Yun the Merchant Swordsmen

The weeks slipped by, then months, and before I knew it, I’d gotten used to my new life in the capital. My uncle was hardly ever around, but we managed to eat dinner together on weekends. After I told him what happened back in the village, he sent some of his own people to check it out. I tried getting more info out of him over dinner, but he always changed the subject.

I was glad he let me keep training with my sword—though only if I didn’t slack off on my other studies. My teacher said I was doing well and suggested I join the junior knights to continue my training.

“Alright, pair up and get to it!” the instructor barked.

I got teamed up again with a blond-haired boy named Asa. He was a year older than me, but we were about the same height.

Like always, we bowed to each other and said a quick prayer to Kaelros, god of Sun and Flames.

“You’re looking a little slow today, Yun,” Asa teased.

“I’m just warming up.”

We kept trading jabs—both with words and swords—as our sparring picked up speed.

“My sister’s having a birthday party,” Asa said, his words punctuated by the clang of our swords. He parried my next thrust. “Next week. You should come.”

I blocked a strike and grunted. “Why would I want to go to some girl’s party?”

“Don’t be like that.” Clang—our swords collided. “I promise it’ll be fun.”

“Pass,” I said.

A grin spread across his face as he jumped back to dodge my swing. “There’s gonna be a magic show.”

That got my attention. I stepped in and went on the attack. “Fine, I’ll go. But it better be good.”

My blade hit just right—his sword flew out of his hands, and he tumbled to the ground.

“Yes! That’s five in a row!” I said, grinning as I reached out to help him up.

Asa took my hand, laughing. “Relax, Yun. As your senior, I gotta let you win sometimes.”

We went at it a few more rounds before the session wrapped up.

I finally got used to the quiet—just the clinking of utensils and the occasional chirp of a bird outside the window. Meat was hard to come by, but my uncle managed to get it often enough that it didn’t feel like a luxury. My aunt had noticed I ate more than most and seemed quietly pleased by it—I was always served a big portion, like it made her happy to see me eat. That evening, during our usual dinner together, I mentioned the party invitation. My uncle and aunt weren’t surprised—a formal invitation had already arrived earlier that day.

“Yun, it’s so nice to see you making friends!” my aunt said. She’d been pressuring me for a while to start opening up to kids my age.

“Asa? He’s not my friend.” I paused. “He’s more like an animated training dummy.”

“How rude!” That was my uncle. “Yun, the Valen family is well respected. To receive an invitation to such an occasion is rare indeed. I won’t have you speak ill of them.”

I muttered an apology. My aunt spoke up.

“Yun, it’s customary to bring a gift to these sorts of occasions. Have you given any thought to what you’ll present to Lyra?”

“Girls like shiny things, right?” I said, scratching my neck. “I’ve got some really shiny stones in my rock collection.”

My aunt paused. Her expression was unreadable for a moment.

“Indeed, few girls can resist the allure of shiny objects,” she said carefully. “But a stone may be a bit too modest for a girl like her.”

My fork scraped against the plate, louder than I meant. My thoughts spun in quiet loops.

My uncle cleared his throat. “You don’t need to give her something extravagant, Yun. But it should be meaningful. Thoughtful. The Valens care about reputation—and so should we.”

My eyes drifted to the window. The color of the sky reminded me of days Minah and I would collect riverglass and how we would hide our secret treasures. She would never admit it but she liked pretty things too.

“I’ll figure something out,” I said finally.

My aunt smiled gently and reached across the table, placing her hand on mine. “I’m glad you’re going, Yun. Really.”

I nodded again, not trusting myself to speak.

After dinner, I excused myself and wandered back to my room. I looked over my stone collection, inspecting each piece.

Too modest, she’d said.

I picked up a particularly shiny stone—the blue-gray color pulled old memories to the surface. I turned it over once more, then set it down and opened my drawer.

Maybe it was time to find something else. Something better.

But for a while longer, I just stood there, staring at the shiny stone, wondering when everything that used to feel like enough had started to feel small.