My First Act of Freedom
I was about six months old when it happened.
My mother placed me on a woven training mat while she practiced forms nearby. The sound of her blade slicing through air was almost comforting — sharp but predictable.
I watched her every movement.
But I wanted to do more than watch.
I pressed my palms against the mat.
My tiny muscles trembled, my legs shook.
My balance was terrible.
Yet I refused to give up.
I pushed.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
Until finally—
I moved.
A tiny shove of my arm, a wobbly shift of a knee, and I crawled forward a single inch.
Talia stopped mid-swing.
Oh?" Her voice softened. "Trying to escape already?"
Not escape.
Just move.
Just grow.
I grunted with effort and crawled more — shaky, uncoordinated progress, one wobble away from face-planting.
But to me?
It felt like claiming freedom.
Talia knelt beside me and gently brushed my hair.
"You're impatient," she said with a faint smile. "Just like your father."
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment.
But I kept crawling.
By nine months old, I stood.
Barely.
Holding onto a wooden training dummy, legs trembling like they were made of noodles. But I stood.
The assassins training nearby noticed.
Some stopped mid-stance.
Others whispered.
"He stands already?"
"That child grows unnaturally fast…"
"Maybe Lady Talia is right to guard him so fiercely."
Their reactions fueled me.
I lifted one foot.
Then the other.
My first step was forward.
My second was sideways.
My third was… falling flat on my face.
The assassins flinched.
Talia didn't.
She simply lifted me, adjusted my balance, and set me down again.
"Try again."
I did.
And again.
And again.
My legs shook, my balance wavered, but determination pushed me to keep walking until sweat dampened my tiny forehead.
Finally — after dozens of failures —
I walked ten steps across the mat, without falling.
Silence filled the training chamber.
Then, unexpectedly, one assassin clapped.
Talia's glare silenced him immediately.
But I saw it:
Awe.
Respect.
Fear.
Even as a toddler, I was becoming someone they couldn't ignore.
It happened when I was almost one year old.
A young trainee — maybe twelve — had been glaring at me all week. Jealous. Angry. The idea that I, a baby, was the "future heir" burned him.
He waited until Talia stepped away for a moment.
He approached me with clenched fists.
"What makes you so special?" he whispered harshly. "You're just a brat."
I didn't understand all the words.
But I understood the intent.
He reached toward me — maybe to shove me, maybe to test me, maybe worse.
My body reacted before my mind did.
Instinct.
Pure, sharp instinct.
I ducked under his arm.
My baby legs stumbled, but I pushed forward anyway.
My hand swung out wildly—
And struck him in the throat.
Not hard.
Not deadly.
But precise enough to cut his breath for a second.
He gasped and dropped to a knee.