Elsewhere, a beautiful woman with her hair drenched in sweat was screaming in pain, yelling her lungs out in the process. A man’s shadow is in the corner, then suddenly, Em wakes up, with a violent thrash.

Her twin brother, Randolph, groggily speaks, "Same nightmare again ay Em?" His blonde hair, in all directions, and his eyes shut, with exhaustion, Randolph rises his body off from the bed from which he was laying on.

It took Em awhile to respond, for she was choking on what words to say. In reassurance, she grasped her locket, "Uh yeah, yeah it’s fine. Just go back to sleep."

Randolph shrugged, and did as he was told. Lucky for him, Randolph could easily go back to sleep. He hardly had any problems to deal with, for he was flawless in all that he did, or at least in Em’s eyes. Em could not fall back to sleep, her nightmare was too much at times. Em hardly knew why she got it because her life was seen as perfect. No issues with dad, brother and her got along just fine, Em had many great people who provided happy memories, no burdens of a job, or any real responsibilities. The point was that; although she had no legit obligation, Em felt that she did, and that was enough, but to cause her nightmares was another thing.

Hours later Em was still up, but on the brink of a deep sleep pounding the concept onto her mind slowly. Unfortunately for her, Allart, Randolph and Em’s father, had to burst in to get everyone up. "Em! Randolph! Come on get up for the day! I don’t want delinquents living in my house!"

"Wow first call and you’re already calling us delinquents," Randolph smirked coming down from his balcony.

Randolph’s balcony was an above loft that consisted of all his treasures and basic items. It was commonly referred to as, "The Treehouse." The whole had carvings of leaves and was painted to that effect. There were dangling vines, or ropes painted to look like vines, hanging from all over. In the mess of it all, right in the center, came a ladder that had wooden planks connected together by ropes of its own.

On top was a large space, with Randolph’s belongings, that specifically included: two mattresses stacked on one another to make his bed, a wooden dresser, desk, nightstand, and wardrobe, then placements, that were out of Randolph’s control, were two windows, a wooden railing that spread across the edge of the balcony, and an old plastic telescope, connected to the top part of the railing located right in the center. From their youth, Randolph and Em used the shiny scope for spotting adventures.

In their younger years, Randolph and Em enjoyed playing pirates and warriors, especially in the loft, but now that they were older, it was more of a hang out area for gossip sessions, at least that’s what Randolph called it one time, which ended up catching on within the household to the delight of Em.

Right now, Em didn’t want to get up. It was practically sucking the life out of her just to engage in casual conversation. Randolph plopped his back onto Em’s bed, where she laid in avoidance, and said, "Come on Emmie, get up, the boss has spoken."

"Aren’t you quite the messenger." Randolph adjusted himself to make a quick shake of the bed causing a motion that would suggest he had jumped once again onto the bed. Em complied, "Alright alright I’m getting up!" all while letting a laugh slip.

She slowly got up, to her despair. Randolph wrapped his arm around Em’s shoulders, and then pursued, in an attempt, to hug her as they walked. "It’s okay," he whispered, "It’s all gonna be okay. I promise. I’m here for you."

Em hugged him back tightly, pausing in the middle of the hallway. Although Em was jealous of her twin brother, she couldn’t help but love him. He was so kind and supportive, yet that was one of the reasons why Em envied him most; he could be all of these things without hesitation, without a second thought, she couldn’t be these things most of the time, but Randolph was the exception when it came to this. Now Randolph’s good nature wasn’t the only thing about him that she somewhat disliked, she hated the fact that he got ’better genes.’ Em had a medium shade of red hair that was full to the extent that it was almost considered unkept. This hair was most closely associated with her father’s who red hair had begun to gray at the edges.

While Em had her red hair, Randolph had blonde, where, if it met the standards of unkept, it was considered stylish or fashionable. This blonde hair matched the shade of their mother’s, Emalinda, who Em was named for. In fact, the only feature Em saw that her and Randolph shared were their bright green eyes that she never thought twice about being different. The eyes were unique in the way that they were shaded. They had swirls of almost every different shade of green imaginable within them all mixed in to make one great painting. Em just had to agree that they both wore them in great fashion.

Other than his hair and eyes, Randolph had this remarkable grin that always came across his face whenever he had, even the smallest, triumph over someone. It could be as simple as a debate over what he wore yesterday and, once it was proven, that shining grin always happened upon his face. It was so charming, so charismatic that it was hard to stay

angry with him. Em used to think he was secretly a wizard which started as a joke and suddenly grew into an obsession over when she would find out if it was true or not.

When Randolph and Em released from their hug that reached the edge from short to long-lived, they made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Allart was inside preparing breakfast and bustling around like an old stay-at-home mom from the fifties, when he noticed the two were downstairs. Smiling brightly, he started to sing, "Good morning," with no particular tune but a certain extension and drag on his words, "Good morning."

