17 What is sword meant to you?

The morning sun cast a golden hue over the training courtyard, birds chirping in the background and the cool breeze teasing the leaves of the trees. After their hearty breakfast and the profound stories shared, Elrian felt invigorated and ready for his next lesson.

Lysandra stood poised in the middle of the courtyard, her eyes sharp and attentive. "Alright, Elrian, grip practice today. The grip is the foundation of every sword move. Without a proper grip, everything else falters."

Elrian nodded, taking his stance. He carefully wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the sword, ensuring that the alignment was correct. He could feel the cold, hard metal press against his palm, providing a sensation of both challenge and comfort.

"Now, begin," Lysandra commanded.

As Elrian tried to hold the sword firmly, Lysandra moved in swiftly. She would tap, push, and sometimes even tug at the blade, testing his grip. Each time she did so, she was checking to see if he would lose his hold or if the sword would waver from its intended position.

With every attempt Lysandra made to disrupt his grip, Elrian had to readjust, find his center, and strengthen his hold. Sweat formed on his brow, muscles in his arms strained, and his focus intensified. 

"This isn't just about physical strength, Elrian," Lysandra said after a particularly tricky maneuver where she almost managed to pull the sword from his grasp. "It's about mental resilience. The external disturbances are not just physical; they can be emotional, mental. Your grip on the sword represents your grip on your principles, your determination."

Elrian took a deep breath, absorbing her words. He tightened his hold on the sword and continued.

At times, Lysandra would engage in playful banter, trying to distract him with tales of her youth, or suddenly burst into a song, all to test if his concentration would waver. "Remember the time you tried to ride that wild boar?" she teased, laughing as she remembered the mischievous young Elrian.

Elrian chuckled, "That was one wild ride!" But even amidst the laughter, his grip remained steadfast.

As the repetitions increased, Elrian could feel a burn in his forearm. The weight of the sword, once feeling light, now felt like it was trying to pull him down. But he persisted, adjusting, gripping, and regripping.

At the 500th repetition, Lysandra stopped, her playful demeanor turning serious. "Good. You've shown great improvement. Remember, the sword is an extension of you. Your grip on it signifies your connection, your control, and your commitment."

Elrian, panting slightly but with a satisfied smile, responded, "I understand, Mother. It's more than just a weapon; it's a part of me."

Lysandra nodded, pride evident in her eyes. "Exactly. And just like you wouldn't let a part of yourself waver, you ensure that your grip on the sword remains unwavering."

The morning's lesson was both physically demanding and mentally enlightening for Elrian. As he placed the sword back onto its rack, he realized that every lesson with the sword was not just about combat, but life itself.

The sun reached its zenith as mother and son headed indoors for a midday respite. The inviting aroma of roasted vegetables and spiced meat wafted through the house, a reminder of the culinary skills both Lysandra and Arlan possessed. They settled at the wooden table, a table that bore marks of countless meals and discussions.

Arlan took the lead, placing generous servings onto their plates. As the trio began their meal, the conversation veered back to their morning training. Lysandra, with a contemplative look, started, "You know, Elrian, every wielder sees the sword differently."

Arlan nodded in agreement, swallowing a bite of his meal. "For some, it's an extension of their arm. For others, a tool of defense or a means to exert power."

Elrian, savoring the flavors, paused to consider his parents' words. "What about you both? How do you see the sword?"

Lysandra gazed at her sword, which was resting against the wall. "To me, the sword represents discipline. It's not just about knowing how to use it but understanding the responsibility that comes with wielding such power. It's a balance of strength and restraint, of knowing when to strike and when to hold back."

Arlan continued, "For me, it's about legacy. This very sword," he said, pointing to the one next to Lysandra's, "was passed down through our family. It carries the weight of our ancestors' hopes, dreams, and battles. Every time I hold it, I'm reminded of where I come from and the path they paved for us."

The room grew silent for a moment, each lost in their thoughts. Elrian looked between his parents, absorbing their perspectives. "I think," he started slowly, "for me, right now, the sword is a connection. A connection to our family's past, to both of you, and to the journey I'm about to embark on. But I also see it as a challenge, a constant reminder that there's so much more to learn and master."

Lysandra smiled, reaching over to squeeze Elrian's hand. "That's the beauty of it, my son. The sword will evolve with you. As you grow, learn, and face life's battles, your understanding and relationship with it will change. It's not just metal and craftsmanship; it's a living testament to the wielder's spirit."

Arlan raised his cup, "To the sword, our guide through life's challenges."

Lysandra and Elrian echoed the sentiment, their cups clinking in unison. The meal continued, filled with more stories, laughter, and a shared appreciation for the legacy they were part of and the future Wthat awaited them.