The forge’s backyard was little more than packed dirt, a crooked fence, and Marin’s collection of broken tools that she swore she’d fix “someday.” But to Aanya, it might as well have been a training yard.

  She stood with her new sword in hand, the morning sun gleaming off its edge. Marin leaned against the fence, arms crossed, hammer hanging from her belt.

  “Alright,” Marin said. “Show me this magic trick of yours.”

  Aanya tightened her grip. The bracelet pulsed faintly, and she focused the way she had the night before. For a breath, nothing happened—then the blade flickered with a pale shimmer.

  “Yes!” Aanya grinned.

  The glow sputtered and died, leaving only ordinary steel.

  Marin clapped slowly. “Impressive. You managed to make your sword look clean for half a heartbeat.”

  “Shut up,” Aanya muttered, setting her stance again. “I’ll get it.”

  She tried again. This time the blade sparked with a tiny pop, singeing the edge of her sleeve. She yelped, shaking her arm. Marin’s laugh nearly toppled her off the fence.

  “Careful, or you’ll roast yourself before you roast anything else.”

  “It’s harder than it looks!” Aanya protested.

  “Not saying it isn’t,” Marin said, her grin softening. “Just… don’t burn my fence. I like having one.”

  They spent the better part of an hour practicing. Aanya’s sparks were uneven, sometimes bright, sometimes nonexistent. Once, the blade hummed so loudly it rattled Marin’s hammer, and both girls stared wide-eyed before it sputtered out again.

  Finally, they collapsed in the dirt, sweat-soaked and laughing. Aanya’s hair clung to her brow, a faint scorch mark at the hem of her tunic.

  “I’ll never make it to the academy at this rate,” Aanya groaned.

  “You’ll get there,” Marin said quietly. “Three years is plenty of time to learn. Besides, we’ve got bigger things to worry about first. Like saving for a house that isn’t falling apart.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Aanya chuckled. “One sword, one spark, one coin at a time.”

  “Exactly.” Marin tipped her head back against the fence. “Though I wouldn’t mind if your sparks stopped aiming at me.”

  ***

  Their chance to test came sooner than expected. That afternoon, a farmer burst into the guild hall, shouting about a wild boar tearing up his fields. The job was marked as provisional-eligible.

  Aanya and Marin exchanged a look.

  “Better than herbs,” Marin said.

  The farm lay just beyond the west gate. The boar was massive, tusks caked in dirt, eyes rolling with panic. It charged the moment they stepped into the field.

  Aanya’s heart hammered. She raised her sword, focused, and the blade flared faintly. Not steady, not strong—but enough. When the boar lunged, she sidestepped, guided by the bracelet’s pulse, and slashed. The blade bit shallowly, light flickering along the cut.

  The beast bellowed, spinning. Marin darted in, hammer swinging. The crack against its flank staggered it long enough for Aanya to drive her glowing blade forward again. This time the cut held.

  The boar collapsed, snorting weakly before going still.

  Aanya stood panting, her arms trembling from effort. The glow faded from the sword.

  “We… did it,” she said, voice small but triumphant.

  Marin patted her shoulder, grinning. “Not bad. Though next time, try not to nearly stab me when you swing wide.”

  Aanya laughed shakily, relief washing through her. The farmer thanked them profusely, pressing a pouch of coins into their hands.

  As they walked back toward town, Aanya looked at the faint nicks on her blade. Even plain steel seemed to gleam with promise under the sun.

  “This is just the beginning,” she whispered.

  “Good,” Marin muttered. “Because if that was the end, I’d be disappointed.”

  They laughed together, the road stretching before them, the first flames of their journey lit at last.