After sitting down, Randolph side smiled politely, showing no teeth, while Em just groaned and smacked her head onto the counter in annoyance. Allart stopped singing, and looked mildly concerned, "What’s wrong Em?"

"She’s just tired," Randolph answered nonchalantly and shrugged.

"Em, I thought I told you not to stay up too late?"

"Oh, but there’s a world to see Dad. Can’t let it fly by, am I right?" said Em sarcastically, her voice on edge, and eyes without blinking, which make her look just the slightest bit insane.

Allart just shook his head and laughed, "Yes, but only some warriors need to see the world but all warriors need their rest," he gave a fatherly look by raising an eyebrow, as the mark of a know-it-all. There was no question otherwise to Allart Perkins’ wisdom.

"If I, one day wanted to be a great warrior, and somehow got enough sleep, would you let me?"

Allart turned around and continued making pancakes, starting to pour the batter onto the stove, "The warriors, you refer to, are in fairytales, Em. The real ones are just what all of us are, simply because every person fights their own battles making them warriors in their own right."

"Like what?" asked Randolph now intrigued.

"Well anything really, like losing a loved one, sibling rivalry, trouble with friends, or even scraping your knee. It’s really just anything that causes you trouble and have to deal with."

"What’s yours?" Randolph questioned.

Allart began to stutter a bit, "Well I-I believe that people’s battles are up to themselves. It could be kept a personal or an open one. It’s-It’s really their own businesses and, well, if they want to be glorified, then great, if not, then that’s great as well. People can be their own heroes."

"That’s great Dad," Randolph laughed rolling his eyes.

By the time the conversation had died out, Allart had gently placed a plate full of pancakes on the counter. All three made their plates and enjoyed the delicious pancakes. Once that was over, Allart said, "Okay guys let’s get to work!"

Randolph, Em, and Allart lived on large strips of land in Allart’s name. It was much like a farm where there were animals such as; cows, chickens, and so forth that resided on parts of the land while the rest of the fields grew varieties of fruits and vegetables. There was no need to go anywhere else, but on their own property. It was hard work maintaining each field, and the animals, but it was all in good cause for their own way of life.

The first thing to do, each day, was milk the cows, and goats, then feed all the animals, let out them out, hook up the horses to a plow for the fields, manage the horses, then work on the other parts that had growing plants, and not the dirt filled ones that needed them, pick any fruit or vegetable deemed ready, on said-fields, make sure none of the plants were dying or dead, and, if so, remove the plant, along with various other tasks involved with managing the everyday life of the Perkins Farm.

Luckily, having three people, although still small, significantly helped in getting the work done sooner. Allart liked to tell his, ’horror stories,’ of when Randolph and Em were babies, and how he had to take care of them and do all the tasks at hand. (Now they were fifteen and more than capable of lending a helping hand.) Although, the farm grew in size over the years and was, therefore, smaller back then, so the work wasn’t as bad, but it was still plentiful. To this very day, it took hours before anyone could call quits and relax in some way or another. At least most of the work was done by lunch.

Since there was basically a free time after lunch was over, which consisted of the sloppiest sandwiches any person could ever make to the point of which a dog could make a cleaner piece, Allart took the time to teach Randolph and Em everything he knew skill-wise. For example; agility, combat, self-defense, and anything deemed worthy as useful knowledge in a world outside of their own, in case something were to happen. They had just finished going over a ’What to do in this situation?’ practice.

Allart normally would start off, with this quiz, on a fact he had casually dropped into conversations beforehand. It could be the simplest chatter that was easily dragged out, and due for, at least, one person to zone out once or twice.

One of the prime examples just happens to be a time when Allart said, "Randolph can you pass me that bucket," while he worked in the barn, readjusting a piece of wood that fell out of place, and needing a place to rest, therefore resorting to a bucket to sit on as he worked.

"Sure," Randolph replied, handing the rusty old bucket.

"Many years ago I used to hang out with my friends from school, and one of the things we learned, that we always seemed to test out, was the vulnerable points of the body where a person could easily become weakened in some way," Allart focused on the repair of the piece of wood, rather than Randolph himself.

"That’s nice Dad," yawned Randolph.

"Yeah like punching the neck, stomach, armpit, and so forth," Allart raced through his words, "Now, if done correctly, you can easily take someone down."

"Sounds like fun," Randolph responded, fiddling around with a block he found on the floor.

"Oh yeah. Even when you can kill someone. That’s really neat too," Allart slipped into the conversation.

"Wish I was like you. You must have been great," Randolph said rather dully.

"One time we took a chainsaw, cut off a man’s head, and had to bury the body. Also it’s best to go for the neck when attempting a fatal hit. Anyways, the man actually wasn’t dead and was just pretending so Wakadooba, my closest friend, was nearly strangled to death," Allart sometimes went over the top when fabricating his stories, but, even if he was paying attention, Randolph wouldn’t really care or even question it.

