Brom rose with the first light of dawn, the cool morning air caressing his skin as he emerged from slumber. His muscular frame cast a long shadow across the polished floor as he stood by the window, watching the sun paint the sky in hues of amber and gold. Another day, another opportunity to become stronger, he thought, his mind already mapping out the day's training regimen.
With practiced ease, he went through a series of exercises, each movement fluid and precise as water flowing over smooth stones. His body was his temple, and he treated it with reverence, pushing his muscles until they burned pleasantly, testimony to his dedication.
Perfect form is the foundation of perfect combat, he reminded himself, executing a flawless series of stances that he had perfected over years of rigorous training. The morning ritual centered his mind and prepared his body for the challenges ahead.
Afterward, he indulged in a refreshing shower, the warm water cascading over his toned physique, washing away the remnants of sleep and the sweat of exertion. Steam rose around him as he closed his eyes, savoring the brief moment of tranquility before the day's responsibilities would claim him.
Dressed in clean attire, Brom made his way to the dining area, his stomach growling in anticipation of breakfast. As he sat down to his meal, ready to savor the flavors of freshly baked bread and seasoned eggs, he allowed himself a rare moment of contentment. Simple pleasures are often the most satisfying, he mused, lifting his spoon.
But before the utensil could reach his mouth, a familiar voice shattered the quietude of the morning.
"Brother!" Vey called, her voice echoing through the house.
Brom paused mid-bite, his spoon hovering in the air as his moment of peace evaporated. He turned to face the source of the interruption, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What is it, Vey?" he responded, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice.
The sound of hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of his younger sister, Vey, her long hair disheveled and her expression a mixture of frustration and urgency.
"Brother," Vey began again, this time at a more reasonable volume as she entered the dining area. "Did you see what happened?" She rubbed her temples, her face showing genuine concern.
"What are you talking about?" Brom asked, setting down his spoon and giving his sister his full attention despite his annoyance.
"Your clothes," Vey explained, clasping her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels. "I washed them all this morning. I thought you'd be pleased."
Brom's brow furrowed as comprehension dawned. "You washed all my clothes? Even the uniform I set aside for today's training?"
Vey nodded, her expression hopeful yet apprehensive. "I wanted to help."
Brom sighed deeply, his frustration evident, but as he observed the distress in Vey's eyes—those same eyes that had looked up to him since childhood—his heart softened. "Your timing could use some work," he said, his voice gentler now.
"Are you angry?" Vey asked cautiously.
"No," Brom replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Here, use my old clothes for now while yours dry." He gestured toward his room, where his spare training garments hung neatly in the wardrobe.
"Thank you, brother," Vey replied, relief washing over her features as her shoulders relaxed visibly. A smile bloomed across her face.
"And Vey," Brom added, his tone firm but kind, "next time, perhaps ask before washing everything in sight."
"I will," Vey promised, her expression brightening. "I'll watch over the house while you're away today," she offered, clearly eager to make amends.
"Alright," Brom agreed, rising from his seat and preparing to depart, his breakfast forgotten. His mind had already shifted to his duties, particularly to his new apprentice waiting in the dormitory. "Just try not to burn it down in my absence."
"I won't," Vey assured him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. "Good luck!!!"
Brom gathering his things. "I'm off."
"Take care," Vey called after him, her voice following him down the corridor as Brom strode purposefully toward Aelar's quarters, mentally preparing himself for the day's training.
Standing before the closed door of Aelar's dormitory, Brom straightened his shoulders and fixed his expression into one of stern authority. With three sharp raps on the wooden surface, he called out clearly, "Aelar. Your training begins now."
When no response came, Brom's irritation grew, his brow furrowing deeply. Testing the door handle, he found it unlocked, and with caution born of years of training, he pushed it open, his body tensed for whatever might await him.
To his surprise, he was met not with chaos or a sleeping apprentice, but with order. Aelar's dormitory was impeccably clean, every surface gleaming in the morning light that streamed through the small window. The bed was made with military precision, and the sparse belongings were arranged with careful attention to detail.
His gaze landed on a bag resting against the wall, curiosity compelling him to investigate its contents. As he reached toward it, he sensed a presence behind him.
"Sir," Aelar's voice came from the doorway, calm and measured, "may I ask what you're doing?"
Brom turned fully to face him, taking measure of the youth with a critical eye. Rather than apologizing for his intrusion, he decided to test the boy's reaction.
Brom glanced inside the bag, noting the assortment of swords nestled within. "These are yours?" he asked, his tone revealing nothing of his thoughts.
"Yes, sir," Aelar confirmed, entering the room fully. "I crafted them myself."
"For what purpose?" Brom inquired, genuinely curious now as he observed the care with which the weapons had been stored.
"They mark my progress," Aelar explained, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. "I've made one each year since I was old enough to lift a hammer."
"Dedication," Brom noted with approval. "A quality I value highly in an apprentice." He straightened, returning his attention to the task at hand. "It's time to prepare for your first day of training."
"I'm ready, sir," Aelar replied, his posture straightening instinctively.
"Good," Brom said, retrieving a bundle from where he had set it down. "Wear this. It's the uniform of Lord Rodel's household guard."
Aelar accepted the bundle, examining the fine fabric with evident surprise. "This is for me?" he asked, his fingers tracing the insignia embroidered on the breast.
"You are to be trained as one of us," Brom confirmed. "The uniform reflects both the honor and the responsibility that entails."
"I understand," Aelar nodded solemnly. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet," Brom warned, though his tone had lost some of its earlier edge. "The path ahead will test your resolve daily. I'll wait outside while you change."
Brom stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. As he waited, he found himself unexpectedly optimistic about his new charge. There was something in the boy's demeanor—a quiet confidence tempered with respect—that suggested potential.
Minutes later, Aelar emerged from his dormitory, clad in the uniform provided. The fabric hung somewhat loosely on his muscular but leaner body, yet he carried himself with dignity.
"Sir," Aelar announced, standing at attention before his new mentor, "I'm prepared for whatever lessons you give if it's necessary."
Brom nodded, satisfied with the young man's attitude if not the fit of his uniform. "Then let us begin," he said, leading the way to the training grounds. "Today you will learn what it truly means to serve in Lord Rodel's household."
"I look forward to it," Aelar replied, falling into step behind Brom, his expression revealing both anticipation and determination.
As they walked through the corridors of Lord Rodel's estate, Brom found himself wondering just what this village blacksmith's son might achieve under proper guidance. There was raw talent there, waiting to be honed and shaped, much like the blades the boy had crafted.