Power.
The answer to fear.
Derrick reached for another sword from his back before turning and walking into the forest.
I gritted my teeth and closed my fist tightly on the hilt.
My heart was racing from the adrenaline of holding a sword again—a real sword. Not the wooden training blade I used in classes. It’d been so long since I last saw Derrick. I was shaking as I watched him, my anger converted to something I hadn’t felt in years—excitement.
I knew where he was going—our old training area.
It was a clearing in the pines, flat and large enough for training. When I got there, he was facing away.
“We always communicated best with our swords, don’t you think?” he asked.
His presence filled the space, towering over me as if I were still a child.
My breath caught, my chest tightening as if his presence alone was able to suffocate the air of oxygen. The years had stretched between us like an unbridgeable chasm, yet here he stood, as if time had merely blinked past him.
This whole time I’d been trying to forget him. To stop trying to understand why he’d made the decisions he had, why he’d never returned when I was found. But the sight of him now threatened to tear down every wall I’d built.
He turned to face me, unblinking, his body relaxed.
I held his gaze, daring him to speak to me about any of what had transpired since we last parted.
“You left,” I said.
His eyes tightened, and my anger deepened. He didn’t get to be sad about it.
“I did—and I’ve always regretted it.”
The words struck like a punch to the gut. I gripped the hilt tighter. He regretted it?
“It’s too late now,” I whispered.
His demeanor darkened, piercing and unreadable. “No. I’ve waited until exactly the right moment.”
The energy within me was stirring, and as it burned, it coalesced into something more potent—raw strength. “Cage your fear, harness your anger, control your body.” He’d taught me this.
I fell into a familiar stance from years of training: one foot forward, knees bent, the blade grasped tightly in my right hand and positioned at my hip.
The muscle memory evoked such nostalgia that it stifled my anger.
I stretched my left arm before me, my wrist bent upward, and my palm flat like a blade. I loosened my elbow, bent, ready for battle.
The fight was a part of me.
As it was for Derrick.
He was a man of few words, but never had I felt like I didn’t understand him. The exchange of blows said far more than words ever could, and I had so much to say. So many feelings that words could never convey. There was only one way to express my fury at his betrayal—with a blade.
The rocky terrainand thick canopy of the mountain made for little undergrowth in this part of the forest. I watched Derrick closely, but he never moved. He was waiting for me.
A searing white-hot flame burned within me. I dashed forward. Derrick raised his blade, but his expression never altered. At the moment our blades would’ve clashed, I spun to the side. Sliding one leg out, I dropped low to the ground, my blade catching the glint of the orange rays as it arced through the air at Derrick's lower half.
But he was too fast.
He flipped backwards effortlessly away from my blade.