"Fascinating," Randolph said, still twirling the block in a circular motion.

"I know right," Allart sighed, and, after that, the talk died out, as always..

Now, not all conversations went exactly that way, but the majority did. There was the occasional listening one, out of the two teenagers. Em was better-known as to question the stories by saying, "WHAT?!" in a panic, to which Allart would just chuckle and say he was the one who dozed off and must have been making up a story. It worked almost every. Time.

When the quiz began, today, it was the basics of, ’What do you do when someone is coming at you and there’s a glass bottle on the ground?’ or ’If someone tries to grab you from behind, what do you do?’ even, ’If someone has a knife, do you grab the blade?’ Now Randolph and Em wouldn’t do horribly, but they would still get some wrong every once-in-awhile.

Once the quiz was over, Allart would have Randolph and Em demonstrate what to do in a fight, and, if anything was wrong in a what-to-do moment, Allart would say, "Stop, stop," commanding the fight to cease while instructing what to actually do instead.

Today, Allart taught them dueling. Using long thick sticks, Allart demonstrated different techniques, from other cultures, that incorporated methods unknown to both Randolph and Em.

While both Randolph and Em were taught a wide range of topics, this was their first time learning legit dueling with a weapon. (Previously, it was hand-to-hand-combat.)

When their father deemed it ready, he told Randolph and Em to act out their own duel. Em started off by glancing her eyes downward, away from Randolph, gesturing towards the direction they went. As Randolph looked that way, to see what Em was referring to with her eyes, she struck, immediately wielding her ’sword’ towards him, initiating the fight.

Allart said, "Good idea Em! Distracting your opponent, and using your trust as means to achieve it! It’s a bit unorthodox, but I must say it’s very clever." While the fighting continued, so did Allart’s talking, "Just remember, this would be a long shot with a stranger because they will, most likely, have no connection to you like Randolph does. Still, I appreciate the effort." Even when Allart tried to be firm and strict when he taught, he still couldn’t help but encourage.

Randolph attempted to strike downwards, in a deadly blow, now, they were only play fighting with sticks, thank goodness for that, because if Em hadn’t gotten the better of him by deflecting it to the side, he would have hit her right in the head, probably causing a concussion.

After avoiding Randolph’s strike, Em pushed stick forward until it touched the front of his chest. Randolph froze, arching his back away from the pretend blade, while Em smiled in pleasure of her apparent victory and suffering of her opponent. The fact that he was her brother just made it even more enjoyable. Little did Em’s triumph last though, since Randolph backed away slightly and hit Em’s stick out of her hand, like he was hitting a baseball with a bat, but a downward hit, anyways, it was, in some ways, a home run.

Allart lifted his arms, like he was about to preach, and said, "Stop, stop," Randolph lowered his ’weapon,’ and the two looked at Allart for a review. He looked at Em, "First off, Em, when you have him in a killzone, and he will kill you if you don’t kill him; go for the kill next time, but nice reflexes when Randolph tried to come down on you," he looked at Randolph, "And Randolph, don’t go for a last resort move, like coming down, when you already have other options like continuing the fight until Em is weakened. Sometimes the environment is a larger ally rather than your sword. I must say though, getting out of your near-death situation was interesting, and not a bad idea, especially when you have nothing to lose, so, good job there," he began to talk to them as a whole now, "I must say, for your first time legitimately dueling, it was rather impressive," Allart turned away and started to think, saying his thoughts out loud, "I guess combat really is in the Perkins gene pool."

Em asked, "You were a great fighter?"

Allart turned back to face the twins, "Oh yeah. Even your grandfather was a great swordsman, of his day. When I got older, he trained me. I’m sure with more practice, you two will amount to some great duelers yourselves."

"And get out of here?" asked Randolph. Randolph was always one to ask.

Allart’s eyes showed a flicker of familiarity, with a mix of grief and happiness, "Maybe someday. Who knows? We might go on a trip soon and then you guys can make your decision based on that," he smiled weakly, with tender eyes at both Randolph and Em.

Their father dismissed both to do whatever they wanted. While Em suggested they play a game, with their inflated purple ball, Randolph said he wanted to practice more on his swordfighting.

Em raised her eyebrow and smiled cockily saying, "Oh right. I didn’t know you wanted to be the Greatest Sticksman the world has ever seen."

Randolph squinted his eyes, and said, rather annoyed, "Yeah okay, when I’m the best swordsman," he exaggerated, "Then don’t come asking me for help against an assassin!" he exaggerated once more.

Em rolled her eyes and left Randolph to his own mischief. Allart was sitting on stones that were lined up for decoration, guarding some flowers away from the fields, in the spot where they outlooked them. When he saw Em approaching, and the sight of Randolph still up and about, Allart laid down his upper body in defeat. When Em had reached him, she sat next to Allart, and plopped herself firmly, in the same way Allart just had.

