“Rustle... shff... creak…”

  The sounds of the morning began as they always did, right beside me. I woke to the shifting of weight on the mattress and the soft friction of fabric. When I finally forced my eyes open, I saw Wyn already sitting up, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the early morning. That familiar creaking of the bed frame was the final signal that sleep was over.

  I rubbed the lingering dizziness from my eyes and sat up, my mind still thick with the remnants of dreams. I looked around our new room, my gaze traveling hollowly over the wooden walls and the simple furniture. My eyes eventually met Wyn’s. She looked just as disoriented as I felt, though she had always been the faster of the two of us to fully wake. Seeing me peering at her with half-open eyes, she gave me a small, knowing smirk and a slight nod.

  “...Hm. Good morning,” she whispered.

  I managed a faint, tired smile in return. “...Yes. Good morning to you, too.”

  The day had officially begun. We knew we had to get moving to prepare breakfast for the master, but there were personal needs to attend to first. Wyn stood up and headed downstairs while I remained in the room for a few moments, allowing my body to fully catch up with the world.

  I walked over to the window and pushed it open, letting the cool morning air rush into the room. The sun was just beginning its slow climb, casting long, golden fingers across the neighborhood. It seemed like very little time had passed since dawn. From this height, I could see the other houses of Yargan. They weren't packed tightly together; each one had a small, well-kept yard, usually at the front. Most were two-story wooden structures similar to this one, creating a sense of quiet, residential order that was still very new to me.

  “Tap... tap... tap…”

  The sound of footsteps approaching the door pulled my attention away from the window. I turned and began to retrieve our maid uniforms from the wardrobe, the fabric crisp and clean.

  “Creeeak…”

  The door opened, and Wyn stepped back inside, looking more refreshed. “I am done,” she said, her voice a bit more energetic. “You can go now.”

  “Okay. I’ve got the uniforms ready,” I replied, nodding toward the bed. “Get changed while I’m gone.”

  I left the room and headed for the washroom. Once I had finished my business, I reached for the bowl of powder the master had shown us. I poured a small amount onto my palms and added water, watching with a small sense of wonder as it transformed into a rich, thick foam. Washing with bubbly water was a joy that never seemed to fade. I was beginning to truly understand why the master was so insistent on cleanliness. Once you experience the feeling of being truly clean on a regular basis, the alternative becomes unthinkable. Even after just a single day, the thought of not washing makes the skin feel heavy, as if it’s already stinking or itching.

  I returned to our bedroom to find Wyn already finished with her change, smoothing out the lines of her uniform. “Are you done?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’ll change now,” I said. Wyn stepped out to give me space, and I quickly transitioned into my own outfit. I took a few extra moments to fix the collar and ensure the fit was as perfect as possible. I wanted to look my best for the household chores. Once I was satisfied, I headed downstairs to join Wyn in the kitchen.

  She was already a whirlwind of activity. She had laid out the ingredients on the prep table and was busy coaxing the fire in the hearth to a steady glow. I took a pot and measured out the dried tea leaves that the master had specifically pointed out yesterday. He had mentioned he enjoyed this particular blend with his breakfast. I added the water and instructed Wyn to place the pot over the fire once the flames were ready.

  I set about preparing three large plates. I moved methodically, placing a wedge of cheese, several slices of a ripe tomato, and exactly ten olives on each plate, leaving a deliberate empty space in the center for the main course. I took the six eggs we had purchased yesterday and cracked them into a bowl, adding a pinch of salt and whisking them until the yolks and whites were perfectly integrated.

  By the time I had the frying pan ready and lightly coated with oil, the tea was already steeping. I looked at Wyn. “Go and wake the master,” I told her.

  While she went upstairs, I moved the teapot to the dining table and placed the pan over the high heat of the fire. As soon as the oil began to shimmer, I poured in the whisked eggs. I watched them closely, ensuring they were cooked to a perfect, soft consistency—neither runny nor overdone. Once they were ready, I divided the portion equally among the three plates.

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  I carried the plates to the dining room and set them in their respective places: one at the head of the table for the master, and the other two for Wyn and me. To my surprise, the master was already sitting in his chair, looking alert. It seemed he had been awake long before Wyn went to fetch him.

  “Sit down and let’s eat,” the master said simply.

