Argo ran through the well walked dirt paths of his home town, his hands stretched out to his side, running through the tall grass on either side. He could hear the soft hiss of the stream passing by a nearby bridge, the chatter of families littering the town. He wore a smile on his face, his father was finally going to start teaching him today.

He came to the base of a mountain which sat to the back of the small town of Riverfell, his home was near its peak, and whilst looking back on it the walk was not long, to Argo at that time each climb seemed like a mammoth effort. Every day after completing his chores around town, hanging out with his friends or his time spent at the local school he would be forced to begin the arduous ascent. A few of his friends thought his parents were crazy for living in such an out of the way location, but Argo knew how important such a walk was for their strength. 

His parents, Wyn and Firan were the town's sole defenders. Each was powerful enough to halt an army's march, to bring down city walls and to slay dragons. Though Argo knew both would deny having even that amount of strength. He knew that one day he would become like them, true masters of the sword. And it was now only one day until his tenth birthday, one day until his father would begin his education in earnest.

He set up the mountain with a passion, it was easy at first, those who lived within Riverfell always tried to keep the base of the hill clean, a thank you to his parent's years of service to the village. He took it slow, but he didn’t waver in his speed, his mum had always focused on how stability and consistency were the most important thing. Whilst it was easy enough for the first ten minutes of the climb, soon the path’s rugged nature began to show its head, he was forced to watch his step lest a stray root, weed or rock trip him. If he fell here no one would be there to help him continue. Still, he didn’t give up, his parents didn’t raise a quitter and he was not about to bring shame upon them by becoming one.

Behind him the sun slowly climbed down in the sky, it broke through the layer of clouds which held the sky from falling down upon them all and continued past the hills towards the west, towards the Viril kingdom.

The past few weeks in school he had been learning about the world, when he was seven he had been shocked to learn that other towns existed, only having learned that when his parents took him on a short vacation to see family three mountains further east from them. When he was nine a group of traders from Arithia came in and he saw a map displaying an ocean his mind had been blown. Now he knew the world was large, those in the cities westwards called his home the roughs, but who were they to make such a claim? In fact, those cities and towns, without their trees, plants, rivers and mountains were barbaric, a thought of pure heresy. Those same traders, when they returned this most recent Spring had surprised him, in the outside world they actively sought the destruction of trees to create more houses, they carved out land like it was sand and they didn’t care for the wildlife they might upset.

The high pitched distant chuckle of a monkey pulled Argo’s attention. He glanced in its direction, seeing it struggle with a shelled nut, it struck it hard against the trunk of a nearby tree. When it failed to crack it grew enraged, striking the branch again and again, finally, it seemed to split apart enough to access the flesh within. Argo smiled before turning and walking further up the path, the wind passed by him, almost challenging him to a race he would surely lose. Yet he knew that the winner was not always he who came first, merely he who accomplished his goal. And for his goal, he would do anything.

Not five more minutes had passed before he regretted that thought. His legs felt like lead and he struggled with each step. In front of him, the path had been covered in pebbles and gravel, each step he made had to be far more careful, lest he lose the progress of ten. Still, he fought on, continuing up the hill. By the time he reached the mountains summit the sun had collided with a distant mountain, painting the view golden. Trees spread out for as far as the eye could see, only interrupted by the mountains which sprouted sporadically throughout the land. How could one consider such a place ‘rough’ it truly was beauty in its purest form.

“Took you long enough hun, come, lend me a hand.” The soft voice of his mother caught Argo’s attention and despite being exhausted from his hike up the mountain he quickly stood back up and ran to her side. “So, how was your day?”

“It was good ma,” Argo began as he was directed to help his mother carry stacks of crates from outside their house to the inside. It was a simple building, long, but only one story. Ceramic slats lined the room, their blue hue reflecting the dying light of the sun down onto the small patch of vegetables they grew up here. “Though Iri was being super annoying.”

“Really?” She asked with the concern of a mother hearing mundane tasks. The two of them moved through the open door of the house, towards the kitchen where Argo’s father stood cleaning dishes. The room was simple, a couch, a table, a kitchen and a fire. The walls were lined with various weapons, artworks they had commissioned of the three of them and art of the beautiful sight beyond. “What was she doing?”

“She didn’t let us play with her,” Argo whined.

“Well, maybe she didn’t want to play?” She gestured for Argo to follow her to a balcony just past where their couch stood. It lay over the edge of the mountain, held up by pillars the size of the gods which were planted firmly into the ground beneath them. Argo always did wonder who made them, and how.

