Fourth Tether of Lunareth, Starisday, 120th Cycle of Threads
Valdoria's Rite of Blades is one of the most important events celebrated, where warriors fight each other to death to ascend their ranking. Today, there are a couple of Ironbloods who challenged destiny itself to gain their fame and honor in exchange for their lives. The battle was brutal, gruesome — degrading, unfair, and bloody — yet many Valdorians find it entertaining, manly, indomitable, and unrelenting.
I sat beside my father on the top of the colosseum where respected Ironbloods watch. I tried to keep a stoic face as the sword slashed the other warrior's chest and the crowd went wild. My father stood up and clapped his hands, recognizing the warrior's bravery and strength. "See that, son? Someday you'll be down there to slash your enemies like that young warrior!" He exclaimed, patting me hard on the back. In the end, only one warrior survived while the rest hugged the ground, their body cold and soulless. I looked at their lifeless bodies, and it got me thinking if that's what I'll look like once I entered the arena as a warrior. Maybe my fate is tied and sealed. Though I knew that I might never be an Ironblood, my father still trains me relentlessly day after day. He trains me to exhaustion only for him to say that he's disappointed in me. He kept telling me to be one with the sword, to swing like I mean it, and attack like my life depended on it. "Don't you want the honor, Teren? Don't you want to be respected?" My father often told me.
They say that you can get by with mere honor because respect is what Valdorians live for. That may be true, but there are times where I question our beliefs. I realized that as I entered our house. Some might call it humble, but I call it a disappointment. It's rugged, chaotic, and every adjective that also describes us Ironbloods. I felt the weight on my shoulders even more so when my father told me, "Teren, I signed you up for the Beast Trials on the 7th Arc of Ages." My heart dropped but as usual, I tried my best to stay composed. "But father, don't I have a say in this?" My voice softly echoed inside the hut. But he just grunted and went out to hunt.
As soon as he left, my shoulders dropped, and my mind started to panic. What do I do? The fact that I only have 40 moons before the 7th Arc of Ages makes me want to run away and hide forever. But I know I can't do that. "Teren, don't panic. It's fine." I did my best to calm myself. If only my mother were here. She might tell me that everything will be fine, maybe even better. Maybe she'll embrace me and soothe me and do everything that's opposite with what typical Valdorians do.
Valdoria is a male-dominated kingdom. Those who weren't born with a Dominion's mark — what Valdorians call 'manhood,' were auctioned to other kingdoms or other households to be kept as maids. If they are a descendant of a Champion, an Ironblood, or a Royal-borne, then they are betrothed to another. My mother, as I heard, was a gift to my father after he ascended as an Ironblood. After I was born, she was deemed useless and was "thrown out" into the pits of Ignovar's flames. They claimed it was for the best, so that she'll be reincarnated with a Dominion's mark.
Finally, I made up my mind. Thinking about my mother and the constant pressure from my father, I picked up the sword that was stacked behind the hut and began my own training. In 40 moons, I must face a monster that can kill me and I refuse to accept the fate I etched in my mind. Every time my father goes out to hunt, I train by myself until I can't pick up the sword anymore.
I gripped the sword tight with my hands and swing it as hard as I can. Faster. Stronger. No hesitation. Until my hands blistered and bled, channeling all my frustrations in each of my attacks. Swing. Dodge. Attack. Repeat. Over and over. Until my exhaustion turned into fire that fueled my determination. My ear constantly rings because of father's disappointment – of his discipline.
"Until your tears turn to blood, I don't want to hear you complain."
"You remind me of your mother; what a useless good-for-nothing creature."
"Teren, why do you put me in constant shame?"
"Teren, why do you act like your mother?"
"Teren, you will never amount to anything if you keep being a coward."
