A convulsion tore through Radhildur as they came-to, and they released a voiceless wail. Pain laced every bone and every muscle as their body reshaped itself. It felt as though they were shredded apart and sewn back together. In a way, they were. Traveling from Ku’s realm and taking on a physical manifestation different from their original form siphoned out all of their strength. The process was agonizing, and Ku claimed it was the reason why they couldn’t transform at will in the human realm. In the Celestial’s, it wasn’t a problem—Ku had the power there to manipulate the pain into a dull droning because it had complete control.

But that was not the case once Radhildur awoke. 

Tears beaded along their eyelashes and the creases of their eyes. Sitting up in bed, Radhildur shook out the residual pins and needles rendering their limbs immobile. Disorientation flooded their senses and a depressing weight settled back on their shoulders. They’d come to hate their original form.  

Wallowing in the dysphoria would make things worse though, so Radhildur forced themself up and strode to the closet. None of the servants would be about this early to tend to them. So they donned a binding for their chest, a cowl mask, and a loose black shirt to go over it. Maroon trousers and their usual traveling boots to complete the look, they stared proudly in the mirror as they placed a wide-brimmed hat on their head.

Even without Ku’s blessing, this appearance cut something more masculine and broader. It pleased them.

A light knocking at the door startled them. Really, no one should have been awake. Puzzled, they debated on answering. They had been so close to escaping.

“Rathi, I know you haven’t left yet—let me in please.” Grimhildis’ voice lilted musically.

Sighing, now Radhildur really couldn’t leave, they opened the doors enough for their sister to sweep in. She wore a light dress and a wool shawl over her shoulders. Despite that, her elegant and dainty figure made her seem dressed for the highest of occasions. 

“Av told me that you and Ku are up to something,” Grimhildis demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing yet,” Radhildur pouted, pulling the rim of their hat. “There may be a small problem...but we don’t know yet.”

“Want to run that by me?” Their sister placed her hands on her hips impatiently. 

Finally, they acquiesced. “I wanted to investigate a little more before asking for your help. But here take a look.”

Radhildur held out their hand, black struggling calligraphy of ‘13th Battalion’ scrawled on their palm. The charcoal had already smudged, but the words were still legible. Grimhildis’ brow lifted.

“What’s this? What does that mean?” She asked, “13th Battalion—as in the knights' unit?”

They shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But I didn’t write it. There was someone else in Ku’s realm.”

“That’s impossible,” Grimhildis said. “The Celestials don’t take more than one champion at a time.”

“He wasn’t a champion,” Radhildur replied, grabbing their sword from the bedside and attaching the sheath to the loop on their belt, “but a regular person who had been sucked into Ku’s territory while asleep.”

Grimhildis’ eyes narrowed.

“Ask Av what it thinks, if you could,” they continued, “Ku will also be snooping around to see what it can figure out. The whole thing is a mess.”

“So why the battalion number?”

“Dunno. The guy thought he was dreaming, so when I see him in person, I need to tell him that unit to prove he wasn’t.”

“Wait, you know him? You've met him in person?”

Radhildur waved the question off. “I’ve met him once. But he’s smart, so he’ll probably help us figure things out.”

Grimhildis frowned.

“Now, if you don’t mind, Hil.” They were already across the room, pushing the windows open and throwing a leg over the sill. “I’m going to be late for training.”

“Wait—”

They didn’t. Throwing themselves from the window, they enjoyed the weightless feeling taking over them. Ku’s gift of strength flexed through their body as they braced themselves for impact and slammed into the cobblestone wall that ran underneath their bedroom window. Waving goodbye to Grimhildis who stared at them with an unamused glare, Radhildur jumped to the other side, and left without any further ceremony. 

This early in the morning, few citizens of Reyk were up. The blacksmith already well into his commissions for the day, the baker setting up shop and starting the newest inventory, the guards switching off for the morning patrol. Radhildur smiled to themself and enjoyed the moment. Walking to the Commons was one of their favorite pastimes aside from training. 

Times like these were cherished, just them in the city with the waking world around them.

No one knew who they were anytime they sauntered through town, taking in the scenery. News traveled first hand to them frequently since they were free to wave and listen to anyone who’d let them. Stories of their home and their people were theirs to safekeep.

