The Claimed: Rashika's Resistance

Chapter 1: A New Mission

Twenty Years Later

A jolt shrieked up my arm as the swords thwacked. I scampered back to adjust my form and flipped my blade around to meet the next blow.

My opponent grinned down at me. The evening sun etched sinister shadows over his pale face and flickered across the jagged pink scar zigzagging from his eyebrow to his jaw. When he stalked toward me, his hulking form blocked out the light. Staring up at his face, I recognized the intent in his expression... 

Too late to stop him.

"So, I was thinking," he said.

I puffed a noisy sigh. "Goddess, not again."

Dust billowed beneath our feet at the courtyard's center as I lunged and swung my blade. He twisted his sword around to parry, biceps swelling to the size of my head.

"Epsa, hear me out—this one is a winner!" Despite his ten years in Rakim, his voice still carried the choppy harshness of the northern tribal states. 

"Fine, Pim. Tell me."

"So, three warriors set out to rescue a princess from an island surrounded by Paksha She Monsters." Clack, clack, step-step-step, clack. "And the three men—"

"Why are the warriors always men?"

"I'm just being realistic."

I thrust the blade toward his chest, and he staggered back a step to block the blow, wheezing. When I retreated to allow him to catch his breath, he planted his fists on his thighs and slouched.

"Epsa, you do realize"—gasp—"you are the only woman"—gasp—"in the Royal Guard."

"That's because girls grow up hearing stupid stories where the warriors are all men."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, imagine the three warriors are women. May I continue?"

"I don't suppose I can stop you."

"So, the first warrior falls to a storm at sea. The second is lured away by Paksha She Monsters, who devour his—her—heart. But the third warrior makes it to the island to rescue the princess, and then..." He thrust both arms toward me in a flourish, nearly fumbling his sword. "Happy forever more!"

"Ah."

He wiped his bulbous forehead, and sweat speckled the soil under our feet. "Ah? That's it? I need some honest feedback here."

"Pim... you know I hate stories."

"That just means you haven't heard the right one."

"Some honest feedback, then?"

"Yes?"

"I still haven't heard the right one."

With a belabored groan, Pim lashed out again, and a scurry of feet trampled the dirt. Our panting mingled with the natural spring, which shot water onto the cupped hands of a glistening gold statue of Goddess Rashika. The sun began to sag below the palace walls surrounding us, etching shadows across verdant vines and blossoming lilacs.

Finally, my blade tapped his neck.

"Gah." He chucked his blade at the ground. "The sun was in my eyes."

"Oh, Pim. You are certainly fond of storytelling."

Pim chuckled. "Honestly, Epsa, I'm just glad you'll be on my side when we face those Trogolese bastards tomorrow."

He bent to retrieve his discarded sword, and my breath caught in my chest. Silver flashed at the neckline of his pit-stained tunic, a misshapen deity with a "V" smile and four arms weaving bonelessly. Lord Acrador.