Story - Red Daughter

1. Chapter

The citadel of Taras Lúna loomed over the training ground of the north wing, holding firm against the spring wind.

Naireth breathed heavily, sweat dripping from her brow and chin onto the stone between her hands.

"You are still pushing too much space. Concentrate on your body, not the area," a Sister instructed from afar.

Naireth leaned back, sitting on her heels. "It is too close after the wall run," she breathed, pushing a few strands of her raven hair aside. "I do not have enough time."

The Sister's voice remained resolute, but guiding. "Imagine there is a wall there as well—but instead of combining physical strength with subdimensional force, you must use only one. Now, again."

Naireth let out a final breath before getting up. "None of the other acolytes even close to my age run this thing."

The Sister remained firm, yet patient. "You are not an ordinary acolyte. And if we took age into account, you would just barely be learning to walk by now."

Walking and dropping down from the mountain rocks of the training ground, Naireth made her way—tired, yet almost carefree—to the beginning of the run. "You know I am like sixteen, right?"

The Sister shook her head with quiet amusement. "Perhaps biologically. Otherwise, you are not even two years old."

Naireth rolled her eyes and flexed her upper body.

She wore a sleeveless, close-fitted tunic of dark slate, its surface broken by fine, angular seams that marked hidden reinforcement beneath the fabric. The high collar rose just enough to guard the throat without hindering movement. Her arms were left bare above the elbow, but her forearms were encased in segmented silver vambraces, engraved with thin, ritual lines.

A broad belt clasped her waist, its center formed by a single polished ruby cut into the shape of a falling droplet. From it hung layered fauld plates—overlapping bands of dark metal that guarded the hips and upper thighs while leaving the legs free.

Her lower half was clad in tight, dark leggings, reinforced at the knees and inner thighs, disappearing into tall greaves of brushed silver that enclosed the shins and locked into sturdy, fitted boots.

Her hair was drawn back into multiple tight braids, dark as pitch, framing a pale face. Her eyes held a dim red tint.

Shaking off her tiredness, she set her expression into something steady and unyielding. "Are you done, or can we continue?"

The Sister chuckled, though her tone sharpened slightly. "Manners, acolyte. My leeway only goes so far."

Naireth twisted her lips. "Sorry, Sister."

The Sister relaxed again. "Better. You may proceed."

Naireth closed her eyes—then bolted forward.

After a brief sprint, she reached the steep hill climb. Running almost on all fours, Naireth pulled herself up to the first terrace.

What followed was a narrow ridge, cut through with carved bridges and gaps. She did not hesitate crossing it as she had the first time. Foot after foot, she moved as quickly—and as carefully—as she could, arms spread wide whenever balance demanded it. Though the path lay low between tall, dark walls of the fortress and mountainside, stray winds still forced their way in, turning an otherwise steady stretch into something treacherous.

One such gust caught her mid-jump between two thin bridges.

Her eyes widened as her footing vanished beneath her—but her hand snapped forward in time, catching the edge. She hung for a heartbeat by her left arm, jaw clenched, refusing the fall. Her other hand found the stone, and with a sharp pull she hauled herself back up.

No pause.

She surged forward again, almost leaping into motion. Her foot slipped on loose grit, nearly sending her sideways, but she recovered and pressed on.

Before long, she reached the second terrace.

The next obstacle rose immediately before her: a steep sideways climb leading to the third level.

Naireth shook out her hands and began.

The rock was sharp, biting into her palms with every hold. She had to measure her strength—too little and she would fall, too much and she would break the very stone she relied on. Moving faster than she should have, trying to make up for the lost moment on the ridge, she misjudged.

Her grip crushed.

Stone cracked in her palm and she slipped.

Instinct took over—her fingers drove into the mountainside, carving into the rock as dust and fragments trickled down beneath her. She held.

A flicker of irritation crossed her face.

This time, she slowed.

More careful now, she resumed the climb, placing each hold with intent until she finally pulled herself onto the third terrace.

Now came her least favorite part of the run—the pendulum.

Several platforms stretched ahead, broken by a chain of swinging obstacles. Some were smooth, some ridged for grip, others lined with sharp spikes. And as if that were not enough, several guards of Taras Lúna stood along the fortress walls, velocity rifles in hand.

Lethal to ordinary humans, dangerous even to common Arnorians, the accelerated rounds were not enough to pierce Naireth's skin—but they hurt. A lot. And she hated it.