  We took our seats and began our breakfast. The master seemed to enjoy the meal, and the tea in particular received a nod of approval. For Wyn and me, this felt like a lavish feast compared to the meager rations of the slave compound. The tea was a first for both of us; its flavor was refreshing and sharp, a perfect wake-up for the senses.

  Once the meal was finished and the master had satisfied his appetite, we began to clear the table.

  “Wear and bring the equipment we bought yesterday after you are done with the cleaning,” the master instructed, his voice calm but firm. “Then, come outside.”

  “...Yes, master,” Wyn and I replied, exchanging a quick, curious glance.

  The master headed out the door while we hurried through the dishes. Once the kitchen was spotless, we went upstairs to change. We pulled on the simple clothes we had worn at the slave merchant’s building to serve as padding, then strapped on the leather armor the master had selected for us. Wyn secured her two iron swords at her waist with practiced ease. I followed suit, though my movements were more hesitant. I buckled my single sword to the left side of my waist and took the wooden shield in my left hand. The weight felt heavy and unfamiliar, a physical reminder of the master's intent for us to learn to fight.

  When we stepped out into the yard, the master wasn't immediately visible. For a second, I thought he might have left on some errand, but then we spotted him in the garden area. He was crouched among the herbs, plucking a handful of wild weeds that had attempted to encroach on his plants.

  “Oh! Are you done?” he asked, standing up and dusting off his hands.

  “...Yes, master,” we said, standing straight as we adjusted to seeing him in such a domestic role.

  “It’s good that you have some experience, Wyn,” the master said, turning his focus toward us. “You can help Woya get used to the rhythm of a fight. And Woya, there’s no need to be afraid. If you work diligently and follow the instructions, you’ll be fine.”

  He stepped closer, examining my stance. “Since you have no experience, the shield is your best friend. It’s there to block any direct frontal attacks. Your goal for now is to get used to the weight of that shield and learn when to strike with your sword once you’ve created an opening.”

  He began to outline the structure of our training. “Wyn will be the attacker, and Woya, you will focus entirely on defense. Don’t just hide behind the wood; keep your eyes on your opponent. Watch her movements so you can anticipate where the strike is coming from. We’re going to do this every day for at least a week. After that, we’ll be heading into the dungeon. So, Wyn, if you want your sister to be safe down there, you had better teach her well.”

  There was a slight, mocking edge to the master’s tone, but the underlying message was clear: this was for our survival.

  “Let’s begin,” he commanded. “Woya, raise that shield to chin level. Watch Wyn’s eyes and the direction of her shoulders. You’ll only start counterattacking once your defense is instinctive. Wyn, begin the assault. Start easy—give her a chance to feel the force of the collision. Then, start guiding her to defend the areas she’s leaving exposed.”

  The master gave the orders with the authority of a seasoned commander.

  “Yes, master!” Wyn shouted, her voice ringing with determination.

  I took my position, bracing my feet as I had seen the guards do. Wyn’s expression had changed; she looked intensely focused. At first, I worried she might be enjoying the chance to knock me around, but I quickly realized her intensity came from a place of protectiveness. She knew the master meant what he said about the dungeon. Every mistake I made here was a potential disaster later.

  The practice was grueling. I was, as I had feared, very bad at it. Even when Wyn moved slowly, the impact of her wooden practice sword against my shield was enough to make my arm ache. When she began to angle her attacks from the side, I found myself stumbling instantly, my balance nonexistent.

  After watching our clumsy exchange for a while, the master approached us, and we came to a halt.

  “You have a long way to go, Woya,” he observed. “But as long as you keep up the effort, you’ll improve. As for you, Wyn, we’ll start your own sword practice with me once Woya’s defensive style has settled a bit. For now, you two continue to work until noon. I have some business in the city, so I’ll be out until dinner time.”

  He paused, shifting into a list of instructions for the rest of the day. “After you finish the practice, clean the entire house. Then, fill the water tank—I want at least ten buckets of water carried up. After that, go shopping for dinner and prepare the meal. Here, take this.”

  He reached into his pouch and handed ten silver coins to Wyn. “Use this for the groceries. If you see anything else you think the house needs, buy it. If this isn't enough, tell me at dinner.”

  “As you wish, master,” we said in unison, bowing deeply.

  “See you then,” the master said. He turned and walked out of the yard, leaving us to our work while we remained in our respectful bow.

  [Edited]