A Duel to the Death

Wood rattled in her palm as the sword clashed with her staff. Her grip tensed for a moment before the sword hurtled back from the opposite direction. She grunted and blocked the attack with a sudden motion, but the enemy was relentless.

He drew the blade towards himself, allowing his victim a second to retreat before he thrusted back with deadly velocity.

She stumbled as the point of the blade pressed her sternum. Though his weapon, too, was wooden, the blow was forceful enough to leave a nasty bruise.

She winced as a voice called, “Midori!”

Her head snapped to the side, where her trainer, Sayje, stormed towards her. The older woman snatched the wooden sword and jabbed Midori again.

“You are dead,” Sayje snapped. “If you don't guard your vital organs, you aren't going to last a day in The Arena. You'll be sent to the front lines as a human shield. Do you understand?”

Midori winced and nodded as Sayje pressed the weapon firmly into her forming bruise.

Sayje flicked the blade to her side. “Again. This time, shield your torso. If you're going to use a defensive weapon, you have to actually defend yourself.”

Midori swayed and returned to her starting position. Her dueling partner backed away, rolling his shoulders.

“I need you to be vicious,” Sayje ordered the man. “You are her opponent in The Arena. Don't hold back.”

He nodded without a word, and before their duel was verbally commenced, he lunged towards Midori. She took a sharp inhale and planted her feet as his sword swung at her skull. Her staff caught it with a loud thump, but he used the recoil to strike at her side.

The end of her staff barely caught his blade. Still, he managed to tap her hip. Sayje undoubtedly noticed. Midori did not have a moment to spare contemplating her oversight, for her opponent's weapon flung swiftly from one side to the other.

His blows were so powerful and swift that Midori could not think. Each hit loosened her grip and sent her a step backwards. She had never faced such an experienced swordsman in her life.

Strike after strike, her defenses weakened, and her agility lagged until she collapsed. Her elbow caught her fall, but her staff—poised uselessly in front of her—was promptly knocked from her grip, flinging several meters away. Her frail arms could not shield her.

Within a second, her attacker struck, slicing her throat with ruthless force. Midori rolled to her side, coughing and spluttering. Again, he stabbed her, targeting her heart. She grunted and kicked his shin, but he did not falter.

“That's enough,” Sayje barked, but the man had no mercy. His blade slammed into her knee, flipped her again to her back.

“I said that's enough!”

With one calculated motion, Sayje blocked the wooden sword with her own. It tore from his hand and slid in the opposite direction of Midori's staff.

Shaking her head, Sayje smacked the man against the chest with her sheathed sword.

He grimaced as she said, “Clearly, she would've already died in the simulation. There is no need to make it happen in real life, too.” She pushed him back. “Now, both of you should rest. I suspect we will resume later.”

Sayje pivoted and offered a hand to Midori, who habitually took it. Her swollen limbs strained, but she managed to stand.

“Midori, I pray that you understand the severity of your situation,” Sayje continued. “You are 16 years old. The drafting ceremony is tonight, and this year is the first that your name could be pulled.”

Midori swallowed and turned her head, but Sayje grabbed her by the shoulders. “I know that it's unlikely for you to be drafted your first year—maybe you'll be lucky enough to make it past the age of 24—but starting tonight, you have to be ready for war. That starts here. Do you understand?”

With a frown, Midori nodded. Sayje mirrored her, saying, “Okay, good. When you come back to these training grounds, you're going to be focused and prepared.”

Patting her shoulders, Sayje walked off of the field and into the old, damaged building surrounding it. Midori gazed in the distance, though she was not oblivious to her duel partner's piercing gaze.

She refused to make eye contact. Instead, she wandered towards a nearby tree, which casted stark shadow with its blossoming green leaves. Even in her escape, she heard the man follow her. Thoroughly ignoring him, Midori crouched at the foot of the tree and leapt for a branch. She snagged it, swung her legs around, and lifted her body to balance on the limb.

“Are you training to climb trees now?” the man asked.

Midori locked her eyes forward and ascended another branch. Despite being mute, she often visually acknowledged people who spoke to her. However, she had no interest in entertaining the man responsible for her aching bones.

He circled the tree to put himself in her line of sight. “You'd need to be much faster than that in The Arena,” he explained. Midori did not react.

“Your combat skills are also lacking. You should hope you are not drafted for the next few years. It will take some time to get where you need to be.”

Midori's arm struggled as she pulled herself to one of the last stable branches. Thanks to an earlier duel, she was unable to climb as quickly as usual. Thoroughly exhausted, she sat with her legs somewhat propped on the branch and faced away from her opponent.

Still, he called out to her. “You will burden our battlefields. For your sake and that of the High Order, I pray to Queen Aphrodite you are not drafted tonight.”

With his final words, he departed in the same direction as Sayje. Midori sighed, shifting her uncomfortable position.

She, too, prayed she would not be drafted. She had prayed for such mercy since she learned of it. The draft was spoken of with such anxiety and terror among those of age. Evidently, nobody wished for such a fate. And yet, each year, thousands of names were pulled, sending teenagers and young adults alike to the infamous Arena.

