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Isolde raised a fist to the familiar wooden door of her grandmother’s room, but paused. It was very late, and she was really too old for this sort of thing, and she really should talk to her mother about this before anyone else, and-

And, and, and, and. She gave a small sigh; she needed to stop making excuses to put this off! It was now or never. She was already twelve, far older than most apprentices! If this was the path she wished to pursue (and it was, of that she was certain), then she needed to speak up. She couldn’t afford to keep putting it off. Taking a slightly shaky breath, she gave a gentle rap on the door. Too gentle, it made nary a sound… A second time, this one a proper knock.

There was a rustling from the other side of the door, the creaking of floorboards, and then the door swung ajar to reveal an old greying Peisio. Marielle looked a little dazed with sleep, and a little confused, but seeing the nervous air that clung to her granddaughter replaced all with a sharp concern. For nervousness to be so openly shown by Isolde, well, that was no trifle. Opening the door all the way, she put a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Oh, darling, what is it that troubles you?”

Isolde opened her mouth to speak, only to find that the words did not want to come. Taking a shaky breath, she sidled in for a hug. “I… I don’t want to be a healer.”

The old Peisio gently pried her granddaughter off of her, and crouched down to her level. “And you think you must be?” The little Dovaa nodded, and her elder sighed before standing and going to sit on the edge of her bed. When she was settled, she patted the spot next to her. “Come, child.” Isolde did as she was asked, head slightly down as if she had done something she was ashamed of.

“Everyone expects me to be a healer, and a Peisio, and to work in the family practice.” Isolde didn’t make eye contact with her grandmother as she spoke, expecting to be told that everyone else was right to expect that. That there was some kind of unspoken rule that she had to take up her mother’s trade, both because she hadn't been training for anything else and because it had become something of a family tradition.
“And what do you wish to be, if not that?”

Isolde looked up at her grandmother, a little startled at being given a chance to explain. “I don’t really… I don’t know what I want to be. I know what I want to do, though. I don’t want to stay here all my life. I've read so much, and there are all these wonderful things and awful things, and things that I’d write off as somebody trying to pull my horns if it wasn’t in so many books. But I want to see it.” she stopped to take a breath; that was far more than she was used to saying at once!

Her grandmother thought it was amusing, Isolde could tell from the way her crow’s feet became more pronounced; but the old woman restrained herself from laughter. “Darling, you being a Peisio healer would not stop you from seeing the world--”

“I know that!” Isolde regretted snapping almost immediately, the surprise of her own outburst making her freeze as she prepared herself to be scolded. Granted, she’d never been scolded by her grandmother before, but then she’d never snapped at her. She usually knew better! “I-“

“Am perfectly alright.” The family matriarch had a stern- but not unkind- look. “Isolde, this is unlike you; that in itself is the problem. You have come to the conclusion that, because your parents think that it is likely you will follow in your mother’s footsteps, you are bound to that. But have you ever once given them reason to believe otherwise?”

Isolde looked down again. “… No, not really.”

“Then you need to, if you wish to change their view of you. But you don’t have to, because your parents want you to follow the path you do because you want to.” She paused. “So if you do not want to be a healer and you do not want to be a Peisio, what do you want?”

The young Dovaa hesitated. “I want to be an Aiskala, and I want to be a warrior. But I don’t want to fight for any grander picture, I just… I mean, it’s dangerous outside of the Celestial Plane. I know that, and I wanna be able to defend myself.”

Both were silent for a long while, and Isolde spared a glance to see her grandmother’s eyebrows furrowed slightly in thought and worry. The lines in the old Dovaa’s face seemed to have deepened. Isolde didn’t wait for her to reach her own conclusion; though she knew that whatever the conclusion was, her grandmother would not stop her from following her own path (though she sure would try to dissuade her). She needed her to understand.

“I’m not… I won’t be like Nikola. I don’t think fighting is a good thing. I don’t think it’s some grand ideal. I don’t think that these warriors who go out and slay a hundred beasts for the sake of it, who fight for the sake of it, are heroes.

I just don’t want to be at the mercy of anyone else. If I am attacked out there, in that dangerous world, I don’t want to run.” The youngest Amsel looked up at her elder, and was surprised to see a small smile on the old woman’s face.

“Well said, Isolde. Very well said.”

