M.E. 743
Summer
In the concrete jungle that is the capital city, the business of the daily lives of the people remains the same and unfettered. Adults go to their respective workplaces, children go to school and play, while the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive remain true to their duty to the Kingdom and the royal family.
"Come on, we're gonna be late!" an anxious Orius calls out to his sister while they run their way towards somewhere.
"I'm not the one who's a slowpoke!" Neoma playfully remarks, not even breaking a sweat in her running.
"Oh yeah?" Orius huffs, "Well, I'm gonna beat you to it!"
Both children dash their way through the intricate outer foyer of the palace until they hobble to the two flights of the grand staircase carpeted in red.
Orius reaches the top of the stairs first and catches his breath to spend his bragging rights at his sister—who apparently keeps on going despite placing last.
"The race isn't over until we find Father!" she giggles then stops at her pace when two Kingsglaives—one is taller and the other has a stout—build open the massive door before she could struggle on her own opening it with her skinny arms.
"Well, hello there." Greets a young man with a small arrow tattoo marking his right cheekbone as he bends his knees to level with little Neoma.
"Hello." The child greets back.
"Pardon us, sirs, but we were just about to enter." Orius reasons.
"Now what would two little runners be doing at the grand staircase in broad daylight?" the young man coos in question as he puts his hands on his waist.
"We're looking for our father, but I'm going to beat my brother to the race—I'll surely win and find him first before he could!" she answers confidently even though a part of its essence is a joke.
"Who is your father?" the companion Kingsglaive asks Neoma.
Neoma answers with Diovus's full name only. The two Kingsglaive continue to verbally play with the kids, poured out information about Diovus's whereabouts until they offered their time to help them locate their father, after explaining the fact that they could get lost around the entire place—be in places that they shouldn't be—and not be able to find their father in time.
The siblings suspend their competition and they followed the two Kingsglaives. Along the way, the ever-curious Neoma breaks the silence every once in a while with her questions about the smallest details that she's observed from them. Mostly it's only the taller Glaive who is responsive when it comes to Neoma's naïve questions.
"Why do you have arrows on your faces?"
"We had them."
"I don't see many people having that on themselves."
"Because we're not from here in Insomnia." He glances over his shoulder and his eyes find a curious-faced Neoma catching up to their stride.
"Where are you from then?" Orius asks then.
"Galahd. Just a bit away from this city." The stout one replies.
He turns his head back forward and continues leading the way for the brother and sister while nodding and greeting back at every fellow Kingsglaive or Crownsguard that comes in their way.
A series twists and turns through doorframes and corridors under the guidance, they reach the room where the exact location of Diovus—it is designed to be a room for fencing practice complete with dummy weapons and foamed armory; but before Neoma and Orius could run up to their father, the second Kingsglaive tells them to wait for them to do their respects for having their presence acknowledged by the higher ranks such as Diovus himself.
"Master Platea?"
"Ah, Ulric, Ostium. What brings you back here?"
"You have visitors—excited ones too." Ulric responds with a smirk.
Neoma thought that that was the signal for them that they can go inside the room now so shoves herself through the tight space between Ulric and Ostium and comes running towards Diovus.
"Papa!"
Orius follows.
"Ah, so here are my little visitors!" Diovus scoops his daughter and brought her up in the air.
Once Diovus has put down Neoma back on the floor, she scurries to the area of the armory where cascading shelves of various weapons are displayed. The girl's fascination gleams in her eyes as her eyes trail the length of the shelves.
"Papa?" Neoma calls.
"Yes, dear?"
"When will I get to have my own sword like yours?"
Diovus lets out a small chuckle, amused by the curiosity and determination that he finds so endearing from his daughter.
"Soon, my little moon. It won't be long now."
Diovus and his sparring partner resume their practice while the children watch the session from the upper platform where the racks upon racks of weapons are. Carefully, Neoma studied her father's movements visually and embedded them in her mind while Orius studies it by mimicking them—the lunges, the parrying, the thrusts, and even the even yet in their training and they were just beginning to understand how combat works. Not knowing of their histories and what they were supposed to become and yet they have the hope that they will be much like their father.
Thw two aren't even in their training yet but from what they're seeing right now, they're beginning to understand how combat works. Not knowing of their histories and what they were supposed to become and yet they have the hope that they will be much like their father.
"Hey, Neoma," Orius blurts.
"Yeah?"
"What weapon do you think you'll wield? I wanna wield a broadsword just like Father's!" the boy says enthusiastically, almost as if he's victorious.
But Neoma thought for a while, she looked at the weapons rack and her eye always seem to focus on one thing—a crossbow. From there, she knew her answer.
"I might wield a crossbow or a lance."
"Well, you have to be strong to carry either of them! I'm gonna be strong too so I can swing my sword."
They continue watching and learning—in their own way—as their father keeps himself focused on his opponent.
In a span of months, Diovus has trained both Neoma and Orius about the various techniques, methods, and styles in combat and strategy that he thinks suitable for the both of them. He eventually repeated his sparring sessions with the children, ones that the two curiously watched.
Six months later
Diovus has requested his son and daughter to be enrolled into the training regimen of the Crownsguard.
The children have grown a normal life—they go to school, they play, and then they report to the palace for training. Both undergo the same regimen as most recruits into the Crownsguard but the siblings do not always go in the same phases of their training. However, all of the recruits must perform particular exercises wherein they have gathered all together for a synchronized regimen.
As Neoma and Orius grew, they develop their techniques individually. It took some time for them. They've even come across skirmishes along the way with their fellow apprentices but it was quickly resolved—to avoid getting word to their father.
The girl has indeed developed a taste for lances, polearms, but she has invested herself with a crossbow. Nimble and lithe is her figure, and agility was her greatest ally. The brother grew with brute strength, with a liking to greatswords despite his medium built—which is the least usual body type of a greatsword wielder—his patience and timing are astounding.
"Perhaps, it's time for the two of you to try out something different from your usual arsenal." Diovus comes in, interrupting the siblings' training session.
"And what's that different thing, Father?" Neoma asks musingly.
"Hold out your hands, you two."
They obeyed. For a minute, it seemed like they are doing nothing but hold out their hands open in mid-air. With a little bit of patience and calm, blue particles started to form from the center of their hands—originating from nothing but the air—it eventually takes form and hovers an inch over their palms.
"Are these..." Orius.
"Our weapons?" Neoma.
"Soon enough, my children. Once the both of you have completed your training, these weapons will soon be in your possession. Only at the time that the Crystal sees it fit."
The apparitions of their future weapons dissolved—reducing back to its origins: air.
"Go on, now. You two aren't done with practice."
They bowed for courtesy as they are on the premises of the palace, they trot back to the yard and catch up to the exercises.