The sun had barely cleared the palace walls when Mira stepped into the training yard, shoulders squared and eyes alight.
The other recruits, older and rougher, clustered nearby. Most looked skeptical. She was young—just past ten summers—and silent. But she stood taller than any of them.
Above, on the balcony, Elias stood with arms crossed, expression carved in stone.
Beside him, Charlotte leaned over the railing, chin in palm, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Her side ached from the healing wound—but her heart? Unbroken.
"She's too small for a broadsword," Elias muttered.
"She's quick," Charlotte replied. "And she has something more important than size."
"What's that?"
"Me."
The first test was simple in theory: reach the flag at the center of the obstacle course before the sandglass ran out.
It would've been simple—if the course weren't a sadist's idea of a joke. Leaning beams. Swinging dummies. Pressure-triggered flour bombs. A shallow pool of dyed water at the end.
"Ready?" the trainer bellowed.
Mira gave a single nod, gaze locked on the fluttering blue flag at the far post.
"GO!"
She dashed forward—graceful, swift, and silent. Ducking beneath a swinging log. Rolling under a beam. Vaulting over tripwires. For a moment, she seemed to fly.
Charlotte beamed, bouncing on her toes. "Look at her go!"
Then came the wall.
It towered over her—slick with dew, shallow handholds barely etched into the surface. Mira jumped, caught the ledge—
—and slid down hard.
A few snickers rippled from the watching recruits.
Elias tensed. Charlotte didn't.
Instead, she calmly reached into her sleeve and pulled out a tiny brass horn.
With theatrical flair, she gave it a single, ridiculous toot.
Heads turned.
Charlotte gestured dramatically and shouted, "If you fall again, I swear I'll write a tragic poem about you and read it at your wedding!"
Even Elias let out a sharp breath that might've been a laugh.
Mira glanced up, face unreadable—but her hands flashed two swift signs:
You wouldn't.
Charlotte, grinning, signed back:
Oh, I absolutely would. It rhymes.
Mira rolled her eyes. Then launched herself at the wall again.
This time—two quick strides, a leap, a catch—she scaled it with the determination of a cat on a mission and cleared the top with a fierce pull and a final kick.
Applause erupted.
Elias gave the smallest, most grudging nod of approval.
Charlotte raised the horn again but didn't blow it. Instead, she leaned toward Elias and said softly, "She's going to be better than both of us."
Elias grunted. "She already hears more than you do."
Charlotte grinned. "True. But I'm more attractive."