I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. I saw venomous green in her and she saw cold blue in mine. I remember her eyes all too well for they used to be a kinder color, one that would laugh during dinner about the dumbest things. My older sister always would beat me in everything, grade, swordsmanship, runs. You name it she beat me. But always told me to get up and run it back. I didn’t intend to get up for this fight, too much mattered.

“James!” She yelled, “Get out of my way, this is not your fight!”

Keeping a straight face I slide my silver katana out of its sheath. Initiating a fight.

Groaning, my sister pulled out hers, a bright steel sword, with a red hilt, showing where her allegiances lay. With the rebel group who called themselves the Burning Night.

“I don’t want to do this” she pleaded “your not my enemy”

“But you are mine” I coldly say.

Rolling her eyes, she lifted her blade in the acceptance pose, and our blade glowed a warm orange. Now one of us had to die for the other to live.

She then rushed at me, sword cutting through the air, slashing upwards towards me. Parrying the blow, I strike again. The blade clinked pathetically off her chest armor. My blow was then mirrored by hers as I felt the steel blade cut my undefended lower chest.

Warm blood seeped out from me, as the world began to spin. I clutched my stomach and fell to the ground. The orange hues of my sword faded as my life came to an end.

My sister walked passed me muttering “That fool, he should have just run.” She grabbed my sword planning to break it, as it’s an honorable death. She looked at the blade, edged with gold and my name inscribed upon it. She threw it to the ground in disgust, letting me die slowly instead of mercy. Her boots clipped the stones behind me.

I have to get up

Get up

Get up

My sword glowed again, brighter gold than I had ever seen.

In its sheath, my sister's sword began to burn, pulling her back to the fight. Gripping my sword, I slowly get back up and reposition myself in the acceptance position.

My sister ran at me once again, the blade sailed upwards, but as if it were in slow motion, I dodged the blade, stepping to my left, and placed my sword on her throat. She grimaced and jumped back.

I pulled a second sword from its scabbard, my youngest sister’s name used to be inscribed on it, but it faded, just as her life faded. I would advise her.

Holding the blades up. My sister had a flash of reconditioning. I charged her, catching her sword between mine. With a quick movement, I disarmed her, casting the blade off to our right.

She turned to run. I chased her until she tripped. Falling to the ground, I saw a slight movement from her hand, when suddenly a dart rope revealed itself from her pocket. Directed right at my face.

Her wits were no match for my blades, as I slashed the dagger out of the air and brought my blades down on her.

Tears were hot on my face as I choked out “I'm sorry”.

On that day, 2 blades were broken. My sisters' blades, and now their souls may live in peace.