It was an exercise for both the guards and the Sisters.

Oh, how Naireth missed the standard acolyte runs.

She pushed the thought aside and focused.

She leapt past the first pendulum cleanly and caught the second. It swung with her, side to side—and the first shots came with it. She had angled her jump deliberately, turning her back toward the mountainside, but she still felt the impacts snap close to her fingers.

It was only a matter of time before one found her.

She braced herself against the pendulum and waited.

Ahead, a spiked one barred her path—slowing, speeding, stopping at irregular intervals. The timing had to be perfect.

When it came, she moved.

She launched sideways, brushing against several of the tips as she slipped past. Her hand caught the next pendulum—smooth—and she used its motion to throw herself forward, twisting into a tight backflip before landing on the platform beyond.

She barely had time to steady herself.

The first bullet struck her thigh.

Her teeth clenched, breath tightening as pain shot through her leg. She shifted, dodging the next shot—but the third slammed into her greave with a sharp crack.

Her focus sharpened.

Fire. Movement. Pendulums. Again.

She advanced in bursts—forward, back, adjusting—taking a few hits against bracers and greaves as she read the pattern. Preparing for the next jump—

A round hit her in the stomach.

She stumbled, a sharp sound tearing from her as pain flared through her core. The mistake cost her. Two more impacts followed before she forced herself forward, slipping past two spiked pendulums in quick succession.

She caught the next—gripped—by her fingertips.

A cry broke from her as she swung her legs up and around it, bullets striking her as she turned. Hanging upside down, she locked her hold, adjusting as the pendulum swayed and twisted beneath her.

A brief breath.

Then she pushed on.

With a final lunge, she cleared the last gap and pulled herself onto the fourth terrace.

The incoming fire ceased.

Naireth stood there for a moment, breathing hard, then brushed over the spots where bruises were already beginning to form beneath her skin.

This was the final part of the run.

Two ridges, split by a gap and broken with cracks—and at the very end, nothing. To finish, one had to leap from the ridge wall into open air, then push again from that air behind the ridge to reach the final platform—circling it in motion.

After so many tries, she still had not managed it.

She dreaded it.

Still, she steadied herself.

Naireth broke into a sprint, leapt onto the left wall, and drove herself forward using the subdimension.

One. Two… five long running steps—

Jump.

She struck the right wall, pushed again—then again.

The strain built quickly, dragging on both body and mind. Her breath shortened as the end of the wall run approached.

Imagine there is another wall. You can do it.

She gasped, then threw herself into nothing.

For a heartbeat, there was only air.

Then she shaped it—her body snapping into position as if meeting an unseen surface. Knees bent, core tightened—

She pushed.

Momentum carried her behind the ridge.

A smile flickered across her face as the final terrace came within reach—

—and vanished just as quickly.

Her fingertips brushed the edge.

Not enough.

She hit the mountainside hard, slid, then rolled down until she came to a stop at a place far too familiar.

For a moment, she did not move.

Then she pushed herself onto her knees, letting sweat fall onto the cold stone as she fought to steady her breathing.

The Sister's voice reached her, proud, unwavering.

"You did better. A few more tries, and I am certain you will make it. Now—again."

Naireth blinked, wiped her face with both hands, and forced herself up. Her muscles protested as she turned and began the walk back to the starting line.

It was going to be a long day.

After a few more attempts—each ending in failure as exhaustion mounted—the Sister finally called the exercise off.

Naireth lay beneath the mountainside, staring up at the strip of sky framed by the enclosed wing. The sun had not touched the courtyard beyond the tall walls for some time now.

Nearby, one of the younger Sisters took the run head-on under the watchful eye of a superior Sister.

With a quiet groan, Naireth dragged her aching body up and made her way toward the central citadel, set on nothing more than reaching her dormitory.

The long, dark corridors and staircases were dimly lit—mostly by candles, with the occasional blue-flamed lantern casting cold light along the stone. It was not uncommon to cross the vast fortress without meeting anyone at all. The central command and the subdimensional generator control room were the most trafficked places, and even those remained sparsely populated.

After what felt like an endless climb, Naireth reached her door and closed her hand around the handle—

"Naira! Here you are."

The familiar, cheerful voice pulled her from her exhausted haze.

She turned to see a young Sister approaching, a wide grin on her face.

"Míriel! You are back."

