⭐️  ⭐️  ⭐️  ⭐️ .Stars & Staffs Short Stories ⭐️  ⭐️  ⭐️  ⭐️.

---

Blade or Mist
by Nichole Galle
[Nichole is a physical therapist working and living in Texas with her partner and dog, who is their pride and joy. Twitter: nichole_galle Instagram: nichole.galle]

---

__________________
​Previous  Shorts
Basis by Rob Perrier
​Blade or Mist by Nichole Galle
​Reaching Out by Judith Pratt
​Observe by Beth Robertson
​Darkside Management by Tom Howard
​__________________

​After a year of training the weight of the sword and the bulk of the shield no longer weighed her down, but instead grounded her in the moment. Her braids were tight and her warrior’s paints swirled over her cheeks and neck and shoulders, the arts lovingly crafted by her sister-in-arms. No longer did they sport the black and purple and red marks of the training weapons. She’d been waiting for this moment, counting down the days until the battlefield welcomed her home and she could finally unleash her simmering rage on the person who’d tormented her this whole time.
​
The horn sounded from the tower, a warning for the imminent fight. Her leader called orders, forgoing names and titles and addressing only their hearts and souls. Legs trembled and breaths came short as they waited, waited, waited until the second horn cut through the air. She ran, the goddess making her feet swift and sure as she and her squadron cut away from the main battalion and set their sights on the southern side of the playing field. They met no resistance along the hillside, but as soon as they entered the trees, they could hear the telltale signs of the upcoming enemy force. They crested the peak before their opponents, and with the vision of a hawk she sought out her target.

Lyvia wasted no time, using the broad side of her shield to knock aside anyone who stood between her and Ren. His eyes looked particularly icy surrounded by the thick kohl shadow that the older class wore, and his eyebrows pinched just once in confusion before his new reality sank in. Finally, after a year of enduring his judgment, and snide comments, and living with the embarrassment of her loss to him the first day, she was here to have her revenge.

He was fast with his axes, faster than she’d ever seen him - but she was fast too. She’d spent night after night out in the training grounds, slashing and hacking at the dummies until the sword and shield were familiar extensions of her body. She’d watched every fight of his she could, picking them apart and filing every move away for this very moment. She knew, when she blocked his first downswing, that he would aim for a killing blow to her stomach. It was easy as breathing to block it, and she flung her arms wide before landing a harsh kick to his chest. He did not stumble as she’d hoped; one foot slid back, but otherwise he was able to stay upright, his muscles flexing under his red warrior’s paint. Damn muscles!

She gave him no time to rest, the battle around them fading away until she saw nothing but his stupid smirk and the flashes of his blades. Her sword sang songs of rage, and his axes answered with their own chorus. Her arm shook as he nearly landed one hit, her sword barely blocking the axe at the handle. She felt the sting of the blade on her arm, the red tattoo of a critical hit appearing on her forearm. How was that a critical hit?! It wasn’t hard enough to amputate her arm if this were a real battle. Perhaps the magic coating the weapons was set differently today?

Ren was confused as well, his eyes wide for a moment and his guard down. Thinking this might be her chance, Lyvia threw her entire weight into her sword, aiming for his chest. His reflexes saved him as he swung both axes by the broad sides, knocking her off her victorious trajectory. She flowed with the movement like a river rapid, dropping to one knee and swinging a deadly slice towards his abdomen. He was able to bend away from it, but she still felt the satisfying sensation of sword against skin. But instead of the gold line of a flesh wound appearing on his thigh, his skin opened to red muscle, his blood running and mingling with the already red designs on his leg.

That was not supposed to happen.

Had the sage not blessed the weapons beforehand?

Lyvia checked her arm, discovering why Ren paused earlier. It was not shock at the degree of injury. The red on her arm wasn’t the red of a critical injury tattoo, but instead an actual injury, her own blood making her paint turn purple. Now that she saw the wound, the pain hit her as well, and she dropped her shield to cover it with her hand.

“Something is wrong.” Ren said. His voice, usually annoyingly even, shook as he spoke. That instantly made her nervous; she’d never heard him unsettled before, no matter what the trainings threw their way.

“This is a trick. A nasty, cheating, second-year trick,” she accused. “You were afraid to face us!”

“How could we un-bless the weapons?” He countered her sharply, that intense gaze boring into her. She’d never met anyone with blue eyes before him, and she wouldn’t mind never meeting someone else again. She shifted, slowly going to pick up her shield, but he shook his head and took a limping step away from her. “We’ve had our differences, Lyvia, but I’ve never lied to you.”

She looked to her compatriots, most of whom realized too late what she and Ren had luckily discovered before any killing blows: the weapons, usually dulled by magic to leave a simple tattoo in place of a wound, were as sharp as the day they were made. She didn’t want to trust him, didn’t want to admit that this may be something bigger and worse than a second-year prank, but something deep in her gut told her what Ren said was truth.

Trust him? Or no?

Ren was speaking again, but she wasn’t listening. The wind had changed direction, bringing her a smell similar to a humid room after a summer rain. The mildewy scent had layers to it, layers of sweat and blood and something animal.

“The Men of the Mist.” She turned her face toward the western cliff, where the wall separating them from the Sunken Forest writhed in an unnatural way. Nothing had cleared that wall in a thousand years, and Lyvia had to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn’t imagining the green-tinted bodies climbing over it. The mythical Men of the Mist were no longer children’s horror stories; they were here, and so full of magic that their anger nearly knocked Lyvia back.

“They’re real.” Ren breathed in sharply, the slash on his leg long forgotten. Around them the fighting stopped, traditions now long forgotten as a new and terrifying enemy crawled over the cliffside like rats tumbling from a sewer.

“There’s so many. We can’t fight them.” Lyvia said it aloud, though she was really talking to herself. They had to run, right? They weren’t fully trained, not even remotely organized, and even the second-years lacked their military ribbons. Ren tightened his grip on his axes, and when she looked to him, he was wearing that obnoxious smirk again.

“No one would blame you for running.” He was goading her. She knew that. But that didn’t stop her blood from boiling. “But right now, we’re the only thing keeping them from getting into the city.”

Ren, her greatest foe, wanted her to fight alongside him against mystical forces that had been hiding and growing for the past thousand years. Forces that apparently still had their battle magic, whereas these trainees only had sharp weapons and gallons of adrenaline. She could stay and fight with him, or she could run.

Well, when he framed it that way, it wasn’t a decision at all.

“Bet I can take down more than you.”
​
Without waiting for a response, she ran towards the new battle.

Follow us!

2021 Stars & Staffs. All Rights Reserved.