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"YOUR SWORDWORKIS GETTING SLOPPY," Michael Kahale, the son of Venus, remarked. His half sister's stance was too far forward, and her grip on the sword loaned to her was far too loose. Aelia hadn't wielded a sword in months, always choosing last minute to use her dagger, Miroris. 'For practice', she'd say, since you never knew when a shorter, more concealed weapon came in handy. It was the same excuse she used, and while now she perfected her dagger wielding skills, her swordsmanship was lost. She could've easily blamed it on the sword, which wasn't even her own, which was way lighter than most, but she knew it would be unfair. A good sword master didn't depend on the sword; they could fight with any. It all depended on their perseverance. Sadly for Aelia, like the hilt of the sword she found in the weaponry, she was short on that too.
Michael pushed his gladius against her's, snapping her back into reality. She pushed back, trying to gain an advantage, but Michael always had the upper hand. He was like a bulldozer.
It was pathetic, when her brother (whose weapon of choice wasn't even a sword) was better than her. Marcus, a legacy of Mars and a friend, offered to help her a few days ago, but he was placed on last minute guard duty. Two hours ago Michael didn't even know he was giving beginner lessons to a demigod that was praised for her ability. He didn't doubt himself, and when asked to push harder, he did it without questions.
"You are hopeless," Michael stated again, trying to get in her nerves so she could attack him. She even allowed him to say what was in his mind. Tell me something I don't know.
Aelia only glared at him, annoyance evident. She was supposed to be in the Principia, helping senators go over last minute celebrations for the Feast of Fortuna, but instead she was practicing something that was already worthless. She was practicing when instead she should've been cooped up in her apartment, looking at the bulletin board of the map of the United States. Tears could've welled up at her eyes, but in the stands some newly recruited legionnaires watched, and she knew she had to keep her emotions balanced.
At least that was on thing she could always count on.
Everyone in New Rome and Camp Jupiter, even the lares, knew that Aelia hadn't been in the right state of mind. She smiled at them, cheered back at them, and sometimes even helped them, but her heart was never in it. It said so in her face, they didn't need a mind reader.
She allowed herself to take blow after blow from her brother, finally saying the words she dreaded the most, "I yield."
Michael's eyebrows knotted up. "That's not an option," he said, too ignorant to know that Aelia had already pressed the hilt of her sword against his torso, which in other words defined a win. This didn't phase Michael, since it was one of her favorite strategies to use with Marcus.
"That's not an option," He repeated, amusement leaking from his mouth. In all honesty, Aelia was his sister first and foremost. If she wanted him to call her names, to teach her, to show her the way after a long time, he'd do it.