He laughed, "It’s been a long day."

"It’s been a regular day," replied Em.

Allart chuckled, "Well Randolph sure doesn’t think so. Somehow, he still has the strength and motivation to work. I don’t know where he gets it from."

"That’s Randolph for ya."

"That’s about right," there was some silence, Allart didn’t really know how to ask the question he really wanted to ask. While the lands they lived on were a utopia paved in peace, there was still unrest, so Allart just had to ask, "Em, something’s off about you, lately at least. Is something wrong?" He didn’t know if he was being overanalyzing or not; Allart had never done this part of teaching his children before.

"Just long nights that’s all."

"Em," Allart reasoned, "From what I can see, you hardly have any troubles in your life, at least anything that would cause you real problems, so you must have something going on. What is it?"

Em couldn’t think of a legit reason as to why she was upset. Sure, the nightmares were a lot, but they had no basis as to why they were occurring, so Em didn’t think that was a good enough answer. She remembered thinking something about Randolph earlier; her contemplating something disapproving about him, but what it was...it just seemed to be on the brink of her mind, and then hit her like truck, "Oh well. Sometimes I feel like I’m in the shadow of Randolph. He’s so confident and carefree, happy-go-lucky even."

"Well I wouldn’t say-"

"And it always seems like he’s the better out of the two of us. Sometimes, I just see him and I get angry, for no reason, and I don’t really know why. He’s so supportive of me, and I tell him everything, not that I could ever get anything past him, and I guess that’s just it. He’s so great and I’m not."

Allart sat up, and Em soon followed. He seemed almost upset, more than Em even, "That’s not true at all. You are worth just as much as Randolph. If I lost you, I don’t know what I would do."

"You’re obligated to say that; you’re my dad."

"And you’re my daughter. I’ve raised you since you were a baby, watched you grow, and am witnessing, first hand, who you are becoming as a person. You are a kind and sweet one Em, just like how your mother was. And Randolph," he glanced over at Em’s brother who was whacking a tree with his stick, in such a manner that he seemed in-the-moment and was making loud dramatic voices to accompany each violent blow. He was like a little kid who discovered what ninjas were the first time, "Randolph is like...other relatives."

"Like who?"

He looked back at Em, "This is about you Emmie," he smiled, "This place is like our own world; a world of peace. It’s where we fend for ourselves, don’t depend on others, and do just fine. Back when," Allart stopped mid sentence, unable to go on.

"Dad, what did you do when you were my age?"

"Em, we’ve been over this."

"No, we haven’t. Whenever I ask, you always change the subject. We always reach the topic, but never discuss it."

Allart sat in silence, and Em sighed in defeat. Not long after, Randolph came prancing over, and said, "Dad, do you think I could fight against you? I want to see if I got any better."

Slowly sitting up, Allart replied, "Randolph, if I went against you," he placed his hand onto Randolph’s shoulder, "I would crush you."

"You’re exhausted! I have a chance!" a high-spirited and confident Randolph said.

Allart arched his back, rolled his neck, and cracked his knuckles, "Get me a stick."

Randolph jumped up and ran, searching for a weapon for his father to use, which ended in him finding Em’s from earlier. Racing back over, Randolph handed it to Allart. Taking his stance, he said, "I’m ready."

Like he was possessed, Allart quickly shaped into action, as Em expected, so she was just laughing from her seat as the color in Randolph’s face, slowly drained out. There were constant, and consistent, whips from Allart’s end. It seemed as if Randolph was just a practice dummy meant to be bombarded with each strike. If the sticks were real blades, no doubt, would there be sparks from the fiery trail Allart was leading. After all, wood can make fire, when used correctly, only it wasn’t the wood that commanded the fire this time, for it was the fire commanding the wood itself. It was intense and undying, full of such passion, that Randolph was incapacitated, for those moments notice. Surprisingly, Randolph lasted longer than a minute, but fire burns a little bit before devouring whatever it’s burning whole, to satisfy the consumption. When Randolph fell, so did his stick, and Allart stood in his overpowering stance, directing the end towards Randolph’s face, and said nothing, just smiled, tossed the piece of wood down, and went inside the house to make dinner, very casually.

Randolph, sat in silence on the floor, with his jaw dropped. Em, knew their father would be much better, but still was taken aback She skipped over to Randolph, in a joyous attitude, extended out her hand, and smiled a menacing one at that.

Once Randolph got a whiff of Em’s very face, he went from shock to disdain. Looking at her outstretched hand, he said, "I don’t need your pity," getting up, Randolph brushed himself off, and marched inside the house.

Em felt no need to go after him, and just rolled her eyes, but she wanted to go into the house, so, she did open the door and enter. (Less than a minute, after Randolph did.)