My trembling stopped as my mother held me in her arms, whispering sweet nothings into my ears. I didn’t know why I was so scared. The body’s natural reaction is to kneel to that power. My body wished to kneel and give in to that pressure, which I hated.

“Listen, you must not hate your father,” My mother started. “You don’t understand who he is or even why he does the things he does. You are merely a boy. Do not judge people before you get to know them, Ragor.”

“Before I was your boy, now I am merely a boy?” I tell her. She pulls me out of her embrace and stares at me in that don’t talk back to me face. “You say I don’t know him, then tell me. What makes him so great?” I give in quickly. She pulled me back into a hug.

“Your father grew up in a dark era for us, Jotun. We were fractured tribes practicing pagan rituals, fighting one another, and scavenging for food. Our continent was always at war with one another. Jotun against Jotun. Father against son. Blood against blood. It was a vicious cycle; our future was bleak, our numbers dwindling. But Ijoss didn’t stand by as our people struggled. He fought battles and bent all the tribes at his knee. He stopped the wars.” She sat back and lay on the soft carpet, pulling me down with her.

“But there was no food to feed us all, even with our low population. Your father looked upon the horizon and set his sights on it. We built boats and pillaged across a new continent, taking food, riches, and slaves. It was a happy couple of centuries for us. We were always in abundance. And finally, our people were growing. We conquered the lands we pillaged and became the first race with 2 territories. Your father brought us up from a desolate island with no future to a kingdom laden with riches. From canoes to the largest naval fleet in the world.” She looked up at the ceiling with a smile at those memories, “Your father is a good man, don’t you think?”

“Yes, ama. He is.” I hugged her tighter. Letting myself fade into unconsciousness.

…

I awoke with a start. I had to meet father soon. I put on the clothes my ama had laid out for me the night before, grabbed the sword, and raced off to the courtyard.

But then I realized I had no idea where that was. I called for Edward and had him lead the way for me, ‘Handy.’

I walked out to the courtyard, taking a deep breath as I stared at the sunrise unique to this world. 7 moons lay horizontally in a perfect line with a bright sun slowly peaking out of the horizon. It was always a beautiful sight to witness.

“You’re late, boy,” A voice resounded in the courtyard up ahead. It was simple, not something I’d expect from such lavish people. It was a wide area of empty dirt ground. There was a weapons rack littered with weapons and equipment. Father stood alone, bare-chested, with black harem pants interwoven with gold markings. “Hold up your weapon.”

I did as I was told. Lifting the weapon in front of me.

“2 hands, boy,” I brought up my right hand and had it join my left in its grip on the sword.

“Wrong,” He moved towards me, scrutinizing my every move.

I adjusted my grip.

“Wrong, boy.” He said again. Patiently waiting as I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong. “Jotuns are unlike any other race. We are born with power. Our bodies are sculpted with muscles already used to fighting. Do not correct your habits, embrace them, learn to lean on them, and grow comfortable within yourself. Trust your instincts.”

I let my right hand fall to my side as I lifted the sword with my left hand and pointed towards his figure. His tattoos squirmed for a bit before settling. I let my stance shift my weight evenly to both of my legs as they stood shoulder-width apart. I took a quick step forward and slashed my sword through the air, getting a feel for the movement.

“Learning to fight as a Jotun is simple. Listen carefully, boy,” I stopped my movements and focused on his words. “We fight,” He swung his sword at me, both hands gripping the hilt. I ducked, and my eyes widened at the quick change of pace. “Your body already knows; you just have to relearn.”

This time, he let me adjust myself before moving forward with a slash at my midsection. I leaped back in time to dodge and immediately dove forward with a lunge directed straight at his left eye. He used the body of his sword to deflect the blow, then backhanded me away. I fell back doing a full roll on the ground and managed to get back on my feet.

He walked towards me. “What is most important to you, boy?”

“Family,”

“Good.” He smiled, “What do you fear the most?”

“Heights”

“I want you to fight like your family stands behind you, and your greatest fear stands in front of you. A man is only made up of what he chooses to fight for. ” He advanced towards me again. His sword slashed twice in quick succession. I held up my sword to block and lost control of it. My palm burned from the friction. My left hand flew away from my body as I struggled to keep a grip on my sword. He swung his fist at my face, punching me.

I collapsed back my sword slipping from my grip. “Never drop your sword, boy, it is your life’s blood as a warrior. Without it, you’re dead. ” I slowly climbed to my feet, picking up my sword as I moved into a stance.

He advanced quickly and slammed his sword down towards my head. I met it with my sword. He pivoted and brought his sword up from below with force. I tried to block, but the force of his strike pushed my weapon into the air.

This time, he punched me in the ribs. I wheezed. My eyes burned, and my nose scrunched up trying to find any purchase of air. I collapsed immediately. My lungs screamed for oxygen as I twitched on the ground, my forehead pressed against the dirt floor. Literally trying to ground myself.

“Good, you didn’t let go of your sword,” Father states with satisfaction. I felt my grip on the sword unconsciously tighten at that, surprised it was still there. “Get up, boy.”

My upper body lifted itself from the ground. My vision swam, and I finally managed to draw in a cold breath. The air I was longing for moments ago betrayed me, sending pain through my ribs. Reminding me of the strike that would likely bruise later.

“GET UP, BOY!”

My right hand gripped the dirt under me as I pushed myself to my feet slowly. I could feel my ribs creak as I took sharp and greedy breaths. I struggled to stay upright as I tried to find my balance.

“You are not special, boy. We all feel pain. Pain is a lesson. A lesson that reminds us that we are alive.” He watched on as I slowly got back into my relaxed stance, taking a deep, shaky breath as I concentrated on his movements. “As long as you’re in pain, you can fight. Remember that.”

He advanced towards my form. He took his stance, ready to slash down on me again. I knew I couldn’t hold onto his heavy strikes. So I stepped to his side and slashed at his midsection, taking advantage of my smaller stature.

He shifted immediately, moving his sword in front of my sword, allowing it to run along his to the hilt. I struck out with my hand, finger extended out like a small dagger. I aimed at his left eye. He grabbed my outstretched arm and swung me over his shoulder, slamming me to the ground. The familiar feeling of weightlessness devoured my senses.

“Good,” He smirked down at my crumpled form. I didn’t wait for the familiar words and used both hands to push myself up and swing my left leg towards his ankles. He hardly shifted as he stared at me, “What do you do when you’re fighting someone who outclasses you in every conceivable way?”

“Fight,” I let out as I struggled to my feet, my whole body hurting. I could feel my leg bruise as I got into my stance.

“Good,” He brings his sword down in a powerful slash.

For the next three hours, I fought him. Or at least tried, as he beat me down with force. Bruises littered my body. My marks continuously moved, unable to sit still as I trembled in pain.

In the end, I lay on my back, broken sword in hand, sweat staining my brow and clothes, panting. I couldn’t move a muscle, but that didn’t stop them from twitching under my skin. I was covered in small wounds not deep enough to put me in any danger, but deep enough that pain would crawl up my body anytime a breeze passed over my body.

“How many times were you hit?”

“367 times,” I let out between breaths.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Use it as a lesson. Tomorrow we meet at the top of the hill.” Before I could ask what hill, he was gone.

“Edward! Carry me back to my new room,” I shouted, hoping he could hear me.