Brigid was roused by her mother before the break of dawn, the faint chill of morning air seeping through the wooden shutters. Yesterday’s whirlwind of events had left little time for her parents to explain Gus’ sudden return, but now, with dawn’s first light, everything became clearer.

  The lord of Bryn Massan had ordered Cullfinn into a heightened state of alert—news had arrived that the Horde had begun its assault on the neighbouring kingdoms to the south. Weapons and armour requiring the castle’s forge and the skills of its army smiths were to be brought in for repairs.

  The journey to Bryn Massan would take a day and a half by horse cart, with a night spent under the open sky. However, Gus, ever the cautious knight, had summoned two of his most trusted soldiers, Ewan and Fergal, to accompany them. With their presence, he felt secure enough to bring his family along for the trip to stock up on winter supplies.

  Even though their father’s mission was military in nature, Eithne and Brigid were ecstatic at the prospect of traveling. For Brigid, it was an adventure; for me, it was a chance to glimpse the castle town for the first time.

  Ewan and Fergal soon arrived, their sturdy frames helping Gus load the village garrison’s worn weapons and battered armour into the cart. Just as the sun began to climb, casting golden hues across the pre-dawn sky, we set out.

  The region surrounding Cullfinn was forested yet flat, a serene landscape painted in the warm colours of autumn. Our cart followed the ancient road, its rutted path worn by centuries of travellers, leading us toward Bryn Massan. We were expected to pass through Pontardawe—a village significantly larger than ours—within the hour. Beyond that lay an isolated stretch of road, winding through hills and meadows, uninterrupted until the castle town came into view.

  Brigid engaged Ennie with games of cat’s cradle, their fingers weaving intricate patterns of string, and they invented silly rhymes and songs. They are very well behaved for kids because I remember how my former colleagues on Earth would complain about their children squabbling and giving them hell on road trips.

  "I bet I can make the fanciest cat’s cradle ever!" Ennie declared, her tongue sticking out in concentration.

  "You’ll need a lot more string for that," Brigid laughed, gently guiding Ennie’s small hands. "But if you keep practising, you’ll be the best in the village."

  "I’ll be better than you, big sister!" Ennie grinned mischievously.

  "Oh, is that so? We’ll see about that!"

  Meanwhile, the adults conversed in low tones about winter preparations and military affairs. The autumn sun climbed higher, warming the chill as our cart rolled steadily southward, its wheels crunching through fallen leaves.

  "The Horde’s movements are troubling," Gus murmured to Ewan and Fergal, his brow furrowed. "If they’ve breached Morwyn’s defences, it won’t be long before they reach our borders."

  "Do you think Bryn Massan’s walls will hold, sir?" Ewan asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.

  "They’ll hold," Gus replied firmly. "But we’ll need every sword and shield ready. The general won’t tolerate any weakness in his garrison."

  Rowena, listening quietly, added, "And what of the villages, Gus? If the Horde comes, they won’t just stop at the castle walls."

  "We’ll protect them," Gus promised, his eyes hardening with resolve. "Cullfinn won’t fall while I still draw breath."

  Listening to their conversation, I couldn’t help but reflect on the gravity of the situation. The Horde wasn’t just a distant threat—it was a force capable of toppling kingdoms in mere weeks. The casual way they discussed fortifications and defences was a stark reminder of the fragile peace we currently enjoyed. It was clear that life in this world balanced precariously on the edge of a blade.

  Ennie had dozed off against Brigid’s shoulder, tired from their games, while I observed the changing landscape through our shared vision. The dense forest gradually yielded to rolling hills, dotted with sheep grazing on the last of the season’s grass, their wool thick in preparation for winter’s bite. Around midday, as we crested a gentle hill, Rowena pointed ahead with a soft exclamation.

  “Look there!”

  A merchant caravan approached from the opposite direction, their wagons heavy with goods from the southern provinces. The bright colours of their wares contrasted starkly against the earthy tones of the landscape. We shared our lunch spot by a crystal-clear stream, its water cool and refreshing as it gurgled over smooth stones.

  While the adults traded news and wary glances, Ennie was captivated by a trader’s collection of vibrant ribbons and tiny trinkets, her eyes gleaming with childlike wonder.

  “The roads are busier than usual,” one merchant remarked to Gus, his brow furrowed with concern. “Many are heading north, fleeing from the southern borders. They say the Horde moves like locusts across the land.”

  Rowena’s hand tightened unconsciously around Ennie’s small shoulders. “Surely the southern kingdoms will hold them back?”

