paper airplanes | takashi shirogane

II

"So," she paused, "you want me to train them?"

[Y/N] couldn't believe it. Thoughts raced through her mind at the king's offer, new questions and doubts popping up and bouncing around her skull.

He nods, folding the crisp piece of paper in half; the same letter he sent to her, requesting of her presence.

"But, your majesty, I've never fought a real battle in my life! Do you honestly believe that I can train these men to save the universe and fight real battles in real situations when I've never done so myself?" She leans forward as she yells, pounding her fist on the shiny wooden desk rudely. She couldn't do this; or at least she was sure she couldn't.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed very stressed. "I have all the people of Thuremia to choose from, and I chose you. Trust in your abilities. You may not have actually fought a real battle, but you have the skills to. You just haven't been given the opportunity to use them."

She freezes in place.

"...fine."

She was only doing this for her father. She wanted to make him proud, and she wanted to show him that she's not just some apprentice that sharpens swords and sells arrows all day.

Most importantly, she wanted to prove it to herself.

And as for the paladins...

They would be such a pain.

She could imagine all of the voltron fangirls coming for her any moment.

I'll cover my face with a bandana or something, she thinks. It'll cover my identity... and the paladins don't need to see it anyways. I'm just their mentor.

"Alright then," the king smiles. "Pack your things, and bring any weapons or tools you'd like to bring with you. Please meet me here tomorrow."

She hesitantly nods, bowing before quietly leaving the room. She was still so confused as to why she of all people would be chosen for this job, but she decided to push those thoughts away.

When she arrived at the shop, it was already midnight.

She of course had to wait until it was late until she met with the king, because she had to take care of her father's business in the meantime.

She unlocks the door and enters, turning on a small oil lamp inside. There was no noise from upstairs, so she assumed her father was asleep, and she grabs her leather bag from behind the counter.

She shifts through the items, but then sighs before quietly dumping its contents on the floor and sifting through what she will and won't need.

"Let's see. My blades, I'll keep those. My journal, too." She kept adding this and that to her bag until the useless items were left on the floor for her to either throw out or put away.

Now for her real weapons.

She quietly heads upstairs, the stairs squeaking under her feet.

She brings her lantern with her instead of turning on the lights so as not to wake her father up.

[Y/N] tiptoes into her room, opening a small closet to reveal swords and armors of all types, tailored to her needs.

Her eyes landed directly on one sword.

Her rapier.

It was a gift from her mother before she left. She told the young girl that she might need it one day, and gave her the heirloom.

The rapier that was hand-crafted by her grandfather.

He was quite the talented weaponsmith, and her father would often sell weapons made by him a few years ago before he passed of old age.

She picks it up, examining the initials engraved into the leather sheathe.

Slim, fast, and precise. Just her cup of tea.

She takes it and places it on her nightstand before looking through the other items inside the closet.

Suddenly, she hears the door creak behind her, someone stepping foot into her room.

She whips towards the direction of the sound, holding up a random blade and getting into a fighting stance.

It was just her father.

"...oh. sorry, dad." She loosens up her stature and puts down the weapon. "I thought you were asleep."

She walks up to him and gives him a hug.

He hugs back and smiles brightly at her before glancing at the things behind her.

"What're you doing this late at night?"

She pauses.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you."

She fell quiet, a bit uncomfortable.

"The king requested my presence, which is why I came back so late."

His eyes widened.

"...and?"

"He requested me to train the paladins of Voltron in the ways of the Thuremians. He wishes me to pack up and be there tomorrow. Well, today, actually... since it's past midnight."

The man thinks before sighing.

"That's... dangerous."

The woman groans. "Don't you trust me?"

He seems a bit shocked at the question, taken aback a bit.

"No, of course I do," he replies. "It's just that-"

"It's just that what?" She snaps back at him.

He steps back, not daring a reply.

"I'm so tired of you treating me like a baby," she says, upset. "I'm not some kid. I can take care of myself without you babysitting me all the time!"

He stays quiet.

"I'm an adult! I've technically been an adult for two years now, dad. I'm twenty, and you treat me like I'm ten!"

"I'm just worried for you-"

"Worried, my ass! The king had all of Thuremia to ask, but he wanted me to train them instead. Isn't that all the proof you need that I'm capable enough?" She rants. "I actually have an opportunity to show you and everyone else that I'm capable of doing something, that I'm not just some shopkeeper's daughter, and you're not even letting me take it!"

She pants.

He stares at her, taken aback.

"I-"

She pushes him out of the room and slams the door closed, leaning against it.

She hears him whisper to himself on the other side.

"...I just don't want to lose you like everyone else."

She felt a pang of guilt in her chest, but ignores it before pushing herself against the door and going to finish packing up.

She supposed that all she'd need other than her bag and its contents, her rapier, and her bow and arrows, was her clothes.

Simple enough.

[Y/N] finishes by zipping up her small suitcase and goes to her window.

She opens the curtains and looks out, the wind blowing strands of her hair out of her face.

Tracing shapes in the stars with her finger, she soon gets bored and turns back around to rush to her desk, picking up a piece of colored paper.

She folds it against the windowsill into a plane, a shape she was most familiar with folding out of the paper.

And that night, she threw yet another one of the objects into the night sky with no reply.