"Please, don't toss your towel over my dad again," I begged Chanel. She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and turning her back on me.
"Why should I? I enjoy watching his face when he gets annoyed," she said, pouting as she flopped onto the bed.
"He said he'd throw you across the room the next time you do it," I remarked, settling down beside her.
She burst into laughter, her entire body shaking as she clutched her belly and tumbled to the floor. Sitting up, she wiped away a tear of joy, "I won't be in his hair much longer, so tell him to hang in there a little while."
Curious, I walked over and took her hands to help her up. "What do you mean you won't be in his hair? Are you planning to go somewhere?" I asked, puzzled, since Chanel hardly ever left the house except to see our former neighbour's son, Liam.
With a mischievous grin, she bounced up, brushing off my offer of assistance. "Do you remember what the king said about celebrating something that's never happened before?" she inquired.
I nodded, encouraging her to go on, as curiosity bubbled inside me. "He didn't reveal all the details, just said we should be ready." With a gleam in her eye, she twirled around and exclaimed, "It's a celebration for the very first female Knight! And that knight is M-E— ME!" She shouted it out with such enthusiasm that it felt like the ground might tremble beneath us.
I was torn between believing and doubting this fantastical claim. Chanel possessed a strength that could inspire nations to vie for her allegiance, and now she had finally chosen to audition for the Harmon Knight Squad after discovering that Liam had a girlfriend.
Perhaps it was only unbelievable to me, the best friend turned stepsister, who had shared a bond with her since we were five—a bond sparked by the same doodle on the wall. "It's not just a coincidence," my mother had said, "It's fate." And ever since that moment, we had been inseparable.
"You'd better not be kidding," I cautioned, stammering over nearly every syllable. "Why would I joke about something this important?" she replied, her expression earnest. Settling back onto the bed, she said, "This has been my dream for as long as I can remember. I would never jest about it."
In a rush, I went to her and wrapped her in a tight embrace, tears streaming down my face. "You stupidly strong person, why didn't you tell me sooner?!" I exclaimed, my joy soaking her shirt as she returned the hug.
Pulling back slightly, I wiped my eyes. "You still have that crybaby side to you," she teased, and I playfully flicked her forehead. "You're so absurdly strong; I wish I could be like you," I said, glancing at my soft, doughy hands.
"Everyone has their own strengths, and yours is definitely painting. You don't need to be like me," she reassured me. I crossed my arms and met her gaze. "I don't need to be super strong; I just want to be strong enough to defend myself. I'm just so weak," I admitted, tired of concealing my vulnerabilities.
Chanel leaned closer, taking my hands in hers. "Why didn't you speak up, Dove? You should've told me you were feeling insecure about this. I could have helped you," she said, her eyes filled with sympathy.
I found myself staring at the walls, unable to meet her gaze. I had remained silent for 19 long years—why had I finally decided to say something now?
Chanel released my hands and stood up, offering hers. "Come on, if you want to be strong, I can help you find someone who can support you." I turned to her, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"
She pulled me to my feet, her enthusiasm palpable. "I'm going to get you a personal mentor—someone who can handle your struggles," she declared. I looked at her, surprised by her insight; I never expected her to connect with me on such a level. Honestly, I thought she might laugh it off, as if my worries were trivial.
"Why aren't you laughing? I know you didn't turn into a great person overnight," I asked, eager to understand why she was reacting differently than I anticipated.
"I understand what you're going through. I became strong because I've experienced weakness. We inhabit a tough world, Dove; no one will mock you for being weary of playing The Damsel in Distress," she said, actually offering me some comfort for once.
"Thanks," I replied, and to my surprise, she dramatically pretended to vomit, "Ew, don't say that! Let's just find you a mentor so I can become a knight in peace," she groaned.
With a playful slap on her head, I pulled her toward the door. "This is going to be easy, right?" I asked, completely unaware of what lay ahead. She nodded, "Why not?"
"Knock knock! It's your favourite duckling!" Chanel called out as she knocked on the door of an old building, which, according to her, housed a legendary ancient mentor.
An elderly man, leaning on a walking stick and sporting a white beard, answered the door in an instant, a smile lighting up his face as he greeted Chanel, "Chanel, my favourite little troublemaker! What brings you here?" he asked, clearly delighted.
Chanel nudged me towards the door, and I found myself facing the man directly. "This is my friend and sister, Dove," she announced. "She claims she's had enough of these—" she lifted my left hand, "weak, fragile limbs."
I couldn't help but elbow her lightly in the stomach, not really intending to hurt her, but enough for her to gasp and dart toward the man. "See, she attacked me! But I felt nothing! Please, can you help me deal with her? I've got things to do, and I regret to say I can't be her mentor."
I shook my head at Chanel's antics with a heavy sigh. She could've just asked normally.
The man stepped closer, scrutinising me carefully as he pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket. "First things first," he said, slipping them on as they gleamed with a vibrant shade of green, "I need to assess your strength to understand what we're working with here."
The glasses swiftly returned to their initial form, and the man coughed, slowly retreating. "This is, um... quite unexpected. I fear my health is declining, so, um... I can't train you," he stammered before rushing back inside and locking the door, leaving us in stunned silence.
