Ruthless 🗡️/ Fourth Wing

Chapter~36

I was nine years old when I first fought my father.

The morning sun hadn't fully risen, casting a pale light over the encampment, but the air still carried the bite of early spring. The smell of wet earth and old wood filled my nose, mixing with the faintest scent of burning wood in the distance. The camp was always quiet before dawn, the soldiers asleep in their tents or making their final preparations for the day. But my father, Cade—the commander of the rebellion—was awake and waiting. And he wanted me.

"Come on, Nora," his voice had called to me from outside our tent, sharp but not unkind. "Time to get up. You're training today."

Training. I had been training with the other children in camp, of course. Basic swordplay, self-defense, the way of the rebellion. But this? This was different. He had never asked me to train with him before.

I remember standing there, my hands nervously tugging at my tunic, feeling small under the weight of his gaze. But there was something in his eyes—something that made me stand straighter. He never showed much affection, never coddled me like some of the other fathers did with their daughters. But there was something about his presence that was unshakable. He didn't need to say anything, but when he did, it always felt like the weight of the world was behind it.

He handed me a wooden sword, light but sturdy, the kind we used for training. It was heavier than I expected, and I fumbled with it for a moment before lifting it properly. I glanced up at him. His dark, determined eyes were on me, but his face was unreadable—he was the commander, after all.

"Today, you're going to fight me," he said. His tone was serious. There was no hesitation, no softness. He wasn't my father at that moment. He was a commander, a teacher, and I was about to learn the hard way.

The air was crisp, and the ground beneath my feet was cold with dew. My breath clouded in the air, and my stomach twisted with nervousness. But I didn't want to show him that. I couldn't. Not with him looking at me like this.

I squared off with him, taking a deep breath to steady myself. He was taller than me, of course, but I had watched him fight countless times. He moved like a shadow—graceful, deadly. Every soldier in the rebellion knew that he wasn't just a commander, but a warrior. That was why they followed him. I wanted to prove I could be like him.

"Fight me, Nora," he repeated, his voice low and firm.

I nodded, my hands gripping the wooden sword so tightly my knuckles turned white. I raised it, a little too high, and hesitated—just for a second—but that second was all he needed.

Before I could even react, he was on me, his sword swinging with a speed that made my head spin. I barely managed to block the blow, the wooden blade crashing against mine with a loud crack. I stumbled back, my legs unsteady beneath me.

"Focus," he said, his voice like thunder. "A true fighter doesn't hesitate. You can't afford to hesitate in battle. Not ever."

I tried again. This time, I swung my sword, but he blocked it so easily it was like I wasn't even trying. I thought I saw the slightest flicker of amusement in his eyes, but his face was still hard, unreadable. He wasn't going to go easy on me.

Again, I attacked, again, I was knocked back. Again, he dodged my strike with effortless grace. I was beginning to feel frustrated, the sting of my failures beginning to mix with the dull ache in my limbs. My sword felt heavier with each swing, each failed attempt.

"Come on, Nora," he barked. "Stop fighting like a child."

I froze, the words hitting me harder than I expected. A child. Wasn't I just that to him? Wasn't I still just his little girl? The thought stung, but before I could dwell on it, he moved again, his wooden sword striking me across the side with a sharp crack.