FLAMES OF THE VILLAGE PART 1

Two months had flown by since Shu’en first picked up a wooden practice sword, fueled by a fierce determination, and today, Ei’sen thought it was finally time to see how far he’d come.

The courtyard was quiet, the only sound being the gentle rustle of the trees as their leaves danced in the soft morning breeze.

The ground beneath their feet was solid and packed, providing just the right amount of resistance for a firm stance. Shu’en tightened his grip on the wooden sword, his knuckles turning white, and adjusted his position.

Ei’sen, always a mix of mischief and discipline, raised an eyebrow while casually twirling his own practice blade in one hand. “Alright, Shu’en. Let’s find out if all that hard work has made you any less of a troublemaker or maybe even more.”

Shu’en’s pale blue eyes narrowed, his small jaw set with determination. Two months. Two months of swinging, stepping, falling, and swinging again. I’ve made progress, and I can feel it.

Ei’sen was the first to strike, lunging forward with a deliberate blow aimed just above Shu’en’s shoulder. Shu’en reacted without hesitation, pivoting on his heel to deflect the attack. The sound of wood clashing against wood echoed through his small arms.

Not bad. He’s testing me, checking if I’ve learned to read his moves. Two months in, and I can already predict his actions better than before.

Strike after strike, block after block, the two moved with a fluidity that transformed the courtyard into a battlefield.

Shu’en couldn’t help but admire how his father’s blade sliced through the air, each swing packed with weight, speed, and precision. He could almost hear the rhythm of Ei’sen’s breaths—the subtle inhale before a feint, the shift of his weight, the slight tilt of his shoulders.

This was more than just swinging a sword. It was about timing, intuition, and control.

Ei’sen launched a high diagonal cut. Shu’en ducked, rolled to the side, and sprang up with a low thrust, catching his father just a bit off guard. Ei’sen staggered back an extra half-step. Shu’en’s chest swelled with a mix of excitement and pride. I did it. I actually did it. I read him this time. I caught him off guard.

But as that thought sparked in his mind, a subtle caution tickled the back of his thoughts. Don’t get cocky. That was lucky. Or maybe… skill is finally starting to show in my movements. I can’t let it slip away.

Ei’sen smiled, that familiar glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Hmm… interesting. You’ve grown, Shu’en. But don’t get too comfortable.” He twirled the wooden blade in a blur and pressed forward again, faster and sharper.

Shu’en blocked, parried, and spun—each motion more confident than the last. Sweat stung his eyes, and his small muscles ached, but he pushed through, letting his training guide his moves. I’m reading him. I can predict his strikes. My stance is solid. My grip… stronger. Two months have made a difference.

Another feint, and Shu’en lunged with a bold strike. Ei’sen twisted slightly, barely missing the tip of the wooden blade. Yes…! He’s finally respecting my movements!

The thought barely finished forming before Shu’en broke into a grin, a sharp, mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. I got him! I really got him! He didn’t see this coming!

He seized the moment, stepping into an aggressive rhythm, swinging, parrying, and thrusting with a precision that felt almost instinctual. This is it! This is my chance. He’s caught off guard. My timing couldn’t be better. I…

Then, out of nowhere—a sudden, sharp strike from Ei’sen’s left hand!

Shu’en froze. His grin slipped away as a gust of wind brushed against his cheek. The ground rushed up to meet him. Pain exploded in his head as his father’s blade, wielded with practiced ease, sent him sprawling.

And then… darkness.

What…? Shu’en’s thoughts flickered, half-formed, as if time had stopped. I… I miscalculated. I thought… I…

Ei’sen knelt beside him, a grin on his face that mixed amusement with pride. “There it is. Confidence… and humility. Lesson one: never underestimate the man who taught you how to wield a sword.”

Shu’en groaned, blinking slowly, still sprawled on the ground. Humility… yes… lesson learned. Ouch… my head is killing me…

Ei’sen ruffled his damp hair, chuckling softly. “You’re doing great, Shu’en. But remember—skill without patience is a quick way to end up on the ground. And pride? That’ll take you out faster than any bandit ever could.”

Shu’en attempted to sit up but collapsed back against the dirt, letting out a small, breathless laugh. “You… you tricked me.”

“And you fell for it beautifully,” Ei’sen replied, chuckling. He helped Shu’en to his feet, steadying him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s how growth works. You think you’re ready, and then the world reminds you there’s always more to learn.”

Shu’en’s eyes fell to the wooden sword lying on the ground. He reached out to touch the hilt, his breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. I almost… almost had him. But he’s still better. So much better. I need to… I need to keep pushing myself. Faster. Smarter. Stronger.

