When I was young, I lived under the roof of a Knight. I never saw him much. He was always off working, defending the peace and fighting wars. When he came home, wearing his armour and wielding his blade, I ran in fear. He was deadly, and so far above me that I believed his strength was unreachable.

I thought he was a god.

Then I grew older. As the years passed, the Knight took more interest in my growth. He handed me my own blade and told me to fight. The training was grueling, and he came at me with full force. I didn’t think it was fair. No matter how many hours I put into my training, it was never good enough. I would always be bested, and scorned for not being better. I was told I should train more, and that my laziness would be the death of me. I started to dread the days the Knight would return, only to beat me down again, and train me for a war I wasn’t a part of. Dodge this, parry that, strike there.

I thought he was a tyrant.

Then it came time. I was old enough to enter the battlefield myself. I knew the day was coming, but didn’t think much of it. The kingdom drafted me, and my placement was in the same battalion as the Knight. We were to battle together.

The skirmishes were hell. More than once, I thought I might lose my life, but it came back to me. The training I had been given kicked in. Suddenly, the attacks I was dodging were looking to end my life. The blades I parried were trying to pierce my heart. The strikes I delivered were to end my opponent’s life before they ended mine. 

I only caught a glimpse of him in the fray. It was only then that I saw the scars from moving the wrong way, or missing a parry. The lessons taught to me came from his experience, and the blood he shed for them. On that battlefield, I finally saw it. A man fighting battles I couldn’t imagine. Dealing with opponents I would never meet, because he slayed them before they could come close to me. He wasn’t a god. He wasn’t a tyrant.

He was human.

Just like anyone else. Just like me. He had fought battles through trial and error. He taught me what worked, and what didn’t. Though we fight different battles, the experience and training has helped me avoid fatal wounds. All he was doing was teaching me how to survive.

Thank you, Dad.

I don’t know where I would be without your training.