The Last Fortress - Chapter 1

Dawn's light crept over the towering walls of Valden, casting rays across the city's labyrinthine alleys and illuminating the fortress homes carved into the mountainside. Edward stood atop the eastern ramparts, watching the sunrise as he had done every morning for the past three years. Since the Blight had swarmed these walls, driving humanity back to its final refuge.

Ever vigilant, Edward scanned the bleak landscape beyond the walls for any sign of movement. All was still, the wind whispering softly through gray ash coating the wastelands. Valden was an island of life in an ocean of death. A stubborn beacon of hope surrounded by darkness.

Finishing his lookout, Edward made his way down the worn stone steps to the barracks courtyard where training would soon begin. He passed by refugees huddled in alcoves along the stairs, mothers cradling children with hollow eyes. More arrived each day, fleeing the spreading Blight infestation.

Reaching ground level, Edward crossed the courtyard where cookfires and appleyard fug filled the brisk morning air. He nodded in greeting to the gate guards posted with long spears and heavy crossbows to deter any Blight infiltrators.

Approaching the barracks, Edward slowed, letting memories of his mother surface. The ache of her loss had never faded in the fifteen years since the Blight came. She had perished ensuring Edward escaped with the fleeing survivors. One more hidden pain carried by all who now called Valden home.

Sharpening his grief into resolve, Edward entered the barracks. Inside, young recruits chatted and donned their training gear. He spotted Garrett among them, his cocky rival basking in the admiration of those around him. Born to an elite family, Garrett never missed a chance to lord over Edward despite his obvious lesser skill.

Ignoring him, Edward went to the racks and pulled on his leather armor, layering his shoulders and arms with additional plating. Next came the maneuvers gear - a sturdy leather harness that held the sheathed sword and mechanism which propelled the steel grappling cables and gas canisters. Few could wield the unwieldy device with skill, but it gave the Wardens unparalleled mobility for battling the Blight.

Fully equipped, Edward made his way to the training ground where Master Bran stood waiting. The grizzled drill instructor walked with a heavy limp - a permanent reminder of the Blight's cruelty. But his disfigurement had only hardened his resolve to prepare the next generation.

Bran's stern face broke into a grin as Edward approached. "Your form was sloppy yesterday," he declared. "We'll start with exercises to sharpen your footwork before sparring."

Edward nodded, accepting the challenge. He knew Bran saw his potential to become one of the finest Wardens of his generation. The Master's harsh regimen was meant to impart the skills and discipline needed to battle the Blight, though many recruits shunned the grueling training.

As Edward practiced his footwork, evading phantom strikes, the other recruits filtered into the barracks courtyard, complaining about the early hour but knowing better than to voice their gripes too loudly. All but Garrett, who strode up boldly, declaring, "Let me spar Edward today, Master! I've been working on new techniques to put him in his place."

Bran scowled, his face weathered and pale like cracked granite. "Very well Garrett, you may test your mettle against Edward once our drills are done. I expect you both to demonstrate what you have learned."

Garrett smirked while Edward kept his face impassive. He knew Garrett would never pass up public chance at bravado to cover for his envy. Let him play the overeager braggart, Edward thought. He would let his skill speak for itself when they crossed swords.

The team finished their meticulous drills, then gathered in a circle on the packed dirt as Garrett and Edward faced off. Bran looked on sternly as they drew their longswords. "Remember your footwork," he growled. "And keep your blades up!"

The two young men saluted each other with their swords then began circling slowly. Garrett charged first, feinting low before sweeping high at Edward's head. Parrying the slash aside, Edward riposted with a quick thrust at Garrett's exposed shoulder, drawing first blood.

"A hit!" Bran called out. "Mind your form, Garrett."

Scowling, Garrett came at Edward aggressively with heavy chopping swings to overwhelm his defense. But Edward gave no ground, using precise footwork to evade and counter each strike. As Garrett wore himself out, Edward landed several more quick hits.

"Well fought, Edward," Bran said, stepping forward to stop the bout. Garrett glared at Edward spitefully before stalking off, pride smarting.

The day's training progressed, with Edward demonstrating peerless skill at both swordplay and the 3D maneuver gear drills. As the recruits left the barracks, satisfied with their growing abilities, Bran asked Edward to remain behind.

"Your mother would be proud of the warrior you've become," the grizzled master said not unkindly. Edward remained silent, both warmed and pained by her memory.

"You're ready for more than training now," Bran went on. "It's time you joined the ranks as a full Warden. What we face demands nothing less than our very best. And from what I've seen, that means you."

Emotion swelled in Edward's chest. After years of punishing toil, this was the recognition he had worked towards - formal admission as a defender of the realm. His mother's death would be avenged, and humanity's survival assured.

Edward met Bran's gaze and nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Master. I am ready for whatever comes."

Tomorrow would bring the induction ceremony at sunrise where Edward would vow himself to the Wardens before all of Valden. But as he left the barracks, Edward felt the whispered dread that the Blight did not intend for there to be a tomorrow...