Silent Blades and Hearts of Steel

Chapter 1

"Dehya de Jager," The squire addresses hesitantly, fiddling nervously with the hem of his ragged shirt. Doesn't even have stubble, Dehya realizes as she examines the boy, he might barely be a year older than me.

His flickering eyes dare to meet hers, and he trembles underneath her blue gaze, in spite of his towering stature. "That would be me. Have the details of my summon reached you yet, squire?"

"Well- Noè Blackthorne, head of the Silver Swallow, and the great commander wait behind the door. I cannot tell you more, sorry, young miss. They told me to zip- to withhold the information. "

Dehya narrows her eyes at the slip of tongue but she doesn't push. "Thank you, squire."

He leads them through the lavishly decorated halls of the headquarters. Silver Swallow guards swarm the place, the silver bird marked before the moon pressed to their shoulders.

The Silver Swallows, a cadre of extraordinary knights, were unparalleled in their mastery of deception and stealth. Reserved for the most critical missions, their members were a league apart. Among these enigmatic warriors, Noè Blackthorne stood as a legend amongst legends, his name whispered with reverence and fear.

Little was known of Blackthorne beyond his name; an imposing figure in his supposed mid-thirties, he possessed a striking presence that left an indelible mark on those who glimpsed him. The mere act of meeting his gaze was followed by death and disdain, the mere exception being those few of higher rank within the elite circle of the Silver Swallows.

Her stomach flutters nervously and just like the squire's, her hands begin to tremble violently. She, a fifteen year old trainee of no significance, was summoned before the two most important military figures. This glorious day would be marked as the day she would meet eye to eye with two legends, Noè Blackthorne amongst them.

Left, right, and they take another right before he halts. Still quivering.

"They wait for you behind this door, young miss."

The dark oak door looms over their suddenly dainty frames. The golden handle taunts to be touched carefully. "I'm no miss," she finally corrects, "a High Moon in training, not a high noble."

With that, she rests her hand on the golden handle. Her whole being dares to tremble and the strong sense of flight heightens her senses. It takes everything in her to will her muscles to work. Weakness was to be eliminated on sight, that was drilled into her.

The door opens with a moan of old wood. Marking the many centuries the three factions have protected the lands of Devusiakè.

The merciless gold is cold to the touch, but not colder than the countenance of the man who now stands before her, a few horse lengths away. The squire immediately scrambles away with a squeak, making sure not to even spare a glance.

The man with the cold eyes stands tall before the grand window, the sun seeping around his frame, casting him in a blanket of shadows. His build was supple and more than imposing; it was immediately clear that this was the infamous Noè Blackthorne.

If fear had not clawed at her pitiful heart before, it now sure did. Dehya was not one quick to surrender to the notion of being a child, but now she did. Fearful and confused, she stood. In spite of this heavy inner turmoil, her facial expression remains of stone. Carved with candid determination.

Another man, presumably the great commander, makes his presence known by rasping his throat loudly. "Dehya de Jager, correct?"

She snaps her head towards him - seated at the exquisite wooden desk amidst the room is a smaller, older frame. His eyes stand wise, and the many scars running over his face told of many losses and battles.