The training grounds of Fortress Ithos are an open, dusty courtyard surrounded by high stone walls, casting long shadows as the sun begins its descent. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and earth, and the distant hum of the city seems muted here, as if the weight of history in the stones silences the present.
Splinter Hawthorne stands across from Lieutenant Marieke de Vries, both women in light sparring armor, their swords drawn. The two circle each other, eyes locked in a silent exchange that speaks volumes about their familiarity.
“Your Iron Guard are growing too comfortable,” Splinter begins, her voice steady but edged with criticism. “The way they turn a blind eye to the dealings in the Old Knot District, it’s starting to reflect poorly on you.”
Marieke smirks, feinting to the left before swinging her sword towards Splinter’s right side. “Comfortable? Or maybe just smart enough to know when not to poke the beehive. You, of all people, should understand that. Not everything needs a direct confrontation.”
Splinter parries the blow with ease, their swords clashing with a sharp ring that echoes through the courtyard. She steps forward, pushing Marieke back a few paces. “Turning a blind eye isn’t strategy; it’s negligence. And it’s going to cost you more than just your reputation if you let it continue.”
Marieke narrows her eyes, a spark of irritation flashing through them. She sidesteps, bringing her sword down in a quick, controlled arc that Splinter deflects with a quick twist of her wrist. “Easy for you to say, sitting in that fortress of yours, dreaming of some grand exploration while I’m the one dealing with the day-to-day mess of this city. Maybe if you were out here more often, you’d see the bigger picture.”
Splinter’s lips thin, her grip on her sword tightening as she presses the attack, forcing Marieke to backpedal. “Maybe if I were out there more, I wouldn’t have to deal with the mess you’re letting grow under your nose. The city isn’t a battlefield, but it requires just as much discipline.”
They break apart, circling each other once more, breathing hard but refusing to yield ground. There’s a pause, a moment where the tension between them is palpable, and then Marieke lets out a short laugh.
“You know, I almost envy you,” she admits, her tone softer, though the competitive edge remains. “You’ve got the freedom to think about what’s beyond these walls, beyond the city. I’m stuck here, putting out fires one after the other.”
Splinter arches an eyebrow, surprised by the admission but unwilling to show it. She swings her sword again, this time with less force, more testing. “And I envy you, Marieke. You’ve got roots here, a real chance to make a difference where it matters. My thoughts may be beyond the walls, but it’s here where the real work is being done.”
The words hang between them as they continue to spar, the clashing of swords intermingling with their breathless conversation. Each strike and parry, each deflection and riposte, is as much a part of their dialogue as the words themselves. They are warriors, bound by duty, but in these moments, they are also two people who understand the weight of leadership, the burdens they carry, and the unspoken envy of each other’s path.
Finally, after a particularly intense exchange, they break apart, swords lowered but still at the ready. Marieke wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, a half-smile playing on her lips.
“Let’s call it a draw,” she says, her voice tinged with amusement. “But don’t think this conversation is over.”
Splinter nods, a rare smile ghosting across her face as she sheathes her sword. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
The two women stand there for a moment, the camaraderie and rivalry between them as sharp as their blades. Then, with a mutual nod, they turn and walk off the training grounds, each returning to their duties, but with a deeper understanding of the other’s struggles—and perhaps a little more respect.