Nessa Rootmark's Arc

Chapter 1 of 9

Nessa was halfway through her first slow practice when the stranger walked into the clearing. She held her draw, fingers trembling against the string, and watched him scan the gathered archers. He wore leather armor marked with symbols she didn't recognize. His voice carried across the practice ground when he spoke. He pulled a golden bell from his pack and mounted it on a wooden frame near the far treeline. Birds were etched across its surface. The frame bore tally marks—hundreds of them. "I challenge any archer here to match me," he said. "Three shots at distance. The windsock hung beyond your practice grounds will serve." He rang the bell once, and the sound rolled through the forest. Nessa's rival stepped forward from the gathering near the clan's massive treehouse. The crowd parted for him. He moved with that familiar calm, like he'd already decided how this would end. Nessa knew she should let him take it. She'd just committed to slow practice, to fixing what was broken. But her hands were already lowering her bow, her feet already carrying her toward the stranger. She stepped into the space beside her rival before anyone else could speak. The stranger smiled. Her rival glanced at her—no surprise, no judgment, just recognition. The choice was made. Nessa had abandoned her first real practice in four losses to chase another contest she wasn't ready for.