the wooden sword was light in her hand. however, the weight that mattered sat somewhere deeper in her chest.
casca had engaged steel again for months now, long enough for the muscles of her body to remember what they had been rigorously trained to do. her nimble footwork returned first. light and swift as a cast, as she remembered. the ground answered the balls of her feet the way it used to. her balance followed soon after, settling back into her center like it was an ability that never truly left. next, was her breath control. sharp exhales, controlled and timed, drawing power through her tightened core while her body tightened instinctively against the promise of another's impact.
the mind was slower. she hated that. she refused to live shackled to it—this affliction, this violation that had marred her so violently and now tried to claim her body as its prison. if she allowed it, it would define the rest of her life and follow her all the way to the grave.
that was why she asked for this. no—demanded it.
the man across from her had hesitated when she first suggested it. the black swordsman was not a man easily unsettled by combat, yet the request had stalled him in a way few things ever did. she understood why. the moment her eyes caught his face for too long, the world had a habit of collapsing inward on itself. terrible memories rose without issuing a warning, sharp and choking, dragging her in the cold treacherous void she refused to go again.
even now she could not look at him for more than a few seconds without her pulse stuttering against her ribs.
so she changed the rules.
night had been her choice. the clearing lay under a sky empty of moonlight, the forest thick enough to swallow most that inhabited it. the distance softened his outline close to invisibility. the breeze strongly rushed cold through the trees, dulling the senses just enough that she could breathe without the sharp awareness of his natural musk pressing in from every direction.
she opted for wooden swords oppose to steel. she knew his strength. she knew the weight of that monstrous slab called a sword that practically had its own autonomous presence in the world. the destabilizing sound of its wind-splitting swing could have dragged her mind somewhere it did not want to go.
this was different, however. this was a test; one that she desired with the stubborn urgency that ran like the explosive volcanic rush of lava through every part of her. five minutes, she had told him. that was all she needed. five minutes where her body could exist beside his without breaking apart.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ don’t hold back, ” she said at last. the last thing she wanted from him is to be treated like a fragile flower or some delicate material that might shatter at the first hard strike. she did not want to be drowned with his gentleness. she needed to see the truth under a scrutinous light. she needed honesty. she needed to see what, exactly, had survived of her.
casca drew a slow breath through her nose, steadying her balance with the earth. reminding herself she was still alive. she was still casca.
she would go in mostly blind, but trust the instincts the battlefield had carved into her long before the eclipse ever tried to take them away.
the first movement either came from him or a critter from his direction. she caught it in the way a hawk catches the shift of grass beneath its talons. subtle, quick, yet enough to react. that was all the invitation she needed.
her wooden blade cut through the air with a sharp hiss, her body moving in the same breath. speed had always been her advantage against him and many men. guts was built like a fortress. years of wars taught her that laying siege to a fortress meant attacking the gates, the joints, the places where stone met hinge.
the distance between the two human shadows collapsed.
she remembered his reach. the height of his shoulders, the length of his arms, the line where his throat opened beneath his giant jaw. those measurements lived vividly and intimately inside her. so, the first strike rose high, angled toward his thick neck.
her body dropped in the same motion, pivoting sharply as the blade turned in her grip. the wooden sword swept low instead, fast and clean, aiming to crack against the exposed line of his leg before he could shift his stance.
there was no hesitation in her movements. fighting like this allowed the swordswoman to move without fear. she flowed through the space between them, featherlight and like lightning on her feet, the loose ends of her cropped hair snapping with the force of her motion.
so far, so good, she told herself.
for the first time since the eclipse, the blackest day of her life quieted long enough for her to hear the sound of her own breath.
