A clang of metal echoed off of the cold stone walls of my bedroom, as it had every morning for years now. I rose from my wool-clad grave in the dreary stupor of dreams ended early. The light and warmth of the sun had not yet kissed the window, the building, or — most importantly — me.

  I pinched the wick of my candle, causing it to cry out in an unsatisfying hiss.

  My trusty fur coat called to me as an old friend, beckoning with its usual promise of warmth. After I fastened the buttons, the bitter early morning cold faded away like my breath. For another day in a row, the only warmth I would feel today was from a damn coat.

  The door handle nearly took my fingers with it as I twisted and pulled. A terrible groaning sound emanated from the hinges. I felt my face twist. First in confusion, and then in recognition. Lydia must have forgotten again. I let the blow glance off of my armored heart as I began toward the courtyard.

  My leather-clad footsteps echoed down the dim, familiar halls of our manor. Braziers stood every 15 paces — and not one more, for I had counted — doing what little they could against cruel Mother Nature’s breath. Elaborate, gilded portraits hung on the wall to my right, suspending paintings of each Duke Vuudweyen throughout the years.

  I reached the end of the long hallway and turned to face one such portrait — every aspiration I carried in oil and gold: Ser Merric Vuudweyen. I always heard tales about his noble quests when I was a young child, and I still aspire to be as great as he was.

  I took a moment to observe his gauntlet, encased in a box of glass and resting atop a firm red pillow. He had pioneered the arts my family passed down through blood. When people thought Vuudweyen, they thought of weapons, engraved with lines of delicate complexity and filled to the brim with scrawl energy. They thought of the knight that bested one hundred of his equals with a flying gauntlet.

  As was custom, I whispered his words of encouragement.

  “There is a difference between being a noble, and being a noble.”

  I did not understand the phrase itself, but the effort in chiseling the italics in stone was worth something. My heels scraped against the tiled floor, biting down with enough traction to propel me outside.

  The sun shone bright over the courtyard by now. My right arm swayed in the wind, tired and uncooperative. Once again, I closed my eyes, envisioning the intricate pattern I was made to memorize since this started. I look again, thoroughly disappointed to see the lines had not formed under my skin.

  The scrawl was something everyone was supposed to have a sense of control over. My father, brother, and even the servants had command over this force. A cinder coursed through me, roasting my ears in the telltale pang of rage. Another morning, no progress.

  The elaborate clink of plate mail sounded from behind me. He was here.

  “Younger brother Leonn, good tidings.”

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The sarcasm covered his breath in a foul viscosity.

  “Studious as ever, I see.”

  He adjusted the collar of his doublet as I turned to meet his scalding gaze.

  “Yes, I am. I will definitely make progress soon.”

  He hid a scoff behind a closed fist, before extending both forearms from his body.

  “That is progress? I suppose I can’t understand your struggle, given how easy the scrawl answers to me.”

  He grabbed his sleeve, sliding it up to reveal the blue lines and intricate tattoo I so desperately wished for.

  The burning sensation returned to my ears. Come to brag again? Come to shove your talent somewhere other than it belongs? All words he deserved to hear, but that would be “Oh so un-courtly.” A headless suit of armor stood beside him, meticulously engraved similarly to Merric’s gauntlet. Blue energy flowed through the etched metal, bringing it to life. There was no doubt Harvett had talent, even among our family, but did he have to be this way?

  “Why have you come to speak with me today?”

  He stepped a pace backward, but a cold smirk pierced through his surprise.

  “I was thinking we could have a friendly duel. It has been quite a while since you’ve swung a blade.”

  He snapped his finger, signaling his armor golem to reach into its own chest. Sure enough, out came two rapiers.

  The sun bounced off the hilt of one, practically blinding me with its decadence. Flawless gold with inlaid gems, a perfectly wrapped handle lightly worn from daily practice, and the blade perfectly sharpened.

  The other one was mine, a dainty and rugged thing put together from the parts of other broken swords. The armor threw the thing at me, and I barely had time to draw before Harvett took a lunge.

  Our blades clashed.

  Once, and then twice he launched a strike at me. I could only respond with a parry. Backpedaling like this felt pathetic, but I could tell Harvett did not care if he scratched me.

  Moreover, the craft of my weapon was dangerous. The basket was determined to prick me like a thorn bush with how it rattled in place. “A noble carries his honor in his blade,” my old instructor once told me. I had none with this disaster piece.

  Harvett let out a wicked smirk, raised his free hand, and snapped his fingers again.

  “Come, brother! Defense wont earn you any points! Get off your heels and fight!”

  Heat coursed through me — cut him to ribbons, Leonn. If only I were capable. My instincts continued to scream foul play as a shadow moved behind mine.

  I found myself unable to take another step back as I pressed into Harvett’s golem. He thrust his rapier as far forward as he could go without piercing my neck.

  “Oh, brother you’ve backed yourself into my armor. Next time, try and pay more attention to your surroundings.”

  No, it cant end yet. Cheating bastard.

  My rusty nail reached forward, cutting the fabric on his left shoulder.

  Harvett retreated,

  “my, that was rather barbaric. It was like you were trying to hurt me.”

  He examined the site for any injury.

  “I am unscathed, but truly wounded. Wherever did your honor go?”

  Damn it all. I’ve proven him right. My eyes squinted, disappointed at my lack of control. For another day he gets to feel superior while I tumble in the mud. When was it ever different, though?

  “Well, It seems I have to go now, dear brother. Father has called me for an important meeting.”

  He held his blade in front of him, pointing toward the endless grey sky. It soon found its scabbard.

  “Good bye for now. I will see you this evening.”

  He said it like he was excited for it, a pit formed in my stomach at the thought.

  I lingered in the courtyard long after he left. I wanted to yell, scream, maybe kick something. The only time I get to myself stolen away by self-serving condescension. If I were equipped with the skills to survive, I would have left long ago. The wind picked up, blowing my rose-gold hair in every direction. Was it so wrong that I felt just as scattered?

  in media res. I am glad I got the chance to go back and refine arguably the most important part of my story.

  My usual spiel, so that new readers can get used to it:

  I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter. Each one is set to release weekly, every Monday at 2:30pm EST.

  TOHV gets a new chapter. Every so often I might release an extra chapter, and you'll get first word.