The Arena was only spoken of under whispered breaths. Most of its qualities were a mystery to the fortunate undrafted. All the citizens of the High Order knew was that there was no returning to normal life after the Arena. Those drafted were either sent outside the nation's borders to fight the Outsiders, or they were appointed to the royal guard of Queen Aphrodite. Such a role was an honor and blessing, for the alternative was guaranteed death.

Being drafted meant serving the High Order and the Queen. In itself, that was an honor. To most, it should have been. However, Midori reeled at the thought ever since she turned 16. The thought of defending the nation made her feel anything but empowered.

With an opponent as skilled as this unnamed man, Midori was even more terrified for the drafting ceremony. Her dueling partners tended to be younger than her. Being one of the oldest children at the orphanage made her more experienced by default, but even so, Midori was not inclined to violence. She had learned to run and hide efficiently, but the man was right; her combat skills were lacking. She still lost occasional duels against orphans younger than her. With any dueling partners brought in from outside of the orphanage, Midori never stood a chance.

She had never fought anyone her age that was as powerful as her opponent today. She wondered if, perhaps, he could stand a chance against Sayje, who was old enough to have experienced the very first draft nearly 30 years ago. Although Sayje frequently insisted there were others much stronger than her, Midori had been unconvinced. After her duels today, however, she began to reconsider.

She exhaled and shut her eyelids. If there were others her age that were as skilled as Sayje, Midori hoped to never discover it. She dispersed her worries—if possible, considering the approaching drafting ceremony—and allowed her muscles to relax. Leaning against the trunk, she slipped gradually into sleep.

“Midori.”

Her head lolled as she drifted into consciousness.

“Midori!”

The tree shook her awake. Looking down, she saw the unknown man's foot planted firmly against the base of the tree trunk. He stared curiously at her.

“Sayje told me to wake you,” he said. “It's time for our next duel.”

Midori squeezed her eyes and dragged herself down branch by branch. Though much easier than climbing, her body still ached.

As she approached the grass, her opponent backed away. Only a moment after Midori's feet landed on the ground, she caught sudden movement in front of her. The man pummeled towards her at full speed, gripping the handle of his sheathed sword.

Midori fled, scrambling around the tree. She looked back for a second to see him drawing out his blade with empty eyes. She turned from him and scanned the training field, spotting her discarded staff.

With newfound energy—from adrenaline, motivation, or both—Midori sprinted across the yard, heavy footsteps trekking barely a meter behind her. Her staff in her path, she reached down to snatch it. The ground rumbled with heavy footsteps. Her fingers latched onto the wood, nearly slipping from the perspiration.

Midori whipped around, facing her opponent as his sword hurtled at her head. Sudden strength aided her swift block, but the force was different from anything she had felt before. His strength was foreign and astonishing. At the next blow, splinters bursted from her staff. She scurried to the side, but even with his broad stature, he met her agility. Encroaching on her, he jabbed at her torso with merciless intent. Midori lunged back, nearly losing her footing. Instantly, he was upon her again.

And he was not holding back.

His next hits Midori only blocked with her staff held bluntly in front of her chest. He attacked violently. Her hands strained, threatening to drop her only protection. With one swift slice, the end of his blade cut her fingers.

She yelped, dropping the staff from her dominant hand. As his sword raised above his head, preparing to strike, Midori tumbled to the side. She began lifting herself, but the metal swung at face. She dropped to her side and shielded herself for only a moment before her weapon was struck again.

Her staff rolled across the grass, close enough for her to crawl and reach. But his blade descended too quickly from the same direction. Utilizing her small frame, she rotated the other way and scrambled to her feet.

Her heart pounded in her throat as she ran, but she did not get far before a slice tore through the cloth and skin on her back. She stumbled but carried on towards the tree. Her fingers and back burned and trickled with hot blood, yet Midori moved at full speed towards her safe space. If nothing else, she could outrun him.

As she looked back, she saw enough distance from him to attempt to climb. With her adrenaline, it could work. It was her only choice.

At the base of the tree, Midori jumped, bloody fingers clamping to the bark and leaving red stains. She pulled up.

Just as quickly, a wide hand grabbed her leg and tore her from the branch. Her arms weakly caught her fall, and the thud reverberated through her ribcage. She screeched and kicked as he dragged her along the grass, but there was no use. He did not budge.

I am going to die, Midori thought, eyes hunting for Sayje, but she was nowhere to be found. He brought her to the shaded side of the tree, blocked from view. He's going to kill me.

The man flipped her on her back and gripped the fabric by her neck, forcing her into the ground. Midori scratched and punched and kicked.

He gazed at her with clouded blue eyes. “Now you know what you'll really face in the Arena,” he said in a low, dark tone. He retrieved his sword with his free hand, drawing it back. “And they will not grant you such mercy.”

He swung the back of the sword at her head, and she blacked out.

⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⚔︎

Hushed voices drifted into Midori's ears as she regained consciousness. She opened her eyes slowly, struggling to adjust to the cold lighting.