Fatigue forgotten for a moment, Naireth stepped forward and embraced her. Though already taller that most Arnorians her age, she still stood nearly two heads shorter than Míriel—and the other Sisters.

"By the Goddess, you stink," Míriel laughed as she set her back down.

Naireth shoved her lightly in the arm. "Sister Erendis had me on the Run all day," she muttered, grimacing as she turned away. "And I still cannot make the final jump."

Míriel draped an arm over her shoulders, nearly pulling her in. "We all had our share of failed Runs. You will make it." She tilted her head slightly. "But first—we go to the springs. I smelled you halfway down the corridor."

Naireth let out a tired laugh, pushing against her. "Hey!"

Míriel only laughed louder. "What? You need a bath. Desperately."

They made their way deep beneath the central citadel, talking as they went.

The corridors gradually changed into the older foundations of Taras Lúna. Stone bore the marks of violence—sections scratched and sliced, others cracked and split as if the fortress itself had been wounded. Naireth had passed through here many times, yet it always made her feel small.

"I do not like it here," she said quietly. "It feels… sad. Broken. I read the casualty lists. So many died here."

Míriel's tone shifted, more serious now. "Yes. But do not lessen their sacrifice with endless mourning. They fought bravely and earned their place in the Halls of the Trueborn."

Naireth nodded, though her gaze lingered on the scarred walls. "Still… I may not have lived through it, but the destruction—the evil that was here…" She trailed off, her thoughts slipping back to her failed runs. Would she even be able to stand against something like that?

Míriel nudged her gently. "We keep going, no matter what comes our way. Otherwise, their suffering meant nothing." She gestured lightly around them. "And look at it from the other side. If not for the fall of this fortress, the springs would not have broken through here—and more importantly, you would not be here."

Naireth raised an eyebrow. "So I am a patch on a wound, is that it?"

Míriel let out an annoyed breath. "That is not what I meant. Everything has two sides, and—"

Naireth broke into laughter.

"You are losing it. I am just teasing you."

Míriel stared at her for a moment—then laughed as well. "You little—ugh. I try to cheer you up, and you turn it on me." She shook her head, though the smile stayed. "Just you wait for tomorrow. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I already asked Sister Erendis if I could spar with you."

Naireth's eyes lit up, her exhaustion forgotten. "Wrestling? Shooting? Or—no… duel?"

Míriel quickened her pace, glancing back with a grin. "Proper duel. With stuns. Prepare yourself to be destroyed."

The thought alone lifted Naireth's spirits. Most days were filled with conditioning, balance drills, and endless runs. Even when she did get to fight, it was usually theory and controlled practice.

Still, she tilted her head and smirked. "And you will take those… toothpicks?" She pointed at the early rapier and long dagger at Míriel's sides, both with similar basket hilts.

Míriel raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me? And what blade do you prefer, to be so judgmental?"

Naireth's smile widened. "A proper claymore."

Míriel nodded slowly. "Somewhat specific for a greatsword. And a bit large for you, is it not?"

Naireth tilted her head in mock thought. "Maybe you are right. I should go for gauntlets… or a hammer."

Míriel shook her head, still smiling. "Stop messing about. They hit hard—but only if you know what you are doing."

Naireth lifted her hands slightly. "Alright, alright. I was joking. No need for a lecture."

Míriel laughed. "I had to be sure."

They entered a sprawling cave system, in places held up by built-in pillars carved from the rock itself.

At the entrance, both Naireth and Míriel set their clothes aside, laying them on benches cut directly into the stone. Steam drifted lazily from the many interconnected pools of hot springs, a few of them occupied by other Sisters—mostly alone, silent.

Sparse candlelight was the only source of illumination.

For acolytes, it demanded care not to stumble. For Sisters, it was as if they walked in broad daylight.

Naireth shared that sight—being the daughter of one of them—but hers was not yet whole. It came gradually, growing stronger as she neared adulthood.

She stepped into one of the pools first.

Warm water closed around her, easing into her muscles. She exhaled and sank deeper, letting tension drain from her body. Eyes closed, she allowed herself to drift—

For a moment, she nearly fell asleep.

The need for air pulled her back. She rose after a few minutes, breathing slowly as the surface rippled around her.

Míriel was already beside her, arms stretched out along the edge.

"Oh, how I missed this," she said with a soft smirk, watching Naireth through half-lidded eyes. "I can finally breathe again."

