“Dodge!” Argo shot to the side as a wooden rod carved through the air. “Parry!” He brought up his wooden sword defensively, the rod struck hard against the sword and the impact reverberated into his arms. “Strike!” He bit back the pain spreading like heat up his arm and thrusted his blade forward towards his father. 

These bouts, the spars he had with his father had begun only a week ago, though it had been nearly a month since his daily training sessions had started. What had once felt so magical, something he had gone to sleep dreaming of had slowly settled into his routine. His father would wake him up before the sun had risen past the mountains to the east, they would train for an hour and then have breakfast. 

Argo’s strain of thought was cut off as his father yelled for him to parry and counter. He brought his wooden blade up to deflect an incoming strike. The rod ricocheted up and Argo took the chance to strike forward. His father let the strike hit him, it would leave a bruise, but simply seeing the smile which split across his son's face was more than worth it.

“See! I did it.” He thrust his arms into the air, a giddy smile splitting over his face as his cheeks puffed up. His dad mirrored the smile and ruffled the hair on Argo’s head.

“Nicely done. I think we should call it quits for today don’t you?” Argo nodded, though in truth he wished he could continue sparring all day. But, to an extent he would be, he had plans to see Iri and Cinn down in town today. “You’re heading down today right?”A solemn look passed over his dad’s face.

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you pass this letter to Iri’s father? Say it's news for the council.” He reached into his coat, pulling out an envelope. 

“Sure. What’s it about?” Argo asked as he took it from his hand and stuffed it into his pocket. 

“Pay it no mind.” His cold was tone, Argo knew it well. He shouldn’t question his father when he got like that. So all he did was nod, turn away and run down the hill. His mother still sleeping inside their house, his father looking out towards the eastern mountains. He would never forgive himself for not saying goodbye to them that day.

Still, he did not know what was to come, and so Argo ran down the hill, his smile beaming from ear to ear. He had landed a hit on his dad, and whilst he’d done it before, this was only his third time. He was getting stronger, he could feel it. As he ran, he came across a small ledge, he pushed from the edge of it, leaping into the air and landing on the dirt below in a crouch. He was able to climb the hill faster now and descend it without ever taking a break. He could feel the muscles in his biceps when he flexed. Even his father seemed impressed by his progress, and each time it was mentioned he couldn’t help but feel happy.

Down the bend, round the curve he ran. The hill's incline changed becoming steeper and then more flat. Birds sang around him, painting pictures with melodies he had heard throughout his childhood. Memories of him sat in front of the fire whilst his mother and father sang simple notes to him, no words, simple hums. He was truly on top of the world.

He came to a stop as he neared the base of the mountain and entered the town. It was large, with about thirty different houses, and two more being built. At the far end of the town was a large stone building, one of the only pure stone buildings in the entirety of Riverfell. It belonged to the council, a group of five, known as Knowers who lead the village. Every major decision needed to be run by them, someone becoming the apprentice of another, setting out a trade envoy, going for a vacation. They controlled their small town, once Argo’s father had wanted to be a part of them, however, after serving his first year he retired. That was when they moved to the top of the mountain. Just outside of the town's borders, but close enough that he could defend it. He had never said why he left. Argo never asked.

“ARGO!” A young voice called to him, growing closer as it approached.

“Hey Cinn.” He turned to the voice before clasping the hand of his friend. “Seen Iri about?” Cinn eyed him for a moment, a grin peeling onto his face.

“No, I think she must still be at home.”

“Let’s head there.” The three of them were inseparable. Whilst there were others of a similar age in the town they had all been born within a year of each other. Of course, they had their spats like all friends do. Cinn had been quite jealous after Argo’s apprenticeship was finalised. The two had always dreamed of growing up to be soldiers, guards, and adventurers. However the council had deemed only one needed to be trained, and so Cinn had become a Smith’s apprentice instead. And for a while, he was jealous, yet that too faded.

“How’s training going?”

“I managed to land a hit today.” He beamed as he leant towards Cinn, speaking in a hushed breath. “And did you get Hen to give us the practice gear?” He nodded and Argo smirked. They had asked Hen, a boy five years their senior to make them wooden swords, he had been the Woodworkers apprentice, however had officially become one in his own right just a few months prior.

