She had always hated storms. Unlike the rest of the kids her age, she wasn’t afraid of them – no, not in the slightest. She was aware of the risks that they posed, mostly from her mother’s fretting; the potential for a landslide to wipe away the whole of Wulventraum, the chance that the River Repus would burst its banks and wash them all away, or that a stray bolt of lightning would strike the village’s storehouse and burn both it and all the food they had stowed away to a cinder. Truly, her mother’s ceaseless worry was one of the main reasons she hated storms, in their little houses, there was no way she’d be able to escape. Evening storms were the worst, she rationalised. They wouldn’t be so bad if she could just sleep through them, but she’d never be so lucky. Each little rumble would elicit a yelp from her mother. A flash of light would see her mother ducking beneath the table in fear... It was so tiresome, and she was always locked inside whilst the rains pounded the world around her.
Perhaps, she would think, if she was allowed to go and play in the storm, play in the rain, that they wouldn’t be so bad. At the very least she should’ve been allowed to join her father in the town watch. She’d heard all sorts of exploits about him during various storms. How he could literally catch the lightning that fell from the heavens and redirect it back towards the sky, how he had helped save the town from disaster the winter before she was born by putting out a fire in that very storehouse her mother was always afraid for. There was no doubt about it, being trapped inside during a storm may have been a dreadfully boring experience, but being out amongst all that chaos practically called to her. Her father possessed mastery over lightning, who was to say that she didn’t as well? There was no way she could know without trying, and her dear old dad had to have learnt how to do what he did from somewhere, right?
The storm this evening, however, was different. Her parents had been drawn out of town on a trip of some kind – they wouldn’t tell her what it was, only that she had to keep the house safe for the next three days. She liked that, being given a mission and trusted to see it through. Even if Wulventraum was peaceful, she found herself patrolling the village each day with a wooden sword that her dad had made for her in hand. She never got to use it on anything, not even any particularly gutsy rats, but that was okay. The more peaceful the town was, the less she had to worry, right? The more she could simply play her days away.
Until, of course, the weather turned. That’s how it was, this evening. All the kids were playing, then the heavens opened and they all ran back home. All except for young little Ata. As a drop of rain landed square on her nose, she blinked and turned around. She could’ve followed one of the other kids to their home – her parents had drilled it into her just how important it was to take cover once the storm hit. To get to bed and not come out once morning arrived... but she couldn’t do that. Not when there was so much excitement brewing with foul weather. No, there was only one place that she was heading as soon as the rain started to pour. The town’s watchtower. In lieu of any actual military presence, the village had a small militia force. They were mostly just farmers who knew how to stick a pig better than a human, but they were better than nothing. All the gear they had was usually just kept at home, either in a shed or a special lockbox only to be accessed in time of emergency. The only real defensive structure they had was that old watchtower and the building that stood next to it. It was central, it was warm, few people went in there, and she’d be able to watch the storm go by from atop the watchtower! It was her greatest idea yet!
Except, when she got to the shack next to the tower, there was a light inside of it and the gentle clinking of metal against metal ringing out from within. It sounded like when those fancier visitors came to stay in the tavern, bringing metal forks and spoons with them to eat. It was so odd, why didn’t they just use their hands or the spoon that the tavern provided? Rich people... she didn’t think she could ever understand them. If there was a rich person in there, then she wouldn’t be able to stay in the watchtower. A shame... If she got caught, that is. It just seemed like an extra challenge to the red-haired six-year-old, a devilish grin growing on her face.
She gently pushed the door open, holding its side to prevent it from creaking too much, and crouched down. She couldn’t be seen, she had to be as quiet and as small as a mouse. She could manage that. She believed in herself. With a nod, she slowly began to advance, closing the door as gently as possible behind her. Slowly, slowly... click. The latch locked into position, keeping the door safe from the coming winds. It was odd, the person in here didn’t close it properly, anybody with half a brain knew how a door worked and knew how wind worked to blow them open at the most inopportune moments. She stepped away from the door, looking at the hallway before her. It was split into three sections – like a plus sign – to her left, there was a storage area. There wasn’t much of interest in there, unfortunately. Just a few bits of paperwork kept safe in a lockbox and the odd rusted old weapon. Broken handles and the like, nothing that’d ever be useful to anyone and far too heavy for someone her age to be able to play with. To the right was what the people called ‘the command room’. It was little more than a table, some chairs and a candelabra on the table for light... and the candelabra was lit.
