Mirna had finally returned to the storied walls of Havgradić. With a deep, liberating sigh, she discarded the cumbersome, frilly court gowns—shedding them like a molting snake leaving behind an old skin. In their place, she donned her battered, scarred armor and strode into the training yard. Each step sent up clouds of dust from her worn boots, the clink of metal resonating with comforting familiarity, and the weight of her sword in her hand felt as natural as a heartbeat. Her hair was pulled back into a practical tie, her eyes glinted with determination, and her every movement exuded lethal precision. The ancient castle still stood as constant as ever, yet something new had quietly been altering its routine: the mysterious, lavish gifts.
At first, the tokens arrived as simple letters—scented with exotic perfumes and tied with glistening satin ribbons. Before long, those letters gave way to delicate bouquets, and then entire wagons trundled in, brimming with wildflowers so abundant that even the castle servants began sneezing at the floral onslaught. High above the training yard, Branimir watched every delivery unfold with hawk-like intensity, his gaze fixed on the unraveling mystery.
By the fourth morning, as the newborn sun painted the sky in a mix of soft pinks and burning oranges, a red-faced stable boy wheeled in an overflowing cart laden with daisies. Leaning casually against the railing that bordered the training yard, Branimir's booming voice rang out, "Alright, who's the poor fool in love with our iron maiden?" His words carried over the clamor, mixing mischief and genuine curiosity.
Mirna offered no response, her focus unbroken as she raised her sword high above her head. With a crisp, satisfying thunk, she brought it crashing down onto her training dummy—a sound that reverberated in the cool morning air and affirmed her mastery. Branimir's grin spread wider as he teased, "That's the third wagon this week! Unless someone's setting up a flower shop in your honor, I'm guessing you're being wooed—valiantly, repeatedly, and desperately." Yet, she merely tightened her grip without a single word.
At that very moment, as if summoned by fate, a raven swept overhead. Its jet-black wings shivered against the soft light of dawn before it alighted near her feet, dropping a scroll tied with a vibrant ribbon into the dirt. Mirna cast a fleeting glance at it, then returned to her training with unwavering focus. Seizing the opportunity, Branimir descended from his elevated perch and scooped up the letter. Reading aloud with a teasing lilt, he declared, "'To the most radiant war-goddess, Mirna of Havgradić'—oh, this is going to be quite a tale." His tone was playful until a stern, glacial glare from her halted his words, and with hands raised in playful surrender he added, "Fine, fine, keep your secrets. But if you start smelling like lilies and heartbreak, I'll know it's serious."
Once Branimir had drifted away, Mirna retreated behind her shield to a secluded spot where she carefully unrolled the scroll. Its faded ink revealed Letter No. 29, signed by the Wildly Lovesick (but Impossibly Handsome) Duo of Hattori & Honzo:
Dearest Mirna,
Lady of My Sword Dreams, Slayer of My Boredom, Breaker of My Will (in a good way),
Hattori here. Honzo is currently entangled in a bush—don't ask. Today's bouquet is composed of hand-picked wildflowers gathered from the highest hilltop we could reach without breaking our legs. Admittedly, Honzo did take a fall, but luckily, he landed on something soft—me. I write to you now in a rather flat position, slightly wheezing yet full of devotion.
Your eyes shine like two meticulously polished daggers, and the clang of your armor plays a symphony that echoes the beating of my heart. It is as if, with every swing of your sword, a flower blossoms somewhere in this very realm (or so we dare to imagine).
We live solely to witness that elusive moment when you frown in exasperation at our relentless deliveries. Your silence, however, is the sweetest torment—and we suspect that when no one is watching, you might just be secretly smiling. (A subtle nod or the affectionate demise of one of our ravens would suffice as confirmation.)
May your blade remain ever sharp, and your heart... just a little ajar.
With all the smitten fire of two dramatically over-caped elves,
Your endlessly enamored fools,
Hattori & Honzo
P.S. We have sent enchanted cookies. Their sugary magic might render you giddy—perhaps even causing you to float. Who knows?
Mirna's face softened imperceptibly, a barely contained smile tugging at her lips beneath the rigid confines of her helmet. The spell of the letter was short-lived as the familiar sound of hoofbeats echoed closer. Another cart clattered through the castle gates, this time piled high with wild violets and accompanied by two very confused goats, both adorned with pink ribbons that fluttered in the breeze.
Peering out from the gate, Branimir's eyes twinkled with mischief as he turned his gaze back to her, "You've got goats now?" Mirna merely shrugged and resumed her training. With a swift, fluid arc of her sword, she struck the wooden training dummy, its head cleaving off in a dramatic display, landing softly beside the bemused goats. Branimir pressed, "You're not going to tell me, are you?" But Mirna answered only with the continued rhythmic clash of her sword against the air, her silence speaking as clearly as any word.
Branimir watched as one of the goats began chewing thoughtfully on a stray flower, and he sighed with a touch of admiration in his tone, "Poor bastard. Honestly, I'm starting to admire him." At that moment, a new raven landed atop the castle wall. In an unexpected twist, it began to coo melodiously, its black feathers ruffling in time with the strains of a lute strapped to its back—yes, a lute. The bird's impromptu serenade lent an air of enchantment to the already surreal day.
Mirna paused mid-swing, her lips twitching in reluctant amusement. Branimir, dumbfounded, blurted out, "Did that raven just—?" With a measured calmness, she turned to him, sword hanging at her side, and stated plainly, "I have training to finish." And with that, the magical music of the lute-playing raven mingled with the clatter and hum of the castle, carrying the day's strange enchantment on well into the afternoon.