Blood Bound

A Duel at Brimrest

Morning Routine:

Every year on my birthday me and my father duel to see if I can get the better of him at some point. It may be hopeless, but nevertheless it didn't stop me from trying. It was my 21st birthday today.

It was a cold winter morning, and I had just woken from sleep. Before then, I heard the sudden rumbling of my father getting ready for his morning routine—one of which included rousting me out of bed. Since I was already awake, I devised a magnificent plan.

I swung my legs over the side of my bed, my feet meeting the chilled hardwood floor. Scanning the room for something I could use to bring my father to his knees, I suddenly remembered the training sword beside my bed. A grin spread across my face as I grabbed it.

Moving swiftly, I dashed toward the dresser, leaped onto it, and hoisted myself up onto the ceiling baseboard, gripping the sword between my teeth. Now, I just had to wait.

"YO HO! RYKER, GET YOUR BOTTOM OFF THAT BED AND GET READY FOR SOME GOOD THRASHING, MY BOY!" my father bellowed, his voice shaking the walls.

"Oh no, Father, it is you who will be getting some good thrashing," I whispered to myself, barely suppressing a chuckle.

The moment he stepped into the room, I lunged at him with all the force I could muster—only to freeze in place before I could strike. My sword clattered to the ground as I realized his sheathed blade was already at my neck.

"Aw, shit!" I yelped.

My father's mischievous grin widened as he looked me over knowingly. "You've got good taste in tactics, my son, but I've seen it all before," he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

With a light tap on my shoulder, I tumbled unceremoniously to the ground.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes! You were saying something about giving me some good thrashes?" he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. "WELL THEN! SHOW ME WHAT YOU'VE GOT, SON!"

He puffed out his chest and patted his stomach. "COME ON! I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY! Give me your best shot." He snarled.

Before I could react, he sighed and knelt down and effortlessly lifted me to my feet. His tone softened. "It's about time I gave you a real chance."

Reaching over his back, he retrieved a sword wrapped in an ancient runic sealing cloth—one of my mother's enchantments, no doubt..

"Today is the day, isn't it?" he mused. "The day you go out into the world and find who you truly are." handing me the sword.

I gripped the sword tightly, my heart pounding. This was it—the beginning of my journey.

A gust of wind howled through the cracks of the old wooden cabin, making the flames in the lanterns flicker. My father's gaze locked onto mine, measuring, testing. I could see it in his eyes—pride, but also something deeper, something unreadable.

Memorial Duel:

"Before you set off, let's see if you're ready," he said, stepping back and unsheathing his own sword. The polished black steel shimmered under the dim light. "You won't survive out there if you can't even land a blow on your old man."

I swallowed hard. I had sparred with him countless times before, but this was different. This wasn't just practice. This was a test.

Adjusting my stance, I drew the sword he'd given me. Its weight was unfamiliar — denser than I expected — and faint runes shimmered across its surface, faint as mist upon a midnight lake. Was it reacting to me? Or was it something else entirely?