She shouldn’t have peeked. She was always taught that watching people whilst they were having their dinner was rude, and she was always uncomfortable with watching people eat when she had nothing to eat herself, even if that was just because she’d finished her plate before anybody else. She was a growing girl! She needed the food! She peeked anyway, leaning across the doorway to have a look at whoever was inside. The man within was a giant. She’d believe you if you said that literally. She wasn’t even sure how he managed to fit through the doorframe. He took up nearly the whole width of the room, just being sat down with his cloak wrapped tightly around his body. On his plate was... some meat that she couldn’t identify. It looked black, though. Burnt, rather than purposefully overcooked, for certain. That meat was paired with various types of vegetables, and they at least didn’t seem overcooked. They barely seemed to be cooked at all. Definitely not a meal she envied, not in the slightest. She drew her head back, when a booming voice filled the building.
“And who might you be, then?” ...He’d seen her. She knew she shouldn’t have peeked. The young girl sighed and drew her wooden blade. This was a stranger, after all, and she had to be able to defend herself. She stepped forward and pivoted, facing the huge stranger.
“You first.” She spoke with such command, command that could only have been obtained from leading troupes of the other kids throughout the village. She’d even got one of the nine-year-olds to stand in-line once. That was a great day.
“Ah, but I see I already have the knowledge I need. You must be tonight’s town watch, hm? You look mighty fierce with that sword, youngling.” He wore a jovial smile on his face, and though his voice was loud and stern, he was far kinder than she was expecting. It took her off-guard, it almost... annoyed her. She frowned and tightened the grip on her blade.
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“I’m not kidding. Who are you? I know everyone here, but I haven’t seen you before.” She edged forward, locking eyes with the large man. Her heart was beating a thousand times a minute, but she wouldn’t back down. Not until she had an answer.
“I am... a traveler, you could say. I’ve come here from far away. I just need a place to stay for the night, and then I’ll be off.”
“So why don’t you stay at the inn? Or- I bet you’re planning to steal the town watch’s information, aren’t you? Well, it’s not happening. Not whilst I’m here.” She huffed, her stance widening to cover the entire doorframe. She must’ve looked pathetic, she certainly felt it. She felt so unstable on her feet, covering a space twice of what she should have been able to.
“No, girl. I... am a mercenary. The folks at the inn wanted to take my weapons off me. I said no, so they’ve stuck me out here. Alone, ‘til you came by.” She narrowed her eyes at the giant, but then slumped. She didn’t know if he was lying or not, but she didn’t think he was. Oh! There was one way to tell for certain, wasn’t there?
“Then show me them. Show me those weapons of yours that you wanted to keep.” Perfect. She’d get to play with a super cool weapon, listen to the storm go by and maybe even hear some stories from the mercenary. This was going to be an awesome storm.
“Fine. You can look, but don’t touch. They’re not playthings.” He pushed the plate aside then turned around in his chair to reach for something. It quickly became apparent as he picked it up. Off the ground it rose, a spear that must have been as long as the man was tall. Its handle was made of some wood, that’s what the grains were from in it, but she couldn’t exactly tell what it was. Nothing that grew locally, she knew that much at least. The spearhead – more of a short sword than anything – had its own engraved covering, though she couldn’t make out what it said. She wasn’t much one for reading, nobody in the village really was except for the local scribe, but even then, he worked for villages up and down the Repus, he wasn’t anything special to them.
“Woah...” Her eyes practically glistened as she beheld the weapon, stowing away her own pitiful wooden sword within its rope-forged scabbard. “It’s so pretty...” Her hand reached up to try and see the blade beneath the cover, but it was quickly swiped away from.
“I said ‘no touching’.”
“Er- Sorry, sir.” She backed away, pulling out a chair to sit on and hopping up onto it, a repentant frown on her face. “So... what’s that one?”