“Maybe, but who doesn’t want to play? We were doing soldiers too! We needed an extra person.”

“Well not everyone's the same, maybe she would rather read stories, or she had something to do.” Argo nodded, though he pouted slightly at the logic his mother raised. “Don’t look so down, you do know what tomorrow is don’t you?” His face instantly brightened. “As so you do. Are you ready? Your father and I are harsh trainers.”

“No, I am ready. I am the most ready I could be.” His mind was flooded with thoughts of him, sword in hand. He knew he would be amazing, fighting down hoards of bandits, heading to strike down the demons of the forest in order to rescue the faelings. He would be a figure like Dela or Tristan, someone who was remembered.

“Good news then boy.” His father spoke as he walked towards them, leaning on the empty doorframe just behind the balcony. “Word from the council came down yesterday, they’ve accepted our apprenticeship of you. It’ll be official.”

“Oh really? When did the news arrive Firan?” His mother asked, but he couldn’t focus on that. The thoughts of his training were already flooding his mind. If the council had approved his apprenticeship that meant he would, in only a few years, become an official protector of Riverfell. Cinn would be jealous of that, he had always wanted to learn the blade. 

“... have increased in activity later, so we will need to be careful. Though the odds that someone meaning danger who can outdo us come to this village is highly unlikely.” Argo overheard the latter half of something his mother had been saying. What were they speaking about?

“No one can beat you two though.” He spoke in the matter of fact tone belonging of a child who had never before witnessed their parents fail. His father smiled, reached down and played with his hair.

“You’re not wrong, but we will still need to be careful Wyn. From now on we should up patrol, it may be time to move down to the village permanently.”

“No, I don’t think we need to yet. Though maybe it’s a thought we should begin to entertain.” His father replied before looking down at Argo who seemed to be struggling to hide the grin which had blossomed on his face. “Now go get ready for dinner Ar.”

* * *

“Now hold the sword in front of yourself.” They stood in a small courtyard atop the hill that was his home. Argo’s eyes were stinging. He had tried to sleep but ended up staying awake for hours longer than he was meant to. When his father woke him up he was deliriously tired, the sun had yet to rise. Now as they stood it began to creep over the Eastern Mountain, the same one it did every day. However, not enough had climbed over its peak for it to cast the world into light. “Argo, I’m not going to repeat myself.”

He did as he was told, picking up the wooden blade in front of him and planting his feet on the ground. His dad came and moved his hand slightly forward and the weight of the blade almost halved in his hands. When he let go Argo’s hand slipped slightly back, but his father made sure that it remained, repeatedly moving it back into place. 

As his dad struggled to get Argo’s haphazard stance in place his mother came outside, sitting on a simple foldout wooden chair with a cup of steaming hot tea. He smiled at her, earning a light pinch on the ear from his father, who wanted him to focus on their practice. “If you want to be a master of the blade you must stay focused Ar. Now. Stand up.”

He did as told.

“Now get back into your stance.” Argo’s eyes widened, confusion evident on his face, however his father provided no further explanation. This order was repeated several times, he was forced to stand up, out of the bent stance he had. Each time he went back into it his father found a new flaw, and would not tell him to return to standstill till the flaw had been corrected. First his thigh hadn’t been parallel with the ground, then his legs had been to close together, then his sword grip was badly placed and then the thigh thing again. Always there was something to keep focus on, and each time he settled back down into a stance he grew more tired and more confused as to how this would help him with the blade. All the while the sun rose in the sky behind him. 

“Now,” His father began, ending the repetitive start and stop of his stances, for that Argo was glad. “You may be confused as to why I had you do that.” He nodded rapidly in response. Firan took a blade, not the wooden one he had gifted Argo at dinner the night before, rather a true steel weapon, he effortlessly fell into a perfect stance. His back leg bent back, carrying his weight whilst the front seemed to almost float over the ground. He carved through the air, his weight shifting from one leg to the other as he diced up a fictitious opponent in the air. “The stance is the core of one's fighting ability Argo, never forget this. You may find someone stronger than you, know that if they do not have a true grasp of the fundamentals they will never win.”

“But Dad what if they are super strong? Like Tristan.” His dad sighed, yet a smile fell over his face, the boy had become more obsessed with the legends of the warrior prince as of late.

“Few are as strong as he, maybe if one reaches that level of power the fundamentals are not enough to beat them. But without them? I doubt they would have ever reached such pinnacles of strength. Now, let’s start over.