  The merchant shrugged, his face grim. “The Kingdom of Morwyn fell in less than a fortnight. The Morwynian army was vast, but...” He trailed off, glancing at the children with a look that spoke volumes.

  As evening descended, we made camp in a sheltered grove, the trees standing like silent sentinels around us. Ewan and Fergal took turns keeping watch while Gus showed the girls how to properly build a campfire, his hands steady and sure as he demonstrated the careful placement of kindling.

  Through Brigid’s eyes, I watched as the stars emerged one by one, their brilliance far surpassing anything I’d seen in the light-polluted skies of my previous life. The night sky stretched endlessly above us, a cosmic canvas splattered with countless stars. I could even see the distinct lane of stars that made up this world’s galactic plane. My mind reflexively called it the Milky Way, but as I traced the constellations, a pang of cosmic homesickness hit me—the familiar stars of Earth were nowhere to be found.

  The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on our faces. The scent of wood smoke mingled with the earthy aroma of fallen leaves, and for a brief moment, the world felt peaceful—a fragile illusion in the face of the encroaching Horde.

  Brigid nestled up with Ennie under the shared blanket, but I sensed she wasn’t as tired as she seemed—more bored than anything. I decided to break the silence.

  Would you like to join me for some self-defence training? I suggested.

  Wait, what? Now? Here? How? Brigid’s confusion echoed in our shared mind.

  No, no, not here, I reassured her. Merchecna gave me an ability recently, and I think both of us can use it since we share the same body. Can you see this scene I’m visualising?

  I focused on the image, and soon enough, Brigid’s thoughts echoed back with awe.

  “What a beautiful castle! Where is this place?”

  “It’s an amusement park in my world, but that’s not important right now. This ability is called the Memory Palace, and I’m going to show you how to activate it. Now, imagine the gates opening and step through them with me. Ready? Now!”

  In an instant, we were standing in a dojo in the suburbs of Tokyo. Because I had also visualised our attire, we were both wearing Aikido gi, the traditional training uniform for most Japanese martial arts.

  “Oh wow! By the gods, what is this?” Brigid exclaimed, her eyes wide as she took in the unfamiliar sights.

  “Welcome to my Memory Palace, Brigid! Welcome to my memories of planet Earth. We are in Tokyo, Japan, and this is where I learned Aikido. Ready for some training?”

  [Illustration Request]

  Illustrate Lucas and Brigid in the Aikido Dojo. Brigid is fascinated. Include the weapons rack, the large calligraphic “Ki” kanji, and the Kamiza in the picture. Both of them are attired in Gi, with Lucas having a black belt, and Brigid’s hair is tied up to make training easier.

  Brigid spun around slowly, marvelling at the wooden weapons mounted on the wall, the brush calligraphy of the kanji “ki” writ large, and the kamiza, the small shrine at the front of the dojo.

  “This is... incredible! But how are we both here? I even look like myself! Did you help me tie my hair up?”

  “The Memory Palace allows us to visualise and interact with my memories,” I explained. “Here, we can appear as separate people while maintaining our mental connection. Think of it as a shared dream where we can practise without risking injury to our physical body.”

  “Come to think of it, this is the first time I’m seeing your true appearance! I didn’t know you had such dark brown eyes and hair, that’s so unusual! And… you actually look somewhat cute too!” Brigid admitted with a blush, touching the sleeve of her gi and marvelling at how real it felt. “And these strange clothes?”

  “Traditional training uniform,” I replied, trying to hide my own embarrassment. “Now, let's start with the basics of Aikido. Remember how I handled Blaine? That was just a small taste of what this art can do.”

  I moved to the centre of the training area.

  “The first concepts to learn in Aikido aren’t about fighting,” I explained, standing in a relaxed stance. “It's about balance and force control.”

  I motioned for Brigid to stand beside me.

  “Feel how you're standing. Notice your weight.”

  And that’s how I started taking Brigid, from the ground up, through the exact lessons I went through when I took up Aikido while working in Tokyo many years ago.

  The lesson continued in the timeless space of the Memory Palace, where we could practise the same movement dozens of times in what felt like moments to our resting body. Brigid proved to be a quick study, her natural grace adapting well to Aikido's flowing movements.

  “This is nothing like how Father and his men train,” she observed while practising the basic moves of ‘shomen uchi ikkyo,’ the first technique usually taught to novices. “They all emphasise power and strength, but this... this feels more like dancing.”