Ei’sen knelt down to meet his son’s gaze. “Look at me, Shu’en. Every strike you make, every step you take—whether you stumble or succeed—it's all part of your journey. It’s not just about becoming a swordsman; it’s about learning to notice… everything. That’s what gives you an edge.”

Shu’en nodded slowly, still trying to catch his breath, a light blush creeping across his cheeks from the effort. Everything… yes. I need to see it all. Hear it all. Understand it all.

As he wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek, a small grin broke through his tired expression. Tomorrow, I’ll get him. I’ll really get him.

Ei’sen chuckled at the fierce determination shining in his son’s eyes. “That’s the spirit, little one. But for now… let’s get some water in you before you collapse.”

Shu’en’s small chest rose and fell quickly, his gaze darting between his father, the sword, and the courtyard around him. At just five years old, he had already grasped the first true lesson of a warrior: skill matters, but pride must always yield to discipline and even the tiniest victory can slip away in an instant.

The clash of their wooden swords echoed with a sharp crack, sending both father and son staggering back. Shu’en’s chest heaved as he caught his breath, sweat trickling down his face, but his eyes sparkled with pride. After two months of grueling training, he was finally holding his own—barely.

“Not bad,” Ei’sen grunted, casually twirling his practice sword. “Your stance is sharper. You’re starting to read my strikes.”

Shu’en smirked, trying to hide how winded he was. Read my strikes? Ha! I almost had you that time. Just one more push and—

With that thought, the boy lunged, his wooden blade slicing through the air with surprising speed. Ei’sen raised an eyebrow, impressed, but stood his ground. Shu’en’s strike aimed for his side, quick and low—way too quick for someone who’d only been training for a few weeks.

“Got you,” Shu’en whispered, a grin spreading across his face.

But in the blink of an eye—whack!

A jolt of pain shot through the back of his head as Ei’sen spun around, tapping his son’s temple with the flat of his blade. Shu’en’s eyes rolled back before he even hit the ground.

“Cocky,” Ei’sen sighed, scratching his jaw. “It’s always the cocky ones who go down first.”

Before he could wake Shu’en, the sharp sound of footsteps echoed from the dirt path. A villager stumbled into the clearing, his face pale and chest heaving.

“E-Ei’sen!” he gasped. “The village—it’s under attack! Bandits!”

Ei’sen’s expression turned serious in an instant. He dropped the wooden sword and reached for the real steel katana resting against the wall. “How many?”

“Too many!” the villager cried. “They’re—burning everything! Taking food, women, children—anyone who resists is… is being cut down.”

Shu’en stirred awake at the words, groaning as he rubbed his throbbing head. His father crouched down, gripping his shoulder.

“Shu’en. Head inside the house. Don’t come out until I’m back.”

The boy’s gray eyes flew open, a fire of defiance igniting within them. “No. I can fight.”

Ei’sen paused, then let out a smirk. “You? You wouldn’t last five minutes against me.”

Shu’en stood tall, his fists clenched around the hilt of his wooden sword. “If I don’t fight now, then what’s the point of all this training? I won’t just sit back and hide while others are out there getting hurt!”

The air between them was thick with tension, only broken by the frantic breaths of the villagers nearby. Then, slowly, a smile crept onto Ei’sen’s face. It wasn’t a teasing grin this time, but one filled with pride, deep and unspoken.

“…You remind me of myself when I was your age,” he said softly, ruffling Shu’en’s messy hair. “Alright. But stay close. Watch, learn, and only strike when I say so. This isn’t just practice anymore. It’s the real deal.”

Shu’en’s heart raced, but he nodded with determination.

Ei’sen drew his katana with a sharp shing, the blade shimmering like liquid moonlight. Shu’en tightened his grip on his wooden sword, a small shadow next to a towering figure.

“Get ready,” Ei’sen said. “Because tonight, you’re stepping into the world of a swordsman.”

Torches flickered in the darkness as chaos engulfed the once-peaceful village. The air was filled with screams, blending with the raucous laughter of drunken marauders.

“Burn it all!” one bandit shouted, kicking open the door of a hut. Moments later, flames erupted as two terrified children dashed into the night, only to be snatched up by another grinning thug.

A woman rushed to protect them, gripping a cooking knife with shaking hands. The bandit sneered and backhanded her, sending her crashing to the ground. “Get outta the way, wench.”

Meanwhile, other raiders were hauling sacks of grain, chickens, and barrels of water toward wagons already overflowing with stolen treasures. A group of bandits rounded up frightened villagers, their torches casting light on the wide, tear-filled eyes of the captives.

The acrid smell of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air. The bandits laughed and cursed as the village was consumed by flames, a horrifying inferno lighting up the horizon.

And through it all, one voice rang out:

“Kill the stubborn ones. The rest—we take.”