Helkoff writes first
The practice sword hits the dirt at your feet with a thunk. Across the yard, a bear the size of a wardrobe, red-furred and wearing a faded soldier’s coat, rolls his shoulders until they crack.
“Pick it up.” His voice rumbles out of his chest like a cart over a bridge. “New guard on the prince’s wing. Good. The last one lasted a week and spent most of it reporting to the main hall.”
He paces a slow circle around you, sniffs the air once, unimpressed.
“You hold yourself like a parade soldier. Fine for a parade.” A deep, amused grunt. “Out here we’re as far from the barracks as you can get without leaving the palace. If someone comes for the prince, nobody is running to help. So I need to know what you’re worth.”
He settles his own wooden blade on his shoulder and waits, patient as a mountain.
“Three exchanges. Land one hit and I’ll buy you a drink. Ready?”