  “That’s why Aikido suits you as a martial art,” I said, demonstrating another technique. “It plays to your strengths—your agility and speed—without demanding much power. The techniques actually amplify your strength by applying it to the opponent while twisting them into postures that make it very difficult for them to resist. With it, you can stand your ground without necessarily hurting anyone, like how we defeated Blaine. However, I can choose to dislocate joints and even break necks, so it is possible to kill with these techniques, even though I prefer to apply Aikido when I want to go easy on dishing out the hurt.”

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  As we trained, I found myself sharing not just techniques but stories about my time in Japan, the philosophy behind the art, and the culture that created it. Brigid absorbed it all with fascination, especially the concept of martial arts being about personal growth rather than just combat.

  “I think I understand now,” she said as our session drew to a close. “It's not just about fighting—it's about finding harmony between strength and gentleness.”

  “That's right. And speaking of harmony,” I smiled, “we should probably let our body get some actual rest. A full day at Bryn Massan awaits us.”

  As the dojo faded around us and we prepared to return to our physical reality, Brigid asked, “Can we train here again tomorrow night?”

  “Of course. The Memory Palace is always here for us. Just remember—what we practise here needs to stay our secret. There are some things this world isn't ready for yet.”

  “I understand,” Brigid nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Lucas. For sharing this with me.”

  We returned to our body, and as Brigid drifted off to sleep, I could feel her mind still moving through the forms we'd practised, already incorporating them into her understanding of the world. I really wondered if Merchecna would mind me sharing this ability with Brigid, but I think perhaps she intended to turn a blind eye to it.

  The stars continued their slow dance across the alien sky, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled at the unfamiliar moon. I re-entered my Memory Palace and stayed up for a beer and some late-night anime.

  We moved off just as dawn broke clear and cold, the crisp air nipping at our faces as the cart rattled along the worn road. By midmorning, the towers of Bryn Massan appeared on the horizon, piercing the sky like jagged teeth. Brigid's excitement bubbled through our shared consciousness as the castle town loomed larger with each passing mile.

  The outer walls rose thirty feet high, built from massive granite blocks that gleamed in the pale sunlight. The castle proper towered above everything, its pennants snapping crisply in the wind. The road merged with others from neighbouring regions under the castle’s influence, funnelling us through the bustling village surrounding the fortress. This village dwarfed Pontardawe, which we had passed yesterday, its streets teeming with activity. Yet, even amid the clatter of merchants and villagers, a palpable unease lingered in the air—a tension that hinted at the shadow looming over the land.

  A palisade was being hastily erected around the village, wooden stakes driven deep into the earth by labouring hands. The gates leading into the castle were a hive of activity—merchants hawking wares, farmers unloading produce, and a steady stream of soldiers moving with grim determination. Through Brigid’s eyes, I noticed the wear on their armour, the exhaustion etched into their faces, and the tired sway of their horses. It was clear the army was far from its peak form.

  "Stay close," Rowena instructed as we dismounted from the cart, her voice firm despite the undercurrent of worry.

  “Yes, mother. Don’t worry, I’ll hold on tight to Ennie.”

  Brigid certainly plays the role of big sister well!

  “Don’t go running of on us now, Ennie. This place is too big for us to search for you if you get lost.”

  “Yes, big sister!”

  The streets of Bryn Massan were a labyrinth of life, making Cullfinn’s market days feel like quiet gatherings in comparison. Craftsmen toiled in open-fronted shops, their hammers ringing out against anvils, mingling with the enticing aroma of fresh bread wafting from nearby bakeries. Brigid's head swivelled constantly, trying to drink in every sight, sound, and scent.

  While Gus and his men took the weapons to the castle forge, Rowena led us through the bustling market square. She bargained skilfully for winter wool, preserved meats, and exotic spices that were impossible to find in Cullfinn. There’s even a limited offering of seafood, although most of it is dried and salted. I guess this is where Rowena got the anchovies for our Ban Mian soup base.

  [Illustration Request]

  Illustrate Brigid and Ennie in the streets of Bryn Massan, happily holding hands with the candy apples in hand, and Rowena following behind them. The back ground has medieval era houses and shops of Celtic/Welsh style, and the castle wall forms a distant back drop towering over the houses and shops.

  Ennie’s delighted gasp at a confectioner’s stall drew our attention to small crab apples being dipped in a glossy, sugary sauce.

  "Just this once," Rowena smiled, purchasing small treats for both girls. The sweetness burst across our tongue—a candy apple, a new experience for me in this world and a rare luxury for Brigid. The sugar sauce, unlike the clear hard coating I remembered from Earth, carried a subtle savoury note. I recalled that on Earth, sugar only became affordable in temperate regions after beet sugar was discovered in the 18th century, so perhaps this world hadn’t discovered a plant like the sugar beet yet, along with a great many other things.