"Teren…"
"Teren…"
"Teren!" A loud voice called out. I turned to look at my father, who was calling me the whole time. We stood for what felt like an eternity, as I mentally ready myself for another lecture. But instead of a lecture, he smiled. I've never seen him smile before. He slowly approached me, patted my back, and laughed like he's never laughed before. It was low, almost roaring. "My son, why are you holding back from me when we train? You should've given it your all in the first place! I am so proud of you!" His words echoed in my head. My heart fluttered out of joy, but my face remained stoic, afraid of showing emotions. That word awoken something inside me, like a dormant volcano; it was pride. I promised, "From now on, I'll train until my own body forgets how to surrender."
Over the next few moons, I clashed swords with my father. He never held back, and I was not about to be defeated. I grew stronger, both mentally and physically. And before I knew it, the most anticipated Beast Trials has arrived. The trumpets were as loud as the cheers of the people. Beside me are the other candidates, all of them looking determined and confident but I know for a fact that there's a hint of nervousness and uncertainty lying behind those facades. The moment the Keeper of the Flames, a member of the Council, lit the curtains that concealed us, the trials officially started.
"I vow to bleed, break, and rise. Let the beast within be unleashed." We shouted with all our might. It was an oath before we proceed. A reminder that this can break or make us; either we become a legend by surviving or by dying. And so, the opening ritual is finished, let the rest of the trial happen with fate by my side. I ran across the colosseum and down under to be greeted by a labyrinth. Some participants charged forward, while some stood outside, also looking confused and unsure. There it is, their brave façade finally breaking. After collecting myself, I ran towards the labyrinth. I know how this goes. It's full of traps, surprises, and uncertainty — just like I once was.
With my sword in my calloused hands, I gripped it tight. Dodge. Swing. Block. Again, and again. Every pent-up frustration from the training and from my father, I channel it on my every move, my every grunt and shout and cry. Every turn I see traps and false walls, one wrong move and I'm a dead man: a dead man with a proud father glorifying my lifeless corpse. Just as I was thinking on how to move past the obstacle ahead, someone pushed me to a fake wall. Life flashed before my eyes. This is it. I thought it was the end. Swiftly, before even realizing it, I grabbed his wrist and quickly shifted my weight, turning my downfall to his own nightmare. He tipped forward, falling into spines that pierced holes through his body. I looked at him with no remorse. He wanted to play dirty, but he ended up buried in it. Without second thoughts, I lunged forward, tearing through every path in my way. I easily conquered every trap and abolished every enemy with ease. They need not my help, and neither do I.
And here we are. Three warriors awaiting on three stone gates. Inside are Morrowshades that I only hear in the mouths of the elder. They say it doesn't take the form of anything but one's deepest fears and insecurities. I remember one elder in town told me, "You do not fight the beast—you fight yourself. And not all selves are worth saving." Clearing my head, I pushed the big stone button that opened the gate in front of me, and it closed as soon as I went inside. One by one, the dark cave illuminated with light as candles burned. And there it is, my Morrowshade.
"A mirror?" I muttered to myself. Slowly, I approached the beast that will supposedly devour me alive. It's just an ordinary full-sized mirror, and yet every step felt like it was suffocating me. My reflection stared back at me, like a pair of foreign eyes. Confused, I looked around. Maybe this is some kind of joke that my father orchestrated. Maybe he didn't have any faith in me, that was why he changed my Morrowshade. But it can't be. Am I just as weak as my mother? Am I not worthy of an Ironblood title? I looked in the mirror once again. Looking at my reflection, I see myself; my clothes tattered, my look disheveled, ragged, and everything I swore I wouldn't be. I giggled, then chuckled, then laughed like a madman. I realized that I never hated the idea of being an Ironblood, I hated the fact that I may never be one. Gripping my sword tightly, I lifted it up and slashed the mirror into pieces. It's time to bid farewell to my past ideals.
After breaking the mirror, the candles died, and I was surrounded by darkness once again. Little by little, light shone through a crack and a door opened. I emerged back into the arena, the people cheering. I survived. I saw my father for the first time shedding tears. I don't know if it was because I was alive and well, or maybe because he finally saw that I could bring honor to our family. Either way, I celebrated. For the first time, I stood tall in front of my people; feeling like I've been reborn — not as my father's shadow or my mother's cowardice, but a complete version I made of my own.