Chapter Text
It seemed like the entire population of Serkonos had collectively set aside their day’s labor for the Blade Verbena. There were few occasions for revelry and the crowds only swelled in number as the tournament neared its end; word quickly traveling through the streets of Karnaca that a sixteen-year-old boy actually stood a chance of winning the entire thing that year, besting some of the greatest swordsmen from all across the Empire of the Isles.
The Blade Verbena welcomed all, regardless of social standing, birth right, or history, though most competed in the tournament for the same reason- public esteem, a lifetime of bragging rights, and the possible placement as a junior officer in the revered Grand Serkonan Guard.
Though none of that mattered to the boy from Karnaca.
The boy stabbed, feinted, parried, spun, and cut- fighting his way through round after round. The rules were simple enough and each opponent inevitably yielded to his blade as spectators yelled their approval, thunderous and reverberating, from the stone walls of the tournament courtyard.
Things were going well, very well in fact, until the boy slipped on the slick, storm-wet flagstones, throwing him off balance for the merest of moments. His opponent instantly sprang forward, darting in and behind. The boy managed to twist away with a quick parry but not before the blade connected, deep enough that blood immediately began to run down his side and back.
The crowd hissed in empathy but the advantage was short-lived. The larger man’s momentum forward had brought him in close, just close enough. The boy swung up with a quick pommel strike that sent his opponent reeling back in a daze. By the time the other man recovered, there was a blade at his neck and the fight was over.
***
"Void take me," the boy cursed, muttering low under his breath as the cloth bandage slipped out of his grasp yet again. He was ready to consider the effort a lost cause when suddenly a girl’s voice came from behind.
"I can help."
The boy started to turn from his seated position but the motion caused the hastily applied bandage to slip further. Unable to fully look behind, he nodded. He held still as the girl gathered the two ends of the cloth and deftly tied them together. Her hands were warm against his skin.
The boy stood, stretching carefully and turned around to see a young, well-dressed girl who met his gaze with bright, fearless eyes.
"What is your name?" she asked.
The question was delivered with the ease and audacity of someone born of high social status. It was a tone that the boy would have typically scoffed or dismissed entirely. Respect was only ever given to the upper class in mock deference. But there was something about her that commanded...no, it requested sincerity.
"Corvo. Corvo Attano," the boy heard himself say.
"Good luck, Corvo. I hope you win." Her voice was a melody and unmistakable.
The roar of the crowd outside suddenly grew louder, signaling the start of the final duel. The girl watched as Corvo took up his weapon and strode into the courtyard.
The Blade Verbena was awaiting its champion.