  "Mmm! This is delicious!" Ennie exclaimed, her cheeks puffed as she bit into the sticky apple.

  Brigid giggled. "You’re going to get it all over your face, Ennie."

  "But it’s so yummy!" Ennie mumbled through another bite, grinning wide with sticky lips.

  Rowena chuckled, dabbing Ennie’s chin with a handkerchief. "Don’t eat too fast, or you’ll get a stomach ache. And Brigid, what do you think of yours?"

  Brigid savoured a bite, her expression thoughtful. "It’s different… not as sweet as I thought it would be, but really good! It’s like… sweet and salty at the same time."

  "That’s because the sugar we use here isn’t as refined as what you might imagine," I thought to her, amused by her curious analysis.

  Brigid nodded slightly, sharing the thought back. "I guess I’ll just have to get used to it. But I still love it!"

  But even amid the market’s vibrant energy, whispers of fear clung to the air like smoke. Snippets of conversation drifted to our ears:

  "...doubled the guard at the southern gate..."

  "...recruiting anyone who can hold a sword..."

  "...castle granaries being filled..."

  "...refugees arriving daily..."

  At a cloth merchant’s stall, while Rowena selected heavy fabric for winter clothes, two women’s hushed voices caught my attention:

  "My cousin fled north from Morwyn. Says the Horde’s shamans can call down fire from the sky."

  "Danu preserve us..."

  Brigid's hand instinctively touched the small wooden symbol of Merchecna she wore around her neck. I felt her worry seep through our shared consciousness, tempered by her steadfast faith that the goddess would protect them.

  "Look, Brigid!" Ennie tugged at our sleeve, pointing excitedly at a group of knights in polished armour riding through the square. Their warhorses were magnificent creatures, their coats gleaming in the sun—a stark contrast to the plodding cart horses we used in Cullfinn. The knights' squires carried banners from various noble houses, signalling their allegiance to the lord of Bryn Massan.

  As the afternoon wore on, Rowena’s baskets filled with winter supplies while the streets grew increasingly crowded. Soldiers were everywhere, many bearing unfamiliar heraldry from southern kingdoms. Their presence made the threat of war feel tangible—these weren’t just rumours anymore; they were the harbingers of conflict.

  "Time to find your father," Rowena decided, noting the lengthening shadows stretching across the cobblestones. "We should start home before dark."

  We found Gus at the castle forge, deep in conversation with the master armourer. The pile of weapons awaiting repair had grown significantly since our arrival that morning. The lord had issued a strict order prioritising battle preparations in major towns, meaning we would either have to return for our equipment or wait a week in Bryn Massan. With inns filling quickly and prices soaring, Gus made the difficult decision to return home and come back later.

  Through the forge's open doors, we could see more soldiers drilling in the castle yard than Brigid had ever seen in one place. The rhythmic clanging of swords and the barked commands of officers painted a picture of a town bracing for war.

  "The Horde's cavalry can cover thirty leagues in a day," one smith muttered, his voice low but urgent. "If Dyffrynarda falls..."

  He stopped abruptly when he noticed us, but I’d already done the mental calculation. The Morwynian capital of Dyffrynarda was less than five days' ride from Bryn Massan.

  As we loaded our supplies and prepared for the journey home, I felt Brigid's swirling emotions—the thrill of the day’s adventures now tempered by an undercurrent of fear. The marchpane treats in her pocket seemed less sweet, the bright ribbons Rowena had purchased felt less cheerful.

  But when Ennie asked, "Can we come back soon?" Brigid smiled and hugged her sister close.

  "Of course we will," she promised, though I sensed her uncertainty beneath the words. "There's still so much more to see."

  The trip home was uneventful, but Brigid forced herself to smile for Ennie, masking the growing anxiety in her heart. War was coming—a relentless, trampling force embodied by the Horde—and the once-unshakable security Brigid felt under her father’s protection now gave way to dread. She feared for her father, for her village, and for the future.

  Yet, despite the dark thoughts, Brigid’s laughter rang true in the games she played with Ennie on the way back. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the road ahead, but for now, they clung to the fleeting warmth of family and the fragile hope that they could face whatever lay ahead together.

  That night, when I asked Brigid to join me in the Memory Palace for more training, I could feel a streak of sombre determination in her.

  “I need a weapon, Lucas,” came her sudden request.

  “I’ve seen for myself that Bryn Massan is taking the threat very seriously,” I replied, offering my support to her determined intent to defend all that she loved from the looming danger.

