. Wild. All elbows.
I imagined that man again. That swordsman. How his feet barely touched the ground. How his sword whispered instead of roared.
I swung harder.
Then my knee exploded in pain.
"You traitorous stick," I hissed, dropping it and hopping in a circle.
"Good form," came a voice behind me.
I groaned. "Not now, Cale."
He stepped into view, arms crossed, his own practice blade balanced across his shoulder.
"You planning on slaying chickens or just bruising yourself into an early grave?"
"Chickens have been getting bold," I muttered.
He didn't smile. Just watched me like he always did—with that mixture of judgment and curiosity that somehow made him look older than both our ages.
"You're not built for swordsmanship."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks. Hadn't noticed."
"But you're stubborn."
"Is that a compliment?"
He didn't answer. Just nodded toward the tree stumps.
"Try again."
We trained into the night not stopping for a single moment. I swung. He blocked. I tripped. He sighed. And somehow, it felt less like a lesson and more like a dare.
Then the sound came.
A low rumble. Then a boom.
We both turned.
Smoke rose beyond the village.
We didn't speak. Just ran.
The wind bit at our faces as we pounded through the trees and over the slope. My lungs burned. Cale's pace never faltered.
The trail split.
"I'm going to the house," I said, already veering.
Cale nodded. "Outskirts. If they're hitting anywhere, they'll hit there first."
"Stay safe."
"You too."
We split.
Chaos had teeth.
By the time I reached home, the front door was hanging open, the fence trampled. I found Valerie hiding beneath the root cellar trapdoor. Maren had a knife in hand. Corin stood near the hearth, blood on his sleeve.
"They came fast," he said, his voice flat. "Some kind of outbreak. From the east."
I helped secure the house, then bolted back out.
Because Cale wasn't back.
I found him near the western wall.
And he was losing.
The monster was taller than a man, with jagged limbs and eyes that burned red. Cale swung his blade, but it barely grazed the thing's hide. His feet slipped. He fell.
The Variant reared back.
I didn't think.
I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a shovel from the collapsed fence post—and ran.
Ding.
[Sword System Activated]
[Basic Sword Proficiency: Temporarily Enhanced]
[Duration: Emergency Activation Mode]
The message blinked in my mind. I didn't question it.
I swung.
The shovel moved faster than it should have. My grip felt natural. Like something had taken hold of my limbs, adjusted them just slightly. Made them work.
Metal met flesh.
The Variant howled.
I stepped in, feinted left, then struck again. Not perfect. Not elegant. But it worked.
The beast stumbled.
And that's when the guards arrived.
Three of them, blades drawn, yelling something I barely registered.
One moved in with a longsword and cleaved the Variant down the center.
It hit the ground with a wet thud.
Cale stared.
So did I.
I dropped the shovel, my hands shaking.
"You okay?" I asked.
He nodded slowly, eyes wide.
I didn't wait for more. Just offered him a hand.
He took it.
Later that night, the guards finished sweeping the fields. The fires were out. The dead dragged away.
I sat by the hearth, my body aching.
Valerie was safe. My parents were safe.
But I couldn't stop staring at my hands.
That feeling. That thing in my head.
It hadn't returned.
But I knew it would.
Something had started.
And tomorrow, the swordsmanship exam would begin.
The next morning broke too early.
I barely slept. Every noise outside stirred me awake. Every creak of the old house made me reach for the practice stick I'd left beside the bed.
When the sun finally rose, I felt sick.
Maren made tea. Corin didn't say much. Valerie watched me like I was made of glass.
I tried to eat. Couldn't.
The fear was there, pressed into my chest like a stone.
What if I failed?
What if yesterday had been a fluke?
What if that sword system thing never came back?
But still, I stood. Still, I dressed. Still, I walked toward the square where the exam would be held.
I was scared.
But I was going.
And that had to be enough.
The square buzzed with energy. Boys and girls with wooden practice blades paced in nervous circles. Some stood with friends, sharing jokes to ease the tension. Others stood alone, eyes fixed on the platform that had been set up at the far end.
A raised dueling stage. Weathered wood. Ropes lining the sides. Stains from old exhibitions long dried.
Cale stood near the edge, surrounded by a few from the outskirts. His arms were crossed. His gaze locked on me as soon as I stepped into view his eyes narrowed. His jaw twitched.
He didn't wave.
Didn't smile.
Just stared.
And I stared back, unsure what to make of it.
All around us, nervous chatter filled the air.
"Did you hear someone broke their training sword last year?"
"Yeah, that was a kid from Trenswick. Swung so hard he split the hilt."
"That guy who failed last time? Been training nonstop with his uncle. Swears he'll pass this time."
"I heard the examiners are stricter this year. Something about too many passes last time."
"Hope the ground doesn't shake again. My cousin's still sore about being knocked off his stance."
A cluster of guards nearby leaned on their spears, murmuring among themselves.
"That Cale kid's got fire. I'd bet on him."
"Maybe. But you seen that Henry boy from Fandel? He's sharp. Heard he trains with real steel."
"Two girls up there look solid. The one in green—quick footwork. But the redhead's got reach."
Then a voice rang out, firm and clear.
"Line up. First-years to the left. Those seeking retests to the right."
The proctor stepped onto the platform, a tall man in a gray cloak with a sword sheathed in fine leather.
He surveyed us all with cool, assessing eyes.
"You're here to prove your worth," he said. "Not to posture. Not to play. If you think swordsmanship is for the bold and the loud, you're in the wrong place."
I swallowed.
The exam had begun.