One destiny. Two paths. One war.
Sheala and Cass have chosen their sides. One seeks to bring meaning to her life that has been in shambles since the day her father and mother were killed and weighs the prospect of assuming the mantle of her uncle's...
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And so the first-born child of the House of Tynara shall be of woman. And she shall have the fairies' blessing. They will grant her the gifts of magic, and she will have the heart of a warrior, but the wisdom to not concede to her desires. And she shall wed the First Son of the House of Reyewa and rule over the elven people.
Book of Earoni 78:90
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In her hand, the Silver Steel blade caught the few rays of early morning leaking through the forest's canopy. It was lighter than any sword she had held of its size. Compared to the practice swords she used in her matches against Gregory, this one was as light as a feather. She could not help but marvel at the craftsmanship, the runes along its length shimmering like water in a stream.
With a swipe at an imaginary foe, Sheala's ears once more caught the low whistling sound as the edge of the blade sliced through the air. She'd purposefully gotten up early. Even despite the late night from the prior evening's dinner where she'd eaten too much. Her stomach still felt full so she had foregone any breakfast.
This morning she had broken with her nauseating routine of the previous few weeks. That routine had consisted of putting on one of the fine dresses her uncle had sent with her and then pretending to be some proper lady that she could never hope to become. The words Tranas Tynara had spoke last evening had stuck with her and swam around in her mind.
"The Child of the Storm is not as she appears to you," he had told Ittan, First Son of the House of Reyewa. And she couldn't have agreed more.
Thankful someone else had noticed the unease roiling inside her, just before dawn she chose to slip into her more accustomed and well-worn clothes. Disappearing into the woods, Sheala wanted some time to herself and for a little sword practice. Besides, she would be back before anyone missed her.
During dinner, she had overheard the elf she knew only as Esse whisper to the Ava El'brim about Imperial patrols in the vicinity of the Elven Kingdom's southern borders. Part of Sheala wanted to go head south right then and there and and find some live targets.
As Sheala played with her sword, trying to imagine the movements of her nonexistent adversary, there was something that seemed to niggle at the back of her mind. Almost as if by just holding this weapon she knew what to do with it. She found it curious and had asked about it several times. But none appeared willing or able to answer her questions beyond the most basic. Not even Hewre, the elven woman who forged the weapon and whom Sayra had introduced her to at dinner, had any information beyond some vague concept of, "the sword was made for her". Sheala chalked it up to a mystery, but one she vowed to solve. Seemed that there was always a conundrum to clarify regarding her life, so why should this be any different?