“Yeah, it’s stashed in the woods.” He shot back with a smirk. The two continued to giggle amongst themselves about their plans till they arrived at the doors of Iri’s home. Argo stepped to the door, knocking on it four times.

“Ello’?” A gruff voice called from within.

“It’s just me sir.” The voice grunted and the door swung open. A large middle aged man stood before them. Wren, Iri’s father. “Is Iri in?”

“Should be.” He leaned back before taking in a deep breath. “IRI! Yer friends are here for ya.” He had an odd accent, having initially come from even further east, he said there was a nation there, with sand that stretched for miles, though Argo couldn’t even imagine such a thing. 

“Oh, I also got this.” He scavenged through his pocket before handing the letter his father had given him to Wren. “It’s from father.”

“Oh then, this will be interesting.” He began to fiddle with the lip of the envelope, ripping it open.

“He said it’s news for the council.”

“Should I not read it?”

“He didn’t say. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He took the letter out as Iri arrived, she was eleven, only slightly older than Argo and Cinn. She wore simple trousers and a tunic, looking like she was ready for a day of running.

“Let’s go?” She asked, stepping through the door.

“Be back for dinner a’right?” Wren spoke, his voice hushed as he slowly read the letter.

“Course Dad.” She hopped off of the steps, landing on the ground behind Argo. “I’ll race ya!” She spoke but was already running off into the distance.

* * *

“This all the great son of Firan and Wyn can do?” She called out, bringing down the wooden blade she held towards Argo. He barely brought the weapon up in time to deflect it to the side. She didn’t relent, continuously striking down onto him, and whilst he was able to deflect the strike or dodge to the side most times, he never had an opening of his own to attack.

“You can do it Ar!” Cinn yelled from the side, he was covered in black and blue bruises, having lost badly to Iri in their last bout. Argo nodded, taking those words as wood to stoke the fire of his adrenaline. He let Iri strike his arm, cursing as the wooden blade made contact, that bruise would hurt badly. Still, it provided him with an opening, he thrusted the sword forward, the same strike he had used on his dad earlier. Iri was hit in the collar bone, just below the neck and was sent scrambling to the floor, coughing.

“I win!” He threw his hands up into the air, as he did his arm screamed out in pain, the strike had hurt more than he thought it would.

“No fair!” She complained, clutching at her collar bone, that strike would have hurt, yet she seemed to stand up with nothing but a wince. “If those were real swords there's no way you could have done that. Your arm would be too sore.”

“Could too.” He argued, knowing that in truth she was likely correct. She shook her head but seemed to think the matter could be laid to rest. The two of them moved towards the log on which Cinn sat, they were in the depths of the mountains forest, a clearing they had found a few years prior which had become the place they hang out in. 

“It’s seriously unfair how good you are. You nearly beat Ar, and he’s been training with his parents for a month now.”

“Maybe you two just need to get a bit stronger.” The light above them faded momentarily, a large cloud passing overhead, when it faded they became aware of how dark it was.

“Maybe we should head back?” Argo asked as he moved the three wooden blades they had into a stash beneath a pile of leaves. The three of them had saved for the greater part of three months to afford them, if they were caught with them they would likely be discarded, it was unbecoming for anyone other than Argo to be practising like this.

“Yeah, my dad won’t want me out much later.” Cinn nodded, coming to a stand with the help of both Argo and Iri. The three walked back through the forest and the small portion of the mountain they had climbed. Argo was painted in the golden light of the setting sun, he held the face of a man who had never before seen darkness.

The walk back to Iri’s place was quite fast, the sun was still in the sky by the time they arrived. She knocked on the door and her mother let her in. Argo could hear someone pacing in the back of the house but paid it no mind. “Have a good evening miss.”

“Oh Argo, before you leave, can you take this to your father?”

“Hm?” She scurried back through the house before returning with a letter in hand. “The council’s reply to your father.”

