Hope turned three years old and announced she wanted to start "real training" which apparently meant combat magic instead of just dimensional healing, and watching my daughter request weapon instruction at breakfast was—I mean she was developmentally equivalent to maybe eight or nine now but she was still three chronologically and the disconnect was giving me whiplash.
"Real training." I repeated the phrase slowly. "You mean like—fighting training?"
"Like defense training." Her correction was immediate. "Not fighting for fun. Fighting to protect people. In case bad things come and I need to help."
In case bad things come. Right. Our three-year-old was planning for combat scenarios.
"We've been at peace for six months." I tried reasoning even though I knew it wouldn't work. "No threats. No attacks. Why do you need combat training?"