  “What weapon would you prefer?”

  “I’m honestly at a lost because I’ve never thought of using one before.”

  “I believe I should eventually teach you to use an entire range of weapons because you need to pick the one that is best suited for the threat. However, time is short, so let’s prioritise defence before offence.”

  “Yes, defence is what I’m thinking about too.”

  “Let me show you how to fight using staffs, or in Aikido terms, the Jo and Bo.”

  “Why the staff?”

  “Sticks are pretty easy to find around you, aren’t they? Nobody will be alarmed if you walked around all day with a staff in your hand.”

  “That might be true, but I don’t usually walk around with one though.”

  “Just saying, you know, in case you actually need to. They are very useful for holding off multiple opponents, and unlike the sword, which will penalise you for the shorter reach of your arm, the staff extends it significantly.”

  We entered the Memory Palace, and the dojo materialised around us.

  This time, I motioned her towards the rack of wooden weapons and pointed out the metre-long Jo, displayed horizontally on a wall rack, and the Bo, which was almost twice as long and held upright in a free-standing weapons rack.

  “In Aikido, we use the Jo and Bo as extensions of our body,” I explained, picking up the shorter staff. “But before we learn to strike, we must learn to move.”

  I demonstrated a basic stance, showing Brigid how to hold the Jo staff loosely but firmly, how to shift her weight without losing balance. “The Jo isn't just a weapon. It's a tool that can create space between you and a potential threat—an ability that can save your life when you are ganged up upon.”

  Brigid mimicked my stance, her natural grace evident even in this unfamiliar form. “This is so different from how Father trains his men to fight with spears.”

  “That's because the spear is bladed, and that changes how you fight with the weapon. I don’t think you can carry a spear with you in Cullfinn without raising eyebrows, though.”

  “I wouldn’t even think of it!” Brigid giggled, thinking how ridiculous she would look.

  I stepped closer, gently adjusting her grip. “Feel how the staff becomes an extension of your arms, not just something you're holding.”

  We began with basic movements—simple steps, weight shifts, how to move the staff in smooth arcs that could block or redirect an attack. Some movements were slow and deliberate, more like a dance than combat training, while some movements, especially deflections, required actions to be carried out faster than the eye could follow.

  “The key,” I explained, “is to never meet force directly. Try to strike me as if with a sword and watch.”

  Brigid’s simple downward swing from the front allowed me to demonstrate a parry-and-strike technique. By parrying with the Jo held horizontally, I allowed the strike’s momentum to flick the staff around in a flash while I sidestepped and pointed the tip of the Jo straight at her face in a split second. Brigid's eyes lit up with astonishment and understanding.

  “Wow, and I thought I was supposed to be the one attacking,” she exclaimed, betraying her amazement at how quickly the tables had turned.

  “Exactly.”

  As we practised, I shared stories of Aikido's philosophy—how it was developed by Morihei Ueshiba, a man who sought to create a martial art that could resolve conflict without unnecessary violence. Brigid absorbed every word, her movements becoming more fluid with each repetition.

  “In your world,” she asked during a brief pause, “do women fight?”

  “It varies,” I explained. “In the Japanese culture where Aikido arose, women did indeed participate in battles, and there’s even a weapon—the bladed staff called the naginata—that’s preferred by them. But mostly, women were expected to be protected, not the protectors.”

  Brigid's stance hardened slightly. “And in your opinion?”

  “Everyone has the right to defend themselves and the ones they love,” I said simply.

  We continued training until she felt it was time to turn in. By the time we prepared to return to our physical body, Brigid had transformed from a curious student to someone with a spark of true determination.

  “Remember,” I cautioned as the dojo began to fade, “this is for defence. You are not a soldier, so your goal is to avoid a fight and flee from danger. Don’t fight unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  Brigid nodded, a serious light in her eyes. “To protect those I love,” she repeated.

  As we returned to our physical self, I could feel her muscles subtly remembering the movements we'd practised, the staff techniques now a part of her muscle memory. The night around our campsite remained peaceful, unaware of the training that had just occurred in a realm between memory and imagination.

  The girls roused just before daybreak as they were getting used to the routine of travelling. By the time we made it through Pontardawe, the girls were already dying to be home after such an extended trip on the cart.

  “Hurry up, Father! Spur the horses!” the girls laughed.

  “I know your patience is wearing thin, my sweeties, but we will be home soon, I assure you,” Rowena smiled back lovingly.

  It would only be moments after our joyful arrival home that Brigid and I killed for the first time.