Page 2 of The Awakening of Essensia

He’d probably hoped this would be over quickly. His mistake. Her height always seemed to make people underestimate her. Made them ignore the muscle she’d earned with endless hours of training.

He swung again, but feinted, Vaelira dodging too late. His fist caught her jaw and she tasted blood, pain ricocheting through her teeth.

She worked her mouth. He had pulled his punch. Rage simmered at the insult, urging her to lash out blindly. She swallowed it down, gathering her focus and letting instinct take over.

She felt his next move coming before she saw it. Her body shifted as if of its own free will, dodging the blow and sending her fist into his cheekbone with practised precision, a tingling sensation sparking in her palm.

He staggered back, glancing reflexively at the crowd.

A flicker of movement behind him caught her eye. The taller of the Royal Guards took a step forward.

Keenan turned, and she pulled her attention back to the fight, swinging her leg up and around, her heel striking his stomach hard. He hit the ground with a wet thud, clutching at his ribs.

She paused, catching the Commanders gaze. He shook his head once. Right. This wasn’t training.

Keenan tried to rise, but she kicked him back down, straddling his hips and pinning his arms. She took a beat to read the shock plastered on his face, then slammed her fist into his cheekbone.

Crimson welled.

First blood.

It was over.

Vaelira stood and offered her hand. He took it, hauling himself up with a grim nod. Something akin to humiliation burned behind his eyes, and for a moment she thought he might take another swing, but he only retrieved his cloak and disappeared into the shelter of the barracks.

Feeling rather pleased with herself, Vaelira scooped up her own cloak and followed, glancing once at Commander Lysander. He was a bastard for making her go first, but at least he had given her an easy opponent. She could have sworn she saw the faintest curve of a smile before he stepped forward to announce the next fight.

Inside the barracks, Vaelira headed to the washroom. She hung her cloak on a brass peg to drip dry, and pulled off her boots, tipping out the water and ringing out her socks. She paused, staring at her reflection in the chipped mirror above the wash basin.

Strands of dark hair clung to her face, and her full lips were cracked from the cold. She turned her head to the side, examining the faint purple tinge that was spreading across her jaw. She’d taken a hit but had come out on top in the end, and that was all that mattered.

A stuttered breath escaped her, transforming into a quiet laugh that rocked her chest. All she had to do is make it through short sword combat, and the first trial would be complete. She could head back home to the cottage, tell her brother the good news, then get some much-needed sleep.

Freya burst into the washroom just as Vaelira finished lacing up her boots. She took her arm, hauling her into the corridor and towards the dining hall.

The air was thick with the stink of wet wool and sweat, the warm glow from the central firepit embracing them as they dropped onto a bench with bowls of steaming soup.

“Finished him in two moves,” Freya said, beaming as she shoved up her soaked sleeves. “You’d have been proud.”

Vaelira huffed a laugh. “You could have any of us on the ground in less than five.” She took a bite of the bread, tearing through the hard crust.

Freya winked. “You did well. Easy opponent though. Keenan, right?”

Vaelira nodded. “Think I’ll get lucky again in short sword?”

“Not a chance.” Freya dunked her bread into the thick soup. “He won’t let you off that easy. One weak link…”

Freya didn’t need to say it. None of them did. It had been drilled into them from day one.

Over one-hundred years ago, the Great Demon Fire had torn across the continent, reducing everything in its path to ash and leaving behind the barren Wastelands. Fortunately, Eastvale’s western mountain range had halted the flames, but not the demons that now stalked the night, or the ruthless Wasteland raiders that terrorised travellers by day. The raiders were said to be demoncursed, living side by side with the very monsters that had taken so many Eastlanders from their loved ones, never stopping to differentiate between man or babe.

Vaelira clenched her fist around the bread, the edges of the hard crust biting into her palm. Those charged with defence couldn’t afford to be weak. Couldn’t afford to hesitate. If you did, it could mean the death of a citizen, a fellow guard, a friend. Family.

Freya elbowed Vaelira in the ribs and nodded towards the doors.

Rurik Grall stalked in, lip split, blood streaking across his chin. A bruise was already blooming over one eye, making him look more menacing than usual.

Vaelira tried to restrain her smile.