June 1, Summer 1545
Flora Marksmanship Academy
0800
I better not mess this up. Abby noticed the faces of former students who had achieved success on the wall behind her. She was reminded of their courage and dedication in the face of adversity, and felt a sense of pride as she stood in the hallowed hall. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she was well-prepared for the opportunity in front of her and it was time to prove her worth. She approached the door and knocked.
"Come in," a stern voice barked.
She walks in one step after cautiously opening the door. "Sir! Sergeant Abby Berkshire reporting for training." She stood tall, her gaze fixed on the huge sword above the window, her arm bent at a 45-degree angle.
The gentleman in front of her wore small spectacles and had a gray-trimmed beard. His light complexion and well-groomed gray beard indicated he was in his early fifties.
"Solider, you can relax. Please have a seat," he requested.
"Thank you very much." Abby took her place in the chair, her stunning brown eyes fixed on the man in front of her.
"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Matthew Rayfield, the commander of the Flora Academy of Marksmanship." Commander Rayfield stood up, walking back and forth behind his desk, his fist clenched at his side. "In fact, as you are probably aware, we are at war with the Northern Alliance of Midgand and the Eastern Federation of Trebien. They seek to annihilate us and take away our riches. My mission is to train our soldiers to become specialists in our weapons so they can infiltrate and assassinate high-level targets."
"I am aware, sir." Abby gazes into his gorgeous blue eyes, which are as ferocious as roaring waterfalls.
"The first class is your basic training." Commander Rayfield smirked, his eyes tracing Abby's nervous body. "As one could expect, you rose above the rest in your unit. People would accept no less from the granddaughter of the illustrious General Timothy Berkshire, who rescued Flora forty years ago."
"I'll do my best to honor his memory." Looking slightly away from the sword, Abby cracked a grin.
Taking a seat, Commander Rayfield looks through Abby's file. "They weren't lying when they said you were quirky. That is not a typical uniform.
You're dressed in a skirt that matches our fatigues and leggings."
"Helps with mobility, sir. My agility is limited by my normal uniform." Abby responds confidently, hoping her cheeks weren't flushing.
"Your grandfather was a rebel as well." Matthew yawns slightly. "Make sure you change before training starts on Monday. Here are your squad mates. We are pairing you up with nine others to undergo your training. They will be your emotional foundation on the front lines. You have the weekend to settle into your barracks. That is all."
Abby rises and salutes again before turning around.
"Oh, and Sergeant Berkshire, that sword went through ten rebels. Maybe you'll have a sword like that one day." Matthew nods, returning his gaze to the files on his desk.
Abby nods, closing the door and proceeding in the hallway. The sun shone brightly over Lakeshire's pure blue waters. Our city's capital never fails to astound me. Abby walks down the corridor, through the double doors, and onto the main pathways of the school, clutching her package.