To call it a “circle” was a bit generous, for the area had no official limits or markings. It was merely a wide, vaguely round patch of earth beaten underfoot by countless hours of training. Thorda hammered away in the nearby forge, as he often did during his spare time. He set down his hammer upon Mari’s arrival, a rare smile crossing his leathery face as he embraced his younger daughter. Cyrus meanwhile joined Stasia in the dueling circle, each of them holding their respective weapons, he his swords, she her twin axes. The two of them flowed through rigid formations meant to stretch the body and build muscle memory, not actually contest each other. The sound of steel on steel rang out amid Mari’s bubbling laughter.

“You’re distracted,” Stasia said after one of her swings nearly cut his arm. His expected routine block had come much too late.

“Sorry,” he said, and he shook his head as if he could shove his distractions out his ears.

“Nervous?”

A year and a half of training under Thorda was about to be put to the test, his worthiness as a symbol for rebellion judged. If he succeeded, his time as the Vagrant would begin, with actual bloodshed and battle against real opponents. If he failed… he wasn’t even sure. More training? Different training? Or might they give up on him entirely?

“Yeah,” he said, voicing none of that. “I probably am a tiny bit nervous.”

Stasia put her axes aside and ventured into the forge. After a brief pause to greet Rayan and her sister, she returned carrying four long wooden poles.

“Here,” she said, tossing him two. “If you’re distracted, then let’s up the tempo so you have to focus… but let’s also do it with weapons that won’t cut my fingers off when you do something clumsy and stupid.”

He laughed, both insulted and grateful. It was a combination Stasia somehow accomplished with ease. They sparred for a bit, gradually upping the intensity. It still wasn’t a true battle, nothing like the onslaught Stasia had unleashed the day he was given his swords, but it did work up a sweat. Cyrus’s tensions eased, as Stasia had predicted. There was comfort in the rhythm, in play and counterplay when dueling with mock swords. If only all problems in life could be solved so easily.