Heartless

Chapter 1: Ignore the Signs

Eret brought his sword up as the blade came down, clashing against his own. He pushed against it, shoving his opponent back. She was quick to back up before beginning her attack. Eret blocked the throws as quickly as they came, gritting his teeth together, and after a while, he let her think he might let out. Until once she had him backed into a corner, he lifted his head for her to catch his smirk when she paused to catch her breathe, a cocky expression on her face that came with years of experience.

"Are you done?" he breathed.

Now it was Eret's turn to throw his attacks relentlessly, and caught by surprise, she was barely able to block them in time. Using that to his advantage, he didn't allow her to regain her footing, and in less than a minute, Eret had her on the floor, her sword skewed to another side, and one at her face.

"You're getting better, Eret. You'll be ready for your Teletí in no time, and you'll pass with flying colors like everyone else in the family."

Asta chuckled lightly as she pushed his sword away with her finger from where it was an inch from her nose. She stood up, brushing her dirty hands against her even filthier breeches from the same repeated actions done several times already now. She flipped her silver hair out of her face and raked a hand through, releasing it from its loose braid and leaving a trail of grease in its wake. "Then again, fighting against your sleep-deprived sister might not be the best practice idea in the world," she said with an agitated sigh, maybe at how easy it'd been to take her down, easier than usual if she'd gotten a full night of sleep for the past week. Dark circles threatened her misty, violet eyes. She had been up all night again, working on weapon orders in the blacksmiths.

This was their reality: training sessions in a neglected armory with poor lighting and a mundane existence spent just trying to make it from one day to the next.

"I'm trying my best, but you try concentrating with all the pressure that comes with this family," Eret huffed.

"Well, come on, one more time, and then we have to go help Mom. Best five out of nine?"

"If you can handle it, big sister. You just might be losing your touch."

With a laugh, he tossed her a blade and parried the blow his sister attempted to deliver the instant it was in her hand. In retaliation, she spun on her heel and thrust her sword up past his defenses. He stepped back, his wry laughter halted, as her sword brushed against his neck, scraping his skin. Too close.

"What was that about me losing my touch again?"

For a few minutes, the pair of siblings clashed their blades, stepping nimbly and evenly matched, locked in a routine both knew well. Eret flew to his knees and attempted to block a blow from below, but Asta was ready. Shifting positions as effortlessly as it was to walk, she bent down and crossed swords with him for the thousandth time.

Asta's expert footwork made it clear she belonged in the top elite of her class and therefore soon to become among the elite group of warriors entrusted to protect their nation and fight in the seemingly neverending war against the otherworlders upon graduation. Maybe even among the top three to proceed to participate in probatio, trials held for the best graduates of the training academy, and if they succeed, to be chosen to ascend onto the ruling council once the present ones died or neared their time to retire their positions. It was an honor Asta never took lightly much like her studies and training. However, using her experience to help her brother gain some as well was always a cause to pass the time even before he began officially training. It was their thing.

Just last year he'd began his own training in Pyhrah Academy like almost every child who'd grown up in the nation. Originally, thousands of years ago, it was meant for only the privilege, and now it was mandatory for all capable of fighting ability (mainly those in families with a reputation of such) or helping in the war effort. War did that