Odin watched from the manor’s second-floor window with quiet fascination. He leaned against the pane, arms crossed over his chest. "Where did our daughter learn those moves?" he mused aloud. Her strikes were fluid, her stances solid—nothing like the traditional forms he had seen before. No wonder Bener boasted of her skills after their time in Calma.
Just as Lara turned to look at them, Odin moved back toward the bed and pulled his wife so Freya could join him at the window. Her gaze sharpened as she spotted their six sons exiting the manor and stepping onto the lawn, each bringing a weapon.
Asael with his sword.
Galahad with his spear in one hand and another spear in the other.
Bener with his own blade.
Gideon was armed with a bow and arrows, and a sword.
And the twins Percival and Peridur, with swords strapped to their backs.
The sunlight glinted off steel and polished wood as they approached the trio.
Freya’s eyes narrowed. "Darling, what exactly are your sons planning to do with their sister? Are they going to fight her?" Despite the endearment, her glare was sharp, her voice firm.
Odin raised an eyebrow, his hand finding its way to her waist. "I have no idea. Why don’t we watch and find out?" His grip was gentle but steady, and when Freya swatted it away, he only caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and led her to the balcony where the view stretched unobstructed over the training grounds.
Below, Lara turned just as her brothers approached. Her brow arched with curiosity, but her smile remained easy. "Good morning, brothers," she called out, her voice clear and steady. "Are you joining me for training, or have you come to conquer the lawn with all that steel?"
Percival chuckled. "Sister, just when did you learn to develop a sense of humor?"
His brothers glared at him. "Shut up," Asael, Galahad, and Bener said at the same time.
Percival felt aggrieved.
Asael grinned, pulling his sword free and letting its weight rest in his palm. "Maybe both," he replied smoothly. "I figured I might have become rusty after my injury, and you as well, after days of travel." He took another sword from his back and passed it to Lara.
Lara laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Rusty? You must have forgotten who I am."
"Our little sister!" Peridur exclaimed.
Bener looked serious. "It is they who thought you were rusty, Sis. Not me."
"Only one way to find out," Peridur added, reaching for his still sheathed sword with a flourish.
Without another word, the siblings spread out in a loose circle, blades flashing under the sunlight. Galahad spun his spear with practiced ease, the blade whistling as it cut through the morning air.
Sandoz scampered back, eyes filled with worry, as he joined Reya and the pups on the sidelines. "Are they going to fight?" he whispered.
Reya nodded, her eyes fixed on the group. "I suppose we’re about to see what Lady Lara is really made of."
Asael moved first, his sword still in its scabbard, sweeping forward in a bold strike aimed at Lara’s shoulder. She sidestepped easily, her feet light against the grass. His follow-up came faster—an upward slash, but she deflected it with a sharp parry, the clang of metal ringing through the air. Asael’s scabbard was made from metal.
"You are quite fast, Sis!" Asael admitted, stepping back to give Galahad his time.
"Faster than I remember," Bener affirmed.
Lara just smiled, flexing her wrists. "Maybe they’re just slower."
Asael "..." His sister had quite the arrogant one.
Galahad took a step forward and passed the other spear to Lara. He was spinning his spear until it blurred. He charged, his spearhead cutting through the air. Lara’s eyes sharpened, and she dropped low, letting the spear tip whistle past her ear. She sprang up instantly, grabbed the shaft of the spear with one hand, and twisted, forcing Galahad to stumble forward to keep his grip. He looked at Lara with wide eyes.
"Surprising," he admitted, wrenching the spear back. "You are powerful, Sis. Stronger than the enemies I had previously encountered."
Bener laughed from across the circle. "So, Galahad, you lose the bet."
"What bet?" Galahad looked innocent despite his rugged appearance.
"Bro, you said that you would beat her in five moves. I counted it, and you made ten moves."
"I am sorry, Sis. I made a bet and am glad I did not win." Galahad’s voice was gentle when talking to Lara, but when he turned to look at his younger brother, his eyes were like ice, causing Bener’s hair to stand on end.
Then Galahad scrutinized Bener and nodded. "It’s your turn." Let us see how you embarrass yourself, he added silently.
Bener’s strikes came quicker, precise, and unyielding. Lara matched him step for step, her movements fluid and seamless. She ducked beneath a sweeping arc, spun on her heel, and delivered a light tap to his ribs with the flat of her hand.
Bener stumbled back, stunned. "Did... did you just—"
"Tag. You’re it," she said with a grin.
Lara’s gaze flickered to Gideon, who still held his bow but had yet to shoot. "Not joining in?" she teased.
He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. "Wouldn’t want to ruin the fun."
"Or you’re afraid you’ll miss," she taunted.
Gideon’s grin grew wider. "Oh, I never miss." With that, he pulled back the bowstring and released. Of course, he used his practice arrow with its blunt end. What if he accidentally hit his sister?
Lara saw the flicker of movement, felt the rush of air as the arrow hurtled toward her. She pivoted just enough for it to sail harmlessly past her shoulder, embedding itself in the soft earth behind her. "Try again," she challenged.
Gideon obliged, shooting two more in rapid succession. Lara twisted and ducked, moving with a dancer’s grace, each arrow missing her by mere inches. When she could not dodge, she used her sword to block the arrows.
When the last arrow thudded into the ground, she straightened and dusted off her hands.
"Sis, you are impressive... nine of ten arrows fell to the ground, and the other one you split into two."
"Of course," a cute voice interrupted. "Sister Lara practices every day," Sandoz said proudly. "You could not defeat her."
Before anyone could respond to Sandoz’s revelation, a booming voice echoed, "You brats..."