Since you can remember, your father has always pushed you into combat. Whether that be with simple hand-to-hand fighting or training to use weapons. Sparring always seems to be the one thing you'd do together with him. Not that you mind it. You enjoy the thrill of battle as much as he does.

At the moment though, you're just going through your basic set of drills. Striking the dummy with a claymore once from the bottom, two times up top. Over and over again, as you just blank out. letting muscle memory kick in.

"Hey, kid! Up for a light spar?"

The claymore in your hand abruptly stops at the sound of your father's voice. Just looking back at him, the look in your eyes just static at his oddly cheerful demeanor with you.

"Sure, what weapon are you up for?"

You impassively ask him, while you drag the dummy off of the training field to clear the place off for the spar.

"I'm thinking we should use a sword."

He throws a sword at you and in the next second you catch it. Your grasp on the handle sharp, gazing into the glint of the sword. Brighter than your personality that's for sure. You know despite this being a light spar, he'll won't go easy on you.