Obsidian Thornwing's Arc

Chapter 1 of 18

Obsidian Thornwing had three days to earn the captain's braid, and a trial bout he could not win stood between him and the rank he had trained his whole life for. He drove his practice blade into the straw dummy behind the watch tower until his arms shook. Every strike landed. None of them landed the way the royal guard wanted. He fought the way a boy fights when the village burns behind him — fast, low, ugly. The guard drilled in clean lines. His black wings twitched at his back. He had already seen how the recruiters looked at those wings before he opened his mouth. A boot scraped the ladder above him. Iron Riven climbed down from the mushroom-cap watch post, green hood pulled low, one hand still on the hilt at his back. His uncle had taught him to hold a knife before he was tall enough to reach a table. He stopped four paces off and watched Obsidian miss the dummy's throat by a full inch. "Drop the sword," Iron said. Obsidian didn't. "Trial is Thursday." "Drop it." He dropped it. Iron walked to the dummy. He tapped the straw where the throat would be. Then the ribs. Then the inside of the knee. "Three cuts. In order. That's their form. You know it." "I know it." "You don't use it." "It's slow." "It's the one they're grading." Obsidian picked the sword back up. He set his feet the way the guard manual showed. Throat. Ribs. Knee. It felt like walking in someone else's boots. Iron watched without moving. "Again." He did it again. And again. And after what felt like forever, Obsidian was making much progress under his uncle’s training.