Night had long fallen and the crystal-lamps in the guild training ground were lit, casting dancing shadows into the corners of the open packed-dirt field. 

A petite-built teenage warrior with long, blonde hair pulled into a high, loose ponytail swung an enormous blade to-and-fro, turning and switching hands as if the sword, near as long as she was tall, was as weightless as balsa wood. She ran through the elegant greatsword form with a practised ease, stepping forward as she brought the blade down, slipping backward as she raised it up and across her body in a defensive stance, dragging the tip through the dust as she spun and leapt.

The sword itself was massive, a double-sided, silver-edged blade inlaid with black and red filigree which matched with the long-sleeved red dress she usually wore under her silver armour. The weapon was heavily repaired, scarred with repeated patches and welds, and the leather wrap around the haft, on which her fists could fit three times over, was worn and frayed.

She drew the form to a close, leaping high into the air and swinging the sword in a heavy downward blow, and remained in the final position for a few long heartbeats. Her breathing was ragged, and a light film of sweat made her face shine, but she stood, drew the blade back and prepared herself to run the sequence again.

“Katya!”

The warrior, Katya, paused and turned her bright blue eyes on the only other figure in the abandoned yard.

The man was tall, broad and heavily muscled. High-waisted silk pants fit snugly around his tapered waist, and the brightly coloured, loose fitting top with a deep split in the chest he wore tucked into them gave him the appearance of a popinjay. His ornate clothing cut a stark contrast to his face, which was dark-skinned and sharp-angled, with a set of cold, steel-grey eyes set under heavy brows and close-cropped, dark brown hair. His mouth was a grim line, and his tone was serious.

“Come with me,” he said, simply, and turned without waiting for a response, striding back into the dark passageway that led into the guild-hall proper.

Katya stood and watched him leave, then quickly swept up her blade and ran after him.

—

Katya entered Vasson’s office without knocking, and found him already seated behind the large, blackwood desk. The surface was covered in maps, invoices, scouting reports and schedules, all of which were heavily annotated in scratchy black ink.

Her eyes widened at the sight, and she rushed over. Leaning her greatsword against the desk, she almost leapt into the seat across from him.

“Well,” Vasson’s voice was deep and almost musical, even through his serious demeanour “I was going to say ‘take a seat’, but…”

“Sorry,” Katya replied, seeming anything but, “Sorry, I just… Is this…?”

Vasson nodded.

“Yes,” he affirmed, “the route’s been set, the expeditionaries have been notified and the first party is leaving tomorrow, just after dawn.”

Katya jumped out of the chair, smiling broadly.

“Tomorrow?!” she asked, without waiting for a response, “I’ve got to get ready!”

“Stop,” came Vasson’s stony reply.

Her hand paused, hovering just short of her greatsword’s handle, and she looked directly into Vasson’s stern face.

“No,” she started, “Vasson, you -”

“It’s not a matter of discussion,” he spoke, interrupting her, “The guild-wards are in agreement, you’re not ready.”

Katya stood up straight, staring daggers at Vasson, who remained impassive. 

“What do you mean by ‘not ready’?” Katya enquired, her voice humming with barely contained anger.

“Not ready for an expedition of this depth,” Vasson opined, “Not experienced enough in the field, nor with such a large expedition.”

“Horse crap!” she spat.

Vasson was unmoved.

“Not experienced enough fighting in a group,” he continued, “As part of a unit, playing a role.”

“I’m one of the strongest fighters in the guild!” she snapped, “Only Emir and Helena can match me on the training ground! How hard is it to keep me healed and stay out of my way?!”

“Katya -” he began.

“No!” she cut him off, building to a steam, “No! This is ridiculous!”

“You’re sixteen, Katya,” Vasson’s tone had a stern edge now, “You’ve got years, decades of venturing into the labyrinth ahead of you. There’ll be other expeditions.”

Katya’s eyes blazed with anger, and she desperately tried to drill Vasson to his chair with a murderous glare, but he looked back impassively.

