A Kindling, of Sorts (Revali x reader)

a matter of skill

It had been a week. Seven sleepless nights in smelly, noisy barracks. Seven days of wearing borrowed armor that felt both two big and too small at the same time. Seven days of getting the shit beaten out of you. Train, train, train, and train some more. This is definitely not how you wanted to spend your vacation. In fact, you'd honestly take jail over this any day.

You groaned, sorely picking yourself up from the ground, shuffling on awkwardly. You were not just bad at swordplay, you were pathetic. You had literally no idea what you're doing, but your opponents did not go easy on you, or anyone for that matter. Of course, it never took long for you to recuperate and continue your training, but its still not particularly fun to get beaten to a pulp every day for the foreseeable future.

"Again!" shouted your corporal, to which you slumped and let out a pained moan. "Don't make me tell you again, runt!"

You quickly hobbled back over to your sparring partner, a freckled woman with the most pronounced boulder shoulders you've ever seen, though she was wearing the same armor as you right now. She looked pretty unassuming with the big shoulder plates, but that woman truly looked like she could wrestle a bear and win.

Either way, her armor might as well have been a completely different uniform because hers actually fit her. You were clearly at a disadvantage to nearly everyone you'd fought before any of the matches even started. Despite it all, you gripped your blade readily as the corporal slowly counted off to the beginning of the match. You took a breath and tried your damnedest to push down the growing fatigue. Emotional fatigue, of course. If an entire monster camp can't kill you, than she sure as hell can't, but that's a story for another day.

The moment he finished his countdown, a clash of steel against steel reverberated through the air. Your opponent moved with skill, her strikes calculated and efficient. You, on the other hand, stumbled clumsily, barely managing to block her first attack. The clunky armor didn't help you move at all, and you barely managed to raise your sword. The impact rattled your bones, sending a jolt of pain shooting through your body—from hands to shoulders to neck.

You desperately tried to push her sword away using your own, but you were just pushed back yourself. Your movements were slow and uncoordinated, lacking any semblance of skill to defend yourself properly. Each heavy swing of your sword was met with a parry or a quick step to the side, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. This was maddening.

The sound of jeers and laughter from fellow soldiers added insult to injury. Their heckling filled the hot afternoon air, mingling with the clashing of blades. Well, this is humiliating.

Sweat dripped down your forehead, mixing with residual dirt and grime on your face as you felt frustration well up in your chest.

Finally, your opponent kicked you down, pointing her sword at your face in victory. She wasn't even out of breath. You sighed, pulling your helmet from off your head, overheated. The temperature was a jarring change from Rito Village, and you found yourself missing the snow. Your opponent put down her sword and held it to her side, awaiting further instruction. Your corporal scowled at your mediocrity and waved his hand. "Take a break," He said. "And put that helmet back on! Its uniform."

You're not sure what he was expecting from you, really. What had he been told? That he should be expecting some insane super soldier with a thirst for blood? Yeah, right. Nevertheless, you pulled your helmet back on, muttering curses under your breath.

You slumped tiredly against a nearby training dummy. This was a punishment, you had to remember that. If you hate it, that just means that its working. Ugh... but you really hate it. Despise it, even. Loathe. Detest—