The Swordsman
The moon hung high over Saint Athepia. In the quiet gardens, Atta swung a wooden sword, his eyes hidden beneath a blindfold. Each strike sliced through the night air with precision, fluid as water.
"I can't practice with Derona… it's too dangerous. And this is just a school tournament, not a war. I should polish my sword skills instead," he thought, exhaling slowly as his wooden blade cut through the silence.
---
A memory stirred.
Eight-year-old Atta stood in the palace gardens, clutching a toy sword with tiny hands. Rain clouds gathered overhead. Before him loomed his father, King Rauf, tall and calm, his arms folded. Beneath a nearby tree, Princess Fiza and Princess Izza watched silently, their faces unreadable.
"Atta," King Rauf said in his deep, steady voice, "you cannot use magic. That means we must sharpen your combat skills. Attack me however you like—use any technique, any force. I'll fight you bare-handed. But remember this—until you land a hit on me, there will be no food for you."
Little Atta's stomach twisted, but he tightened his grip on the toy sword. He looked at his sisters. Both gave a small nod.
With a shout, Atta lunged for his father's abdomen, his little arms straining. King Rauf swatted the blade aside with ease, then tapped Atta's head lightly.
"Again."
Atta tumbled onto the grass, scrambling back to his feet. "I'll defeat you, Father!"
"If you do," Rauf replied with a faint smile, "I'll be more than happy."
The boy charged again, aiming for his father's leg. In one swift motion, Rauf countered with that very leg, sending Atta tumbling once more. Again and again, Atta rose, attacked, and fell. Hours passed. Rain began to fall. His tiny stomach growled with hunger.
Rauf finally looked down at him. "It's raining. You're hungry. We'll resume tomorrow. Don't worry—you can have your dinner tonight."
But as the king spoke, Atta's eyes blazed with determination. He sprang forward, striking low. This time, his blade tapped his father's shin.
"Father, you told me—catch your enemy off guard. I caught you."
For the first time that day, King Rauf's lips curved into a proud smile.
---
The memory faded.
Back in the present, Atta's wooden sword danced with fluid grace, his movements polished from years of training. What began as clumsy swings had become a deadly rhythm, a dance of steel.
But suddenly—he felt a presence behind him.
Without hesitation, Atta pivoted, blade cutting through the night. In one motion, he pressed the wooden sword against a figure's neck.
"Identify yourself," he said coldly.
A soft chuckle broke the tension. "Well, Prince Atta… for a moment, you really scared me."
Atta lowered the blindfold, blinking in surprise. Standing before him was Princess Isha, her smile playful even under the moonlight.
He lowered the blade. "You've been spying on my training again, Princess Isha?"
She leaned forward, poking his forehead with a pout. "Hmm? Are you complaining?"
Atta raised both hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Of course not, my princess."
The two shared a quiet laugh beneath the stars, the weight of tomorrow momentarily forgotten.
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To Be Continued...