“It doesn’t matter how old I am,” she squeezed the words out through gritted teeth, “I’m ready, I’m ready for more than day trips into the first three levels to hunt baptet hounds and mandrakes. I’m ready for a real fight, a real challenge.”

Vasson huffed a short breath out through his nose and shook his head.

“Did you ever stop to wonder why you, Katya, a direct descendant of Abid, the Ten Thousand Blades, ended up here in Terminus, a minor guild who haven’t been below the eightieth floor since they were founded?” he asked her, “Did you ever wonder why, even with your talent, your pedigree, actually wielding one of your great-great-grandfather’s swords, one of the stronger ones, mind, ended up with us, instead of the, say, Summer Squall, or Black Horn?”

Katya continued to glare at him. 

“No?” he asked.

“No,” she retorted.

Vasson took a deep breath.

“By the time you graduated from the academy, -” he began.

“Two years early!” Katya interjected.

“Yes, two years early,” he agreed, “But by that time you had… A reputation.”

Katya went to speak, but Vasson did not let her interrupt.

“Talented, yes,” he continued, “Maybe even a once in a generation warrior, or certainly the potential to be one. A mind for combat, superb statistical build, near unbeatable with a greatsword in hand, but, in a team, a party, a raiding group, which anything lower in the labyrinth requires, a glory-hound, egotistical, selfish, argumentative and insubordinate.”

Katya did not let the hurt show on her face, laying more anger over the top of it.

“In short,” Vasson went on, “A liability. And before you try to go over my head, the meister agrees with me on this. Until you can learn to play your position, you’re simply too much of a risk to put on the field.”

Any other sixteen year-old girl would have found themselves blinking away hot tears in that moment, Katya imagined, but not her. She was, like Vasson had said, a descendant of one of the greatest swordsmen of the age, and had outperformed a dozen other siblings, cousins and in-laws to claim the legacy weapon beside her as her own. No, Katya would not give Vasson the satisfaction of tears.

She placed her hand on the pommel of the greatsword and drew herself up, standing with her chest out.

“Field marshall Vasson,” she began, her tone level, “I formally request that you reconsider my inclusion in the coming expedition.”

Vallon narrowed his eyes, examining Katya’s blank, inscrutable face.

“Request denied,” he stated.

“Very well,” Katya shot back, terse, but fastidiously polite.

She grabbed the handle of her greatsword, turned, and strode from the room.

Vasson watched the door shut behind her, expecting a slam hard enough to rattle his glassware, but the door gently latched and he heard Katya’s even footsteps trail off down the hallway.

“Huh,” he mused, pleasantly surprised, “Maybe we’ll get through to her yet.”

—

It was almost midnight as Katya sprinted down the crystal-lit street, pursued by a handful of members from the Terminus guild. Her greatsword was lashed to her back with an elaborate leather scabbard, she now wore her full suit of armour - ornate silver shoulder guards, vambraces and a breastplate, with a set of hip guards made of interlocked plates that hung to her mid-thigh below a belt replete with small daggers and knives of various utility, and she carried a heavy leather pouch in her hand as she ducked and weaved down the quiet avenue.

Ignoring the yelling from behind her, Katya turned down a narrow laneway, then immediately cut across the street into a dark alley and threw herself behind a pile of stacked rain barrels.

The clamorous footsteps closed on her quickly, and her pursuers rounded the corner in a group, before sliding to a halt.

“Where did she go?” one of them yelled.

“She can’t have gotten that far ahead of us!” another replied, “Come on!”

The group sprinted off down the lane, calling and cursing her name in equal measure.

Katya waited in her hiding place until the laneway had fallen quiet again, then stood up and stepped out, glancing in the direction that the group had headed and seeing no movement. She smiled to herself and tossed the leather pouch in the air a couple of times. It clinked as she caught it.

“Idiots,” she spat.

Katya turned and headed in the opposite direction, toward the plaza at the centre of the city.