Naireth barely reacted, too relaxed to care. "Ha. Very funny. I will take a shower after this anyway." She let her head tilt back slightly. "I just thought a few hours of sleep would be more pleasant."

They sat in quiet after that.

Now and then, Naireth's gaze drifted upward—watching faint lights shimmer atop the crystals embedded in the ceiling, like slow, wandering fireflies.

Time passed unnoticed.

Eventually, they rose and made their way out. Only then did they realize they had forgotten towels. Laughing it off, they gathered what they could and carried the rest, wearing only the essentials as they returned through the corridors.

By the time they reached the dormitory, they were nearly dry.

"See you in the morning," Míriel said with a warm smile.

Naireth returned it. "In the morning."

She slipped into her room. Her roommate was already asleep.

Careful not to wake her, Naireth eased herself onto her bed—

—and was asleep almost instantly.

2. Chapter

Naireth woke to find her roommate still asleep.

Looking through the narrow slits into the hollow center of the citadel tower, she saw no light yet spilling down from above. It was still night.

Quietly, she dressed, took up her journal encased in black leather, and made her way to the showers.

Her towel hung in it´ s place.

A faintly amused smile crossed her face as she remembered yesterday's walk through the corridors in little more than undergarments. After a quick shower and blasting her hair dry with a simple sign of the hand, she suddenly froze—then chuckled softly to herself.

They could have done this after leaving the springs.

The code of conduct surely did not apply deep in the corridors. Míriel must have realized it already.

She had simply chosen to be silly.

Shaking her head, Naireth braided the sides of her hair back, hung the towel in its place, and continued through the quiet corridors with her journal tucked beneath one arm.

She crossed the ramparts linking the central citadel to the outer wall guardhouse. Along the way she nodded to a few guards before finally reaching the main gate, where she climbed one of its towers.

The battlements of the tower and gatehouse rose like a spiked crown.

Naireth moved between them with ease before climbing all the way to the top, locking herself into an almost acrobatic perch high above the fortress.

Below stretched the new town, reaching all the way to Senate Hill, where a smaller wall separated that district from the rest. The main gate of Taras Lúna aligned perfectly with the Senate building itself, as if the fortress watched it directly.

The newer town formed a colorful divide between the pristine white old city atop the hill and the dark fortress behind her.

Warm streetlights illuminated pale buildings made in peach, magenta, and azure tones. Cypress trees and pines were beginning to turn green with spring.

Naireth breathed in the cold, fresh air and opened her journal.

Its thick black leather cover concealed far more than ordinary pages. In a sense, it had replaced a tablet entirely. Unseen to the eye, the journal was an Arnorian compromise between trusted paper and Denebolian nanotechnology. Filled pages retracted through the spine, were erased or reprinted, then emerged again from the opposite side, giving the journal a sense of infinity while never changing its size.

She uncapped her fountain pen.

For a time she simply read, scribbled notes, and sketched.

Then heavy footsteps echoed up from the battlements below the tower.

A voice distorted through a helmet vox interrupted her thoughts.

"Miss Caragyar. I have not seen you here for a while."

Naireth slammed the journal shut and was beside him in a moment.

"Gailistyar! You are back from your leave."

Gailistyar looked at her briefly through the faint glow of his T-shaped inner visor before returning his gaze beyond the walls.

"Indeed I am. You have grown."

Naireth straightened instinctively, trying to stand as tall as he did. "Just a little. Míriel is back too."

Gailistyar gave a slow nod. "So you have your old roommate back." His voice remained dry and even. "Have you already managed to do something unwise together?"

He paused.

"Actually, do not answer that."

Naireth grinned. "It has only been a few hours. We still have time." She leaned slightly against one of the stone spikes. "But tell me—have you seen any new places?"

"Some." He rested his armored hands on the battlement edge. "The twins already walk, so we took them with us. I have made finer works before, but considering the circumstances, they are alright."

Naireth resisted the urge to step into his field of view. Speaking without properly facing one another always felt strange, but that was simply Gailistyar.

"Did you bring the pictures with you?"

"Of course," he answered. "And I will show them to you. As always."

Naireth subtly pumped a fist into the air. "Yes!" She caught herself and lowered her voice again. "Ah, I wish I could travel the land too." Her eyes brightened suddenly. "But I have something to show you as well. In the artificery, if you have time."

Gailistyar sighed through the vox. "Sorry, kid. I am on duty. Perhaps later."

Naireth's shoulders sank slightly. "That is a very large 'perhaps' with my training and your guard schedule."