Isolde was late coming home that evening, an occurrence that was not particularly unusual. She sometimes lost herself in her books after class, staying at the library the academy housed with the intent to wait out the rushing of her eager-to-leave peers. There were a few- they were the closest she had come so far to having friends her own age- who would occasionally join her in silent reading, or maybe they would come to ask questions on subject they didn’t quite understand but were unwilling to ask their teacher. She didn’t know all of their names; and she had even never spoken to those who only came to have company whilst reading, answering the occasional greeting or farewell with a quick glance up and a nod of her head. The silence of the library felt as if it was sacred, and she only broke it when she had to.

Today, however, she had staid so long that the librarian herself had needed to shoo her out. Isolde hadn’t meant to stay nearly as long as she had; she had just wanted to stall a little bit. Prepare herself for the fallout that seemed inevitable. She wondered how her mother and father would feel, if they would assume she was going to be another Nikola. At least there would be no doubt that she would not be like Horace or Kan, trailing after the oldest Amsel child and worshipping whatever he touched. But there would still be the concern that maybe she would become so enthralled with the world outside or become so ensnared with the concept of earning glory in battle that she would become a stranger to her house. That she would flee the safe confines of the Celestial Plane- like Nikola had, like the twins eagerly planned to do- and come back estranged from both her family and from the simple, happy, safe life they led.

Today had been the day she’d signed herself up for warrior training; and the part of her that knew how much her decision would hurt her parents and grandmother screamed to run back, to run back to the fortress and take back the choice she had made. Grandmother already knew that Isolde had been toying with the idea, but… Isolde just hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed in her.

And now she found herself at the Amsel practice’s front door. It must be done. Procrastinating will only make it worse… It must be done. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door with shaking hands; and was relieved to find that there were no waiting patients in the reception room. As she made her way up to the floor her family occupied, however, she briefly wished that the room had been full. She immediately dismissed the thought: she wanted this over with. Preferably before she turned into a coward and put the confession off until her parents found out from another source.

Her mother was waiting for her at the table, a small meal and a long rectangular box laid out for the seat across from her. Itzel’s eyes were red as if she had been crying; but Isolde could never tell her mother’s sorrow from her frustration. “Isolde.” Her mother gestured to the seat. “Sit with me.”

Unused to being in any kind of trouble or upsetting her parents in any way, Isolde meekly obeyed. She wondered why her mother had bothered to lay out the food, as she had the feeling that eating was the last thing either of them wanted to do. Even if she had, her throat felt far too constricted.

Her mother cleared her throat. “I… Heard something this afternoon, just after you were supposed to come home. One of the trainers had pulled a muscle today, came by for a healing right after her last lesson.” She took a shaky breath and buried her face in her sleeve for a long moment, and Isolde wished she could disappear. “Isolde, why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Isolde didn’t know how to answer, so she stared at the grain of the table wood for a few precious seconds that felt like forever. “I didn’t want you to think I was like Nikola.” For a moment she feared she wouldn’t be heard, her voice was so small; but Itzel answered her by reaching across and clasping her hand, a small smile that looked tinged with bitterness on her face.

“Honey, Nikola isn’t a bad person. Your father and I love your brother very much.”

That wasn’t what Isolde was worried about. “But he isn’t around anymore. He’s too busy fighting for the glory of it.” Her response earned her a raised eyebrow.

“And you aren’t? Really, Isolde, I never would have imagined you becoming a warrior. If glory and idealism didn’t lure you to choosing that, then by Abronaxus what did?”

“Practicality. I want to travel around in the less inhabited areas of the world, where things that might want to kill me live. I thought that maybe letting those things kill me wouldn’t be the best idea, and hiring help sounds expensive.”

Her mother’s smile began to look more genuine, and she huffed in amusement. “You… Well. I decided that if my only daughter was going to go gallivanting around outside the Celestial Plane fighting things, she might as well have something to help make sure she was the one doing the slaying and not the one being slain.” She motioned to the box, and Isolde picked it up.

The box itself wasn’t particularly heavy, and the wood was oak. Not cheap, but not expensive either. It was plain, utterly devoid of decoration. Something made to be practical, then. Opening the clamp, she found it held a long dirk inside.

Picking it up to inspect it, she found that it felt alien in her hand; and she handled it with a caution that bordered on excessive. It was as plain as the box it came in, as was its black leather scabbard; gently pulling it out she could tell little of the level of craftsmanship beyond that it was no shoddy piece of equipment. Feeling a little silly for knowing so little about the weapon, she slid it back in the scabbard and placed it on the table.

Smiling, she looked up at Itzel. “Thank you, mother.”