I turned to Chanel, who appeared just as bewildered as I was. "What just happened?" I asked, and she merely shook her head. She looked back at me, giving me the same expression she had directed at that door moments ago.
With a swift motion, she retrieved a pencil from her hair and handed it to me. "Here, break it," she challenged. I blinked a couple of times, feeling hesitant to take the pencilcalmlyintention. "Um... alright," I replied, somewhat confused.
I tried multiple times to snap the pencil—on my lap, with just my hands, even attempting to chew it in the middle. "Is this thing made of metal or something?" I questioned, astonished by its stubbornness.
Without a word, she snatched the pencil back and tucked it into her hair. "Let's move on to the next mentor," she said, her determination palpable.
The next mentors all acted the same when they saw my strength.
"I actually have bipolar disorder. One second I'm a mentor, the next one I'm a suicide bomber".
"My wife asked me to stop training people named Dove".
"Um.. I have a village meeting soon, and I'll lose my memory before I get back".
"Don't knock on this door again".
One excuse followed another, and without fail, the next sound we always heard was a locked door.
Chanel, clearly infuriated, stood up and exclaimed, "That's enough! What kind of mentors are we working with in this town? You might be as fragile as tissue paper, but you're still trainable!" She yelled this while stomping her foot, and I continued to munch on my bread in a calm manner.
"It's not finished yet," she declared, crossing her arms with determination. Glancing at her while chewing, I responded with a half-full mouth, "Is it not?" She shook her head and angrily snatched a piece of my bread, devouring it. "We're paying a visit to the king to show him just how cowardly the people here really are," she asserted.
I quickly swallowed the last crumbs and tossed the wrapper into a trash can. "We don't need to go to such extremes. Just let me train with you on your days off from being a knight," I proposed.
She gripped my shoulders tightly, her frustration palpable. "Can't you get it? THERE ARE NO DAYS OFF!" she shouted directly into my ears, likely unaware that I would have heard her even if she had only whispered.
Chanel yanked me by my ear, declaring, "That's it! We're taking this straight to the king!". I followed her, a mix of curiosity and obedience guiding my steps, into the grand palace—a realm where gold seemed to swirl around its inhabitants and beauty was more than skin deep.
As we arrived, the knights recognised her immediately, ushering us in without a second thought. Clearly, Chanel was no stranger here. We found the King lounging beside a vibrant hibiscus, lost in admiration of its petals' vivid hues.
"KING!" Chanel called out, her voice piercing the serenity.
The King jumped, startled by the urgency of her tone, but breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted her, asking, "Miss Chanel, what brings you here?"
She approached him, ready to lay out the situation, no doubt spicing up the tale with her usual flair.
"ABSURD!" he shouted, springing from his seat. "I had no idea the mentors in this town were so naive!" His words echoed through the room, and Chanel nodded vigorously at each claim, signalling her agreement with every bold statement he made.
"In fact, the mentors shouldn't have the authority to make the choice. It's up to you to pick whoever you want as a mentor," he announced, directing his words at me. I turned around, half-expecting to see someone lurking behind me, but there was no one there. "Me?" I asked, a touch of disbelief creeping into my voice.
"Absolutely," he affirmed with a nod. "Now go ahead and make your decision," he encouraged, a smile lighting up his face. At that moment, Chanel wrapped her arms around me from behind, her excitement palpable. "You know what this means, girl! We're heading to the Thread of Ridge!"
"What!? This is all happening way too fast!" I exclaimed, feeling apprehensive at the thought of venturing to The Thread of Ridge, a place that sounded downright intimidating, especially just to find someone who might not exactly shower me with kindness.
"Relax, girl! You know I've got your back. It's not scary at all—just a stroll through the woods at midnight with a bunch of old guys," she replied nonchalantly, as if she hadn't just confirmed my fears. I glanced at my arms and let out a deep sigh. "This better be worth it."
12AM. Fallen Woods, The Thread Ridge.
"What kind of disrespectful behaviour is this? What do you mean SHE gets to choose?" MMrColin shouted in frustration.
Around us, the other men exchanged glances of agreement while Chanel and I stood in the centre awaiting the conclusion of their complaints.
"There's no point in whining about it; those are the king's orders," Chanel said with a smirk, fully aware that those words had always worked to their advantage—until now, when they turned against them.
"You have five minutes! Make your choice quickly!" another man barked. I glanced at the bridge beneath us, rumoured to be woven from threads. Here, decisions could be either brilliant or foolish, and I was faced with my own.
Suddenly, I collapsed to the ground, feeling an intense heat searing my back. A blue glow enveloped me, and I watched in horror as the men recoiled in fear. "W-What's happening?" I stammered, anxiety creeping in.
Chanel attempted to approach but was thrown backwards, landing hard on the floor with a resounding thud. Panic surged within me as I begged them to call for help, but they stood frozen, voiceless in my moment of despair.
Mr Collins grabbed the now unconscious Chanel and flung her over his shoulders. "Don't you see this is beyond us, Miss Dove?, Imagine the force of a hit that took out the best fighter in town".
I wrapped my hands around my burning body, "What are you implying!?"
He walked towards the entrance along with the rest of the men, "It's obvious, Miss Dove. The Moon itself has chosen".