"The men told me you did well at the Run."

That only seemed to sour her mood further.

"I do not know what they were talking about. I was slow, and I still cannot reach the top."

Gailistyar remained unmoved. "It is difficult to judge from the outside, but from what I have seen—you were never the strongest. Nor the fastest."

Naireth folded her arms.

He tilted his head slightly. "Yet." 

"Every Sister is different," Gailistyar said firmly. "Each excels at something." His voice softened just slightly beneath the distortion. "You may become the greatest of them all, or you may not. You are a pioneer either way—daughter of a Sister, and daughter of Yárcarniel herself. No one truly knows what you will become."

For the first time since arriving, he turned his helmet toward her fully.

"But I do know this—you are nimble. Focus on that for now."

Naireth stayed quiet.

After a moment, Gailistyar looked back over the city again. "I will find time to visit. Do not worry."

A small smile returned to her face.

They spoke a while longer—about his family, the twins, and her training—until duty finally called him onward once more. His heavy steps faded along the battlements, leaving Naireth alone again atop the spiked crown of the gatehouse.

Naireth continued uninterrupted, disturbed only occasionally by the heavy steps of patrolling guards, until morning.

When the sun finally dispersed the thin mist that had briefly rolled into the city from the sea, she knew she had to leave.

Returning to her dormitory, she met her roommate just as the other acolyte was leaving for breakfast. They greeted one another and shared a brief bit of chatter. It had only been a few days since the new acolyte arrived, and ever since Naireth began her exercises on the Run, her free time had shrunk dramatically. Luckily, the older she became, the less sleep she needed alongside the increasing strain of training. Otherwise, she thought she might have gone mad already.

Naireth stuffed her personal journal into a simple brown leather satchel, followed by three more journals bound in darker leather. Purple for Subdimensional and artificery studies, green for general subjects such as flora, fauna, physics, and mathematics, and finally blue for history, politics, and economics.

Then she made her way to breakfast.

The dining hall was massive, its cathedral-like ceiling hanging high above rows of enormous tables beneath red chandeliers. Apart from the active guards, nearly the entire fortress gathered here to eat, which only emphasized how sparsely populated Taras Lúna truly was.

Naireth took a steel tray with prepared food and sat in her usual place beside Míriel.

The hall remained mostly quiet in accordance with the code of conduct.

She began with baked egg muffins filled with fresh spring vegetables, followed by thick-cut wholegrain bread with cheese and smoked fish, then a mixture of early berries. Warm tea washed it all down.

After the meal came the best part.

A vial containing a carefully measured amount of donated Arnorian blood.

Though considered only an acolyte, Naireth's biology was that of the Sisters, and like any Sister, she required blood for sustenance. She swallowed carefully, making certain her mouth was empty so the blood alone would pass into her forestomach, then eagerly drained the vial.

Though digestion would still take time, the need itself vanished almost instantly.

Warmth and energy surged through her body.

Míriel smiled faintly at the sight. Blood was not an everyday necessity. Depending on wounds and exertion, a Sister might need it again in a day—or not for an entire week.

Naireth leaned slightly toward Míriel and whispered with an eager grin, "So, when do I get to beat you up?"

Míriel chuckled quietly. "I am not the one who is going to end up on the ground." She nudged Naireth lightly with her shoulder. "Go through your lessons first. I will come find you afterward."

Naireth rubbed her hands together eagerly, returned the tray, and made her way through the corridors toward one of the lecture rooms.

Most of the lecture rooms, Artificery, Waking Chamber and corridors leading to the Springs were connected by a central staircase that descended through the centre of a vast shaft, spiralling around a massive stone pillar. The pillar rose from the darkness below and vanished into the ceiling high above. Thick supports branched from it at regular intervals, carrying galleries and landings that circled the chamber like rings.

Narrow passages opened from the galleries into surrounding corridors and chambers. Red and black candles rested on ledges and within small alcoves, providing the only illumination. Their dim flames cast long shadows across the masonry and left much of the shaft shrouded in darkness.

Despite its size, the hall felt enclosed. The pillar dominated the space, breaking sightlines and concealing much of the structure behind its immense bulk. Looking down revealed only darkness between the lower galleries, while looking up showed an endless succession of stairs and arches disappearing into the dome.

Naireth ascended to one of the lecture rooms.