“Oh of course.” Argo took it and began his way back up the mountain. The letter had come back the same day, that was odd, typically the council had a backlog of about a month. He had heard his parents gripe about that a good few times whilst waiting for permission to begin his training. The moon came into full view above his head on the walk, shadows covered the path ahead and he walked through them. It was late, maybe his parents would be worried, it was a rare day that he came back after sunset. Still, the distant smell of dinner just a bit further in the mountain ushered him ahead, his father said that they were eating boar tonight, he couldn’t wait.

A silent urge in the back of his mind beckoned him to read the letter, just what had father asked the council? Why had he not told him earlier? He muttered under his breath as he weighed up his curiosity and the punishment he would get for reading it. They rarely punished him with something that didn’t directly suit the crime, it would be fine to check. He grabbed the envelope and slid his finger beneath the lip to open it without ripping it like Wren had. He took out the letter and slowly began to read it, he was still learning and reading fast was challenging.

We of the council have read your request Firan, we acknowledge the danger that local bandits pose, we will supply you with three golden crowns to hire an extra guard, and we will permit Cinn to become a trainee alongside your son. However, we cannot grant any further accommodations, your and your wife's skill is still a deterrent for this group, no matter their size.

His mind beamed at the note. Cinn would finally be able to join him as an apprentice. He seemed to completely ignore the mention of bandits. His parents were the strongest people he had ever met, simple bandits wouldn’t do anything to them. Only a god could hurt them. He wondered why Iri wasn’t also included in the letter, she was stronger than both Argo and Cinn, he only won today due to sheer luck. He continued the walk his mind drawn to the money, three crowns were more than he had seen in his life. Few in the town would ever make that much, two would be enough to comfortably retire out here. Yet the council was going to give them three? Maybe as a thanks for his dad’s hard work.

As he reached the peak he noticed an odd quiet. The small vegetable garden stood empty, when often around this time his mother or father would be watering the crops. He couldn’t hear the soft croak of distant crickets in the shrubbery nor could he hear the chirps of birds just before they slept. He walked towards his house, it loomed in darkness.

“I’m home.” He spoke as he walked through the open door, few ever journeyed to the peak of the mountain unless they were requesting assistance. Due to this it was nearly always left open. However, all that awaited him inside was silence, and the slow methodical sound of water dripping. Were his parents down in the town? That was odd, maybe there was a scuffle they had to stop.

Knives and swords which his parents once used in battles which had since become stories that they told him lined the walls. He picked up one of the knives, turning it around in his hand as he walked down the corridor of the entrance towards the living room. He turned it over, examining the runes which lined its back this meant something in a long dead language, though whatever it was would never be learned. He peeked into his parent's bedroom, it was empty, and all throughout the slow search for them within the house he could hear the slow drip of water. “Hello? Anyone?” He walked towards his room, seeing nobody. It was odd for them to be out, maybe there was a leak and they needed materials to fix it. “Guess not.” He spoke to himself as he continued to the living room.

His heart stopped.

Blood dripped from the blade of a sword onto the carpet below, splashing into a puddle which had formed there. Ontop of the puddle lay two bodies, both headless. One was undoubtedly his father, the bruise that Argo himself had left that morning stood out, radiant on his chest. Splayed above the headless corpse of his father was his mother. Both were armed, though their swords lay shattered in their hands. A figure stood behind them, he wore a pale white mask with three blue stripes cutting down across it vertically. He held a sword in one hand, its edge slick with the blood of his parents. Argo froze.

“Why.” He trembled.

“They crossed me. They earnt my Fury.”

“Why.” Tears carved valleys down his face.

“My Passion drove me to his outcome. This has always been the only outcome.”

“Why.” His knee’s shook.

“If you were to seek revenge? That would be a worthy Passion.”

Argo’s fingers gripped the knife he held in his hand. His knuckles turned white, his nails dug into his skin and beads of blood began to well up against his nails. All he had to do was attack, drive the knife in his hand through the chest of the man in front of him. He didn’t. Gods, why didn’t he?

“Who… Who are you?” He spoke, his croaking voice barely a whisper. The little light within the room flickered, dying where it stood. The man's sword seemingly vanished in midair, turning into the wind itself.

“I am”