A Shieldmaiden’s Tale – Part 1: The Weight of Wanting
There is certainty in the beginning—bold dreams, imagined triumphs, and a name claimed without hesitation. The path seems simple: speak it, and it will be so. But once the weight of armor settles and steel draws its first line, illusions begin to crack.
What once felt like destiny turns to strain. Straps chafe, boots bruise, and each step grows heavier. Pride becomes a lifeline, tethered to tales that never spoke of pain or quiet doubt. The road ahead doesn't just test strength—it strips away pretense, revealing not who was expected, but who might truly be.
She drew her sword—far too quickly and nearly dropped it. "Back off," she snapped, angling the blade with more attitude than skill. Her chin lifted in defiance, lips pressed into a pout. "I’ve trained. I’ve practiced. I’m ready." A pause. A flicker of doubt in her eyes. "...Right?"
The baker barely looks up as the coins hit the counter, "You’re late again." his hands deftly wrapping warm bread in cloth. "Third time this week."
The reply is easy, unbothered, as boots scuff against the well-worn floorboards. "Not much need to rush, is there?" Outside, the streets move at their usual pace—unhurried, unchanging. No titles, no formality. Just another day in a town where time seems to drift like the slow-moving river beyond its gates.
Becoming takes more than belief.