She first saw the white sheets around her and knew instantly that she was in the nursing office. The beds around her were emptier than usual. Around the corner, Midori recognized Sayje. She was speaking indistinctly to someone, but the moment Midori began to sit up, she flicked her head to watch her.

“She's awake,” Sayje muttered, not quietly enough. “I'll talk to you later, but for now, she must rest.”

Sayje hurried to Midori's side, and whoever she was speaking with must have departed. “Are you feeling alright, Midori?” she asked, sitting beside the bed.

The more Midori adjusted, the more pain shot through her body. She grimaced and slowly shook her head.

Sayje furrowed her brows and looked down. “I'm truly sorry. That should have never happened. I should have been there to keep watch.”

Midori fidgeted with her sheets and rolled her shoulders. Burning pain shot through her back, and she clasped the fabric.

“He injured you far too much, even with a wooden sword,” Sayje added. “I should have guarded his real sword. I am just thankful to have found you alive.”

Midori nodded. The back of her neck—where it met her skull—stung from an injury she could not recall sustaining. Still, she would not be shocked to have received one while unconscious.

Sayje frowned and leaned forward. “Do you remember what he did to you?”

Midori looked down. She remembered him chasing her. She remembered her terror. She remembered him dragging her through the grass and—

She nodded. Sayje exhaled. “Did he attempt to kill you?”

Midori blinked. From her injuries, she would think he did. He seemed to be set on killing her. And yet, she was alive. He chose to knock her unconscious instead.

She tilted her head and shook it with uncertainty. “Perhaps he wanted to scare you,” Sayje offered. “Had I been there, though, I would have never allowed it to go that far.”

Midori nodded. His final words rang through her head: “They will not grant you such mercy.”

She shuddered.

“Well, he's gone now,” Sayje assured her, “and he will never be back. We'll stick to regular training from now on—once you're healed and well-rested.”

Sayje stood, looking off to the side. “The drafting ceremony is in an hour. I don't think you are in proper condition to attend, but that is up to you. After all, it is very unlikely you will be drafted tonight.” She paused. “Would you be well enough to attend?”

Midori had never attended a drafting ceremony. They took place in the center of town every year, and although she was too young before, she was allowed to watch. In fact, most teenagers did. But Midori was frightened. Even when underage, she feared that her name would be read. She felt that distance was her only savior.

So Midori shook her head.

“Okay,” Sayje said. “That's fine. We will not worry about it, then. Until I return, get some rest.”

Sayje left, and Midori laid back down, each movement paining her more. With the lights and her anxiety of the encroaching ceremony, she found difficulty falling asleep.

Before she realized she had dozed off, she was awoken with a slamming door and frantic shouting. Midori jolted up as the source of the noise—Sayje, appearing horrified—stormed towards her bed.

“Midori, you have to run,” she ordered.  Sayje flung Midori out of bed before she could react. “Listen to me; you have to run away. Run far from here.”

Midori tripped as Sayje dragged her out of the nurse's office and into the adjacent hallway. They ran past the dining room, which was hauntingly empty. Even the bedrooms were silent. It was as though the entire orphanage was holding its breath.

They turned a corner, and suddenly there was commotion in the direction they came from. Distant voices began shouting commands, and footsteps thumped louder and louder. Sayje halted in front of a wide door and pummeled her body against it. With much resistance, it finally creaked open, leading behind the orphanage. The sky was darkening with the setting sun. The drafting must have already begun.

Midori looked at Sayje, horror struck in her blue eyes. Her silent stare told Midori all she needed to know.

Her name had been pulled.

Voices approached from both ends of the hall. Sayje flinched and firmly shoved Midori through the doorway.

“Take refuge in concealed places,” she said. “Avoid populated cities. Change your appearance. Speak to no one.”

Sayje shoved the door until it was nearly closed. “If they find you,” she continued, eyes welling with tears, “search for a flash of hope in the darkness.”

The door slammed shut. Midori backed away, listening for more yelling, but the brick walls were too thick to hear anything. She scanned her surroundings. Windows lined the wall, but she saw no one through them. Behind her was an open field, surrounded by woods she never dared to explore before.

She held her breath, creeping from her home. Every movement felt too big and exposed. Her white hair reflected what little sunlight was left, and she had nothing to hide it.

Then, a woman passed one of the windows, followed by what appeared to be guards carrying unrecognized weapons at their sides. Midori's breathing picked up, and she broke into a sprint towards the trees. At each glance back, she saw more and more guards. Finally, a pair of eyes flashed her way.

The guard shouted down the hall. Midori turned back to see that the trees were mere seconds away. She was unarmed, confused, and terrified, but security was just within her reach.

A click sounded behind her. Midori looked back to see the strange weapon pointed directly at her through the window.

That's a gun, she thought.

A loud pop confirmed it. A pinch hit her leg. She kept running until two more shots were fired. She felt another pinch in her arm, and another strange projectile flew past her. It appeared to be a small arrow as it hit a tree near her.

Now within the woods, a wave of dizziness overcame Midori, and she stumbled behind a tree to catch herself. Her vision strayed and spun. The sky brightened with vibrant hues and abruptly became shadowed.

Midori collapsed against the trunk and slipped to the ground.