Branded Swordsman

Silence. I blinked open my right eye against the dim, gritty light. My right hand was already clamped around the wrapped hilt resting across my shoulder. I squeezed my fingers. The leather binding creaked slightly beneath my palm, solid and real. Slowly, I flexed my metal left gauntlet; the articulated plates responded with a faint, dry scrape. I planted my boots down, testing the slick clear disc beneath my feet. Behind me rose a wall of weathered reddish brick, rough and immovable. I stayed still, letting the blade rest against my shoulder, breath steadying into the cold air.