The morning mist clung to the cobblestones of the training yard, curling around the legs of squires as they warmed up for the day. Steel rang against steel in the distance, the sound of early drills echoing across the courtyard. I took a deep breath, feeling the chill bite at my lungs, and flexed my fingers around the hilt of my practice sword. Every day was another chance to prove myself, another day to show that I belonged here, despite the whispers and sneers of those who still doubted a woman could stand among men in the realm of knights.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed him—Roderic, one of the tallest male squires in our cohort, his smirk barely concealed. I had crossed paths with him before, each encounter leaving a bitter taste of competitiveness. He prided himself on strength and size, thinking brute force could outmatch cunning or skill. Today would be no different.
"Careful, Roderic," I muttered under my breath as I adjusted my stance, the morning dew making the ground slick beneath my boots.
"Careful?" he laughed, loud enough for nearby squires to hear. "Or scared to face me? Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, little flower."
The words should have stung, but instead, they fueled a quiet fire within me. I tightened my grip on the sword, feeling the weight of it steady my resolve.
Commander Halvar's sharp eyes were on us, though he said nothing yet. His gaze had grown accustomed to watching me, analyzing my form, and occasionally nodding in subtle approval. I imagined he could see the growth in my movements, the precision born of relentless training.
The duel began. Roderic lunged first, his heavy blade swinging with the confidence of brute strength. I sidestepped with fluid grace, letting his momentum carry him forward. My sword flicked out, tapping his shoulder and throwing him slightly off balance. A suppressed cheer from a nearby squire reached my ears, but I didn't allow it to distract me. Focus was everything.
"Not bad," Roderic growled, shaking off the minor stumble. "Lucky shot."
"Luck favors the prepared," I countered, my heart hammering, muscles coiling for the next strike.
The duel continued, a blur of steel and dust. Each movement, each feint and strike, became a conversation between us, a test of skill and wit. I wasn't the strongest, but I was fast, clever, and unrelenting. My arm ached from the constant parries, my breath came short, and sweat stung my eyes. By the time Halvar called an end to the session, Roderic was panting and glaring, a mix of frustration and respect flashing in his eyes. My body trembled with exhaustion, but my heart carried a rush of triumph.
Throughout the day, I pushed through grueling drills: long runs across the muddy courtyard, wall-climbing exercises, and relentless sparring with other squires. The mud clung to my boots, weighing me down as if the earth itself tried to drag me back. My palms tore open on the rough stone of the climbing wall, blood mixing with the grime, but still, I clawed my way upward until my arms shook uncontrollably. During sparring, every fall sent shocks of pain through my ribs and shoulders, but I forced myself up again, over and over.
My muscles ached, sweat burned my eyes, and still, I refused to relent. Every stumble, every bruise, every fleeting moment of progress sharpened my skills and hardened my resolve. Even Roderic's sly attempts to humiliate me couldn't shake my focus; each maneuver I learned, each strategy I devised, I stored in my mind, preparing for the day I would face an opponent stronger and taller than I.
Halvar often watched quietly, stepping in only to correct my stance or nod in approval. His subtle mentorship, combined with the mental calculations of every duel, shaped me far more than mere practice alone.
Later, in the barracks, Jessica was seated at her small desk, flipping through a notebook filled with strategies and observations from our drills. I sank onto the bench beside her, wiping the sweat and grime from my arms.
"How did it go with Roderic today?" she asked, looking up with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Predictable," I replied, though a small smile tugged at my lips. "Still thinks brute strength is everything. He'll learn eventually."
Jessica chuckled softly. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll just get better at being stubborn."
I leaned back, letting the tension in my muscles ease. "Three years of this, Jess. Day in and day out. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever be enough."
"It's never enough, Catalina. But that's why you're extraordinary," she said quietly, her words gentle but unwavering. "You push yourself harder than anyone else, and that's why you'll rise above all the rest."
Her encouragement wrapped around me like armor, and I felt the familiar warmth of our bond. Jessica's mind was sharp, strategic, and she had always been my anchor, the one who kept me grounded when the world seemed too heavy.
The sun climbed higher, glinting off the steel and bathing the yard in a golden light. The other squires practiced around us, some still sneering, some watching with wide-eyed awe. I caught Roderic's gaze from across the yard, the tension between us still simmering, a silent promise that our rivalry would continue.
Night fell, and exhaustion weighed heavy on my body. I thought the day's challenges were behind me, but when I awoke, darkness enveloped me. My head throbbed, and my arms were bound. Panic surged as I realized I had been kidnapped—Roderic and his gang had seized their chance to humiliate me. They dragged me to the tower courtyard, intending to show my defeat to the world.
The ropes bit into my wrists, cutting off circulation, but panic gave way to focus. Calmly, I surveyed the knots binding me. Childhood lessons in the alleys of the city came rushing back; with careful hands, I worked to untie them, a quiet grin forming despite the danger. When they approached, I sprang into action, disarming and fending off his gang with swift strikes and clever maneuvers, despite being unarmed and outmatched in strength.
Roderic, the tallest and strongest of them all, charged toward me with a roar. His hand clamped around my neck, fingers digging as he tried to choke the breath from me. My vision blurred at the edges, and a wave of terror surged through me. A voice in my head whispered that this was how it would end—strangled in the dark, mocked by those who hated me. But another voice, louder, steadier, rose to meet it: No. I will not break here.
Memories of the alleys—of grappling bigger foes with nothing but grit—rose up inside me. I twisted, forcing his weight forward, and slammed my knee into his side. Pain flashed in his eyes, yet his grip held tight. Every second was a battle of wills, survival against brute force. My lungs burned, my muscles screamed, fear clawed at me, but I met his gaze without yielding.
With a surge of desperate strength, I clawed at his arm, shifting my weight to throw him off balance. He stumbled, loosening his grip just enough for me to wrench free. Gasping for air, I ducked under his swing, snatching a fallen wooden staff from the ground. The weapon felt light compared to a sword, but it was enough. I struck upward, cracking it against his wrist, forcing him to drop his blade. The clang of steel echoed through the courtyard.
The gang hesitated, fear flashing in their eyes. My chest heaved, each breath a knife of pain in my ribs, but I stood tall despite the bruises. "Is this all you've got?" I spat, fire lacing my voice. "You'll need more than numbers and rope to break me."
Roderic roared again, charging recklessly, but this time I was ready. I sidestepped, driving the staff into his midsection and twisting sharply. He collapsed to the ground, winded and beaten. His gang faltered, backing away under my glare.
The night was silent save for my ragged breaths. I stood in the courtyard, battered but unbroken, staring down the would-be tormentors who now quailed before me. They had wanted to humiliate me, but instead, they had forged me sharper, harder, unyielding.
At that moment, I knew… I would never be their victim. I would be their mercy.
The next morning, the tower courtyard bore a different sight. Roderic and his gang were now tied together, swinging upside down above the ground, their mouths gagged with rough cloth. Squires below giggled and whispered, curious eyes scanning the ropes, while others wondered who had orchestrated this spectacle. From the window of Halvar's office, his sharp gaze noticed the commotion.
A faint scoff escaped him as his mind flickered back to the previous night—watching Catalina fight off the gang, clever, fearless, and letting them taste their own medicine. Meanwhile, in the barracks, Catalina slept soundly, her body finally succumbing to exhaustion, unaware of the murmurs and laughter echoing from the courtyard below. Night's trials had ended. Sleep took Catalina quickly, and felt ready for whatever tomorrow might bring.