The room was small compared to the surrounding halls, yet it felt comfortable and well used. Bookshelves lined the walls and occupied much of the floor space, leaving only narrow passages between them. Their shelves were filled with books, scrolls and folders.

Several desks stood around the room, each accompanied by a sturdy wooden chair. Open books, loose papers and writing implements rested upon the tables, suggesting recent use. Near one wall, a low table surrounded by cushioned benches provided a place for discussion rather than study.

The dark stone walls and floor gave the chamber a sombre appearance, but the warm colours of the furniture softened it considerably. Blue lanterns hanging from the ceiling provided a dim light, while clusters of candles added a warmer glow to the reading areas. The scent of paper, leather bindings and candle wax lingered in the air.

Naireth sat down at the low table, placing her satchel beside her.

She used the waiting time for prayer.

It always felt odd to her, praying to her mother.

She treated it more as a one-sided conversation, talking about her day, and since she had not prayed yesterday, it took a little longer than usual.

Sister Erendis entered silently and allowed her to finish.

They proceeded with their regular lecture.

Due to Naireth's accelerated growth, she attended only a handful of common lectures alongside the other acolytes. Nonetheless, like most acolytes, she had a single Sister Superior acting as her mentor.

Hours passed.

At last, Sister Erendis closed the journal she had been using and looked at Naireth.

"I suppose that is enough for today. Sister Míriel asked me to make it shorter so you are fresh for the duel."

Naireth slammed her purple journal shut and stuffed it into her satchel.

"Yes! Thank you."

She was nearly out of the lecture chamber when Sister Erendis called after her.

"I expect extra effort tomorrow."

Naireth made a quick pirouette in her hasty retreat.

"Of course!"

She hurried away before the Sister could add anything else. Along the way she caught a faint scent, one she noticed only thanks to her heightened senses. Someone from outside the fortress must have come to visit. The sweetness of the subtle wood aroma did not belong anywhere within Taras Lúna. Nevertheless, Naireth was far too excited to investigate.

She made her way to the north-western courtyard, where Míriel was already waiting.

It was smaller than the courtyards of the cardinal directions, such as the northern courtyard that held the Run. Several stone pillars dominated the space, arranged around a small arena. There was little to distinguish Míriel's attire from what she had worn the previous day. Every Arnorian owned numerous nearly identical sets of clothing—custom-made and tailored to their preferences, with what they considered the best balance of practicality and comfort. Even Naireth had been given some choice despite her acolyte status. Sleeveless garments were something of a rarity.

Míriel smiled when she saw her.

"So, are you ready, or do you need a nap after your lecture?"

Naireth smiled back and scoffed.

"If you need rest, just say so."

They entered the ground floor of the arena and were greeted by a huge array of sword hilts lacking blades. The same was true of the spears. There were also gauntlets and a hammer that looked more like a club.

Míriel picked up a pair of basket-hilted weapons. They were simple compared to her own, which she had left in their place. She fidgeted with the hilt in her left hand, adjusting its settings.

Naireth moved past the longsword hilts and along the greatsword rack until she stopped at a claymore hilt with a forward-sloping crossguard.

Together they stepped onto the central platform, which carried them up to the arena floor. There was no place for spectators, only the duelling ground itself.

Then Míriel tilted her head and looked over her shoulder toward the rampart connecting the citadel to the outer wall.

"Looks like we have an audience."

Upon the rampart stood the High King with two Praetorians in power armour. With their winged helmets, they rose above the High King and stood like silent statues guarding him.

Naireth looked up as well and smiled.

"Uncle Anárion."

Míriel smirked.

"You still call him that?"

Naireth looked mildly puzzled.

"Yeah. Why not?"

Míriel shook her head.

"Doesn't matter."

A mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

"It would be a shame if you embarrassed yourself."

Naireth felt a flicker of nervousness but quickly pumped herself up with a small jump.

"Oh, you're going to get it."

She activated her hilt. A yellow blade extended from it, forming a cylindrical column of light ending in a rounded spherical tip. The blade consisted of charged particles that disrupted the electromagnetic signals of the nervous system, causing temporary paralysis without permanent cellular damage. It was an ideal sparring weapon, though far too unreliable for life-and-death situations.

Míriel activated her own hilts. One extended to the length of a rapier, the other to that of a long dagger.

She assumed a fighting stance while Naireth enlarged her blade and followed suit.

They began circling one another, the weapon in Naireth's hands far too heavy for an ordinary human, yet light in her grasp.