“Its name is Shiverpoint. In some shape or form, she’s been with me since the beginning. She’s had some new handles put in, some fresh heads to keep up with my opponents and mana... Yeah, she’s a real beauty. The runes engraved on the blade are perfect for channeling ice magic through her. There was one time, I was fighting against a nest of Regisbane... I threw Shiverpoint at the central bird of the flock, and they all scattered as their boss turned into a block of ice and fell out of the sky.” She had no clue what the giant man was talking about. Regisbanes? Ice Magic? Magical Runes? Yet it all sounded so captivating. So wonderful. Atalanta leaned forward on the table yet again, smiling at the bear of a man with a toothy grin.
“Tell me more! Tell me more!”
“Hah, sure thing. This here-” He reached down within his cloak, pulling out a sword that had been resting there, unbeknownst to her. Its Scabbard bore more engravings, and the leather it was made from was a very bright blue. “Is a prize I won for slaying Winter some years back. Turned his bones into this blade, and his skin into-” The large man paused, looking over his shoulder with a frown on his face.
“Stay here. Something’s not right.” He stood up, grabbing Shiverpoint, and managing to brush his way past Atalanta and get out. It wasn’t as if she’d be able to stop him, but all he had managed to do was make her curious. The storm definitely felt right, but... She closed her eyes. If that guy had noticed something was wrong, then surely, she should be able to tell as well, right?
She stayed still for a minute, two minutes, waiting for the mercenary to return, waiting for some sign of something that was wrong... but then a crashing noise. A fist through wood. That wasn’t normal. That was real danger. Should she stay where she was? Should she just hide out in the command room? No. No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She stepped outside into the maelstrom that had formed whilst she was talking with the giant man. It was so dark, she could barely see five feet in front of her. There were some torches, though. Probably the militia that were in the tavern, right? They were handling it, weren’t they? She wasn’t so certain. She couldn’t be so certain. She crept forward, freezing rain soaking her clothes and hair through. She shivered, trying to find any friendly face in the crowd, when she saw it. Aunt Briana’s sword. It had always been the pride of the family. A beautiful golden blade, with a scabbard encrusted with gems of all varieties. It had a twin, too, a magical shield that would prevent any harm from befalling those who held it. It was far too heavy for her to pick up, but she always wanted to try and use it. So why was the sword being carried by someone she didn’t recognise? Where was the shield that went with it? What was going on?
“HEY SHITHEAD!” She called out to the person holding the sword, pointing her wooden weapon at the fully grown man. “That doesn’t belong to you! Give it back!” The men laughed, not at all threatened by Atalanta’s presence. She pouted, stepping forward.
“Look, looks like the princess thinks she’s a knight. Beat it, kid. Pretend you haven’t seen anything.”
“I refuse. Give it back! Now! Or else- Or else I’ll call lightning on you! Don’t think I can’t just because I’m small-”
“You know what? Go on, if you want it so bad... Take it.” Huh? Ta-take it? Her eyes widened, flustered she opened and closed her mouth, trying to find any words. What did he mean by that? “I’ll even fight you for it. Come on, then.” The man squat down, holding the blade out just far enough for Atalanta to approach and grab the other end. What was she doing? Sure, she could hardly back down from the challenge now, but coming out here at all was a mistake. A huge, costly mistake. At least when she placed her hands on the sword’s scabbard, she felt a warmth radiating from it. That made everything better.
“Go on, girl. Pull as haaard as you want. I’m waiting.” The bandit laughed to himself, but Atalanta wasn’t having it. She wrapped her arms around the blade and pulled. Pulled with all her might, all her heart and her strength. It wouldn’t budge, though. The old guy was just far too strong. She couldn’t... she couldn’t do it! All she wanted to do was keep her aunt’s sword safe, was that too much to ask? All she wanted was to help protect the village and the nice man that had talked to her. Tears started to well up in her eyes as she tugged at the blade repeatedly. Thank the gods it was raining, she wasn’t remotely sure what was tears and what was the rain, but she couldn’t stop. She refused. She’d be saved eventually, right? Right?
Right. With one last great tug, she heard something that made her snap. A howl, piercing in the wind. Such a thing normally sent a shiver down her spine, but not today. All it did was invigorate her. It gave her the strength to carry on. To try again. She pulled once more... and, with a flash of brilliant light, blacked out. The only thing she could remember from there was waking up in the morning, blade cradled in her arms and the distinct taste of blood lingering in her mouth.