The king and his advisors took great qualms with this, but they were never able to stop Radhildur from leaving into the city since they gathered such important information.

On the horizon, where the sun had barely wobbled into the sky, the Commons peeked out. It had been built nearly a century ago by the knights of old during the golden age of the Reyk kingdom. A building of old stone and even older memories, constructed like a fortress, it was a garrison tucked away amongst the common folk—meant to be their front-facing protection. Even now, despite the main barracks and garrison at the castle, most knights trained here.

As did Radhildur. 

They had been training in secret at the Commons since their induction into Ku’s service back when they were twenty-four. Radhildur’s hand gripped the handle of their sword tightly. Their own screams rang in their ear, the foreign feeling of hands too large encircling their waist burned, and then suddenly a voice crudely whispered in their ear…

Swallowing harshly, Radhildur pushed back the memory. It was nearly five years ago, after all. The gates to the Commons were already open. Inhaling deeply, they pulled a velvet cover from their trouser pocket and wrapped their sword guard with it. Once their sword was properly disguised, they pushed past the morning guards, making their way to where the veteran knights would be. They trained under an old wardog named Dullahan. Rowdy and brash, he was practically the peak of a knight. But from the moment they had walked meekly into the Commons, there was something that drew Dullahan to Radhildur, and they to him, and he took them under his wing and personally trained them ever since. 

“There he is! Good morning, my boy!” 

Radhildur smiled and waved, their fingers ghosting to the cowl covering their face and reassuring themself it was secure.

The old knight hefted a claymore from his back, the tip of the blade resting against the stone ground. “You’re almost late.”

Radhildur gave a sheepish shrug as if to say “My bad.”

“My bad, he says,” Dullahan parroted before smacking Radhildur on the back. “Rognvaldur, that kind of slacker attitude will never get you knighted.”

Radhildur shrugged again. “Meh.”

Dullahan led them to an open arena. “Did you do warm-ups?”

Nodding, Radhildur smiled beneath their mask. Of course they hadn’t warmed up this morning. They’d rushed from the palace as soon as their conversation with Grimhildis was over. 

They unsheathed their rapier and tossed it from hand to hand, the familiar weight an instant comfort as they tested the balance. Over the years, the blade had become so much more than a tool. It’d transformed into an extension of Radhildur themself, something as reliable and trustworthy as their lungs or heart. Memories guided the determination for skill in Radhildur’s steel and based on the commendation they’d received from the Commons, there were few swordsmen who considered themselves Radhildur’s equal.

“Blades up!” Dullahan barked out, raising his claymore, both hands firmly planted along the leather wrapped handle.

Radhildur raised one hand for balance and the other for a pointed defense.

Training was easy from here, it consisted mostly of sparring with the veteran and senior knights. Radhildur soaked in all their knowledge and experience, applying techniques and style to their own. Even if Ku’s blessing granted them strength beyond a human ability, Radhildur wanted to make sure they could depend on their own skill at all times. They wouldn’t take their gift for granted. 

Metal song tolled across the arena as Dullahan’s blade scraped against Radhildur’s when they parried the attack off to the left. They sprinted around him, noting the knight had few open spots despite his slower movements. Tumbling, they dodged a backhanded swing and skidded far enough out of the immediate range. Three seconds until the next attack. Breathe. Observe.

He was still offensive. His stance was wide and guarded. His sword-shoulder pulled back.

Radhildur’s eyes narrowed. There.

They lunged forward, ducking past the swift stab of the claymore and smashing the butt of their sword up into Dullahan’s armpit. There was a resounding crack of armor and metal—Dullahan shouted as his sword dropped. He immediately grabbed for Radhildur. Once again they danced out of the way, tossing their rapier to the other hand and swinging around to cut into the old knight’s side.

He laughed loudly and grabbed the blade, yanking it away from Radhildur's grasp.

Smiling widely, Radhildur picked up the fallen claymore and hefted it easily into a single handed grasp. They held it as deftly and as poised as if it were their own sword. 

With a bemused chuckle, Dullahan tested the weight of the silver rapier with a bounce before brandishing it.