Silence.
"An offer?" The Rider cut off sharply, came to life, moved his hands, and walked toward me.
I glanced at the Soldier, who translated briefly and paused, leaning his hand on his side.
(What to offer him?)
I examined the Soldier. A tank? Pretty dangerous toy. I don't want to give away a rifle either.
Oh!
I stopped my gaze on the leather holster with the pistol.
"Give me your pistol," I said.
The Soldier deftly drew the pistol, quickly disassembled it with a series of clicks, caught the round, and handed me: the magazine, the pistol, and the bullet.
The Rider flinched when the Soldier started moving. His eyes widened at the "spirit's" speed.
I took the pistol. Heavy. Painted in tan colors, with a comfortable textured grip. In all my twenty-nine years, I'd never held a real pistol. Only in games.
Oh... I'm already twenty-nine. Thirty is just around the corner.
I looked at myself. I looked younger than before.
There was some stomping. I looked up. The Rider stood there, stamping the ground. I'd drifted off at the thought that I'm almost thirty.
"I'm offering the pistol to your duke. As a gift. Would you like to try this weapon?" I said nervously, holding out the unloaded pistol.
The Rider slowly approached and took the pistol. He began turning it in his hands, tossing it, tapping the metal with his fingers, feeling the grip, peeking into the magazine well and the barrel.
"What is this? How does it work?" The Rider turned to me with an interested look. The Translator monotonously translated.
"I need two pairs of headphones," I said with fear, not believing we were about to shoot, addressing the Translator.
He headed with heavy steps toward the fort entrance. A moment later, he was already returning with two pairs of headphones.
(I wonder why he didn't take off his own? They must be different...)
I touched them. Unusual, compared to mine. I put them on my head. They suppress noise very well.
I handed the headphones to the Rider, took the pistol from him, and handed it to the Translator.
"Load it."
The Rider put on the headphones and looked around in bewilderment, as if something colossal had changed.
The Soldier, with a click, loaded the pistol and handed it to me, holding it by the barrel.
The Rider took off the headphones and stared at me in shock.
"What is this?" There was anger and irritation in his voice.
"Explain to him what headphones are and why they're needed when shooting a pistol," I said with a sigh, addressing the Translator, lifting one side of the headphone to hear myself.
The Soldier began monotonously explaining in his language. I didn't understand the words, but I was sure: it sounded complicated, like listening to a military Wikipedia.
The Rider listened. At first he frowned, then his eyebrows rose. He shifted his gaze from the Soldier to the headphones in his hands.
I held the loaded pistol and was afraid to point it anywhere; I didn't dare put my finger on the trigger.
"Understood," the Rider said calmly. The Translator finished his report and translated his words.
I looked at the Rider in surprise as he put the headphones back on. (He really understood everything? Amazing...)
I thought for a moment.
"Let the spirit shoot first, then you can evaluate, and if you want, you can shoot too," I said, handing the pistol back to the Soldier with trembling hands.
The Soldier translated, the Rider nodded.
(Where to shoot? Let it be the fort.)
"Fire one shot at the fort," I said quietly.
The Soldier extended one arm and aimed the pistol at the HESCO sections.
I pressed the headphones tighter and stepped back. The Rider watched the Soldier's confident movements with curiosity.
The Soldier straightened his back, holding the pistol steady on his extended arm.
My heart was pounding. My eyes followed the pistol.
Silence...
Shot.
Hoo-oo-oh. It turned out much quieter than I'd imagined.
The Rider was surprised and froze.
The Soldier deftly holstered the pistol.
I walked closer and examined the small hole in the wall from across the moat.
A faint smell of gunpowder hung in the air.
The Rider took off his headphones and carefully approached me, examining the hole.
"Is that all?" the Rider said in my ear. Behind me, the Soldier monotonously translated.
Brr, it gave me the creeps. I stepped away from the Rider, who was adjusting his cloak.
(Probably shooting at the wall wasn't impressive enough. Let him shoot himself — maybe that will convince him?)
"Give him the pistol and give him a quick briefing," I said quietly to the Soldier.
I dropped to the ground. The sun was shining, warming me.
(A scary sight. A faceless Soldier teaching a Rider in a cloak with a sword how to shoot a pistol. But from the Rider's face, you could tell he thought the Soldier was a spirit. Which, in essence, it probably is. So this kind of summoning isn't new in this world.)
The Soldier demonstrated how to stand, kept saying something, the Rider asked questions. The training was in full swing, and I was exhausted from these emotional swings.
My eyes were drooping. I almost dozed off under the Soldier's monotonous voice and the Rider's questions.
Ten minutes of training later, the Rider held the pistol with both hands and aimed at the wall.
I pressed the headphones and watched him.
The Rider stood calmly, not believing that the thing in his hands could actually be life-threatening.
Shot.
The recoil pushed the Rider's hands, and he jerked them back as if the pistol had struck him. Then he spread his fingers, checking that everything was still there.
After a couple of seconds, the Rider, shocked, took off his headphones and walked to the wall, nearly falling into the moat in front of it.
(Second time already. Good thing he didn't catch on the barbed wire.)
I also got up — luckily, this shot wasn't too loud for me either, thanks to the headphones.
The Soldier had already picked up the pistol, pulled out a cloth, wiped the weapon deftly, and put it in the holster.
(I glanced at the Soldier on my way to the wall.)
(It looks unsettling. These constant mechanical movements, honed to automation, give me the creeps.)
I walked over and looked at the hole in the wall, from which a little dirt was spilling out.
"How does it work? Lethal?" the Rider asked curiously, touching the hole with his fingers, leaning over the moat. Behind me, the Soldier translated monotonously.
I stepped away from the moat, thinking. (Should I tell him how lethal it is? And if I don't, he might kill himself.)
I slowly paced circles on the grass.
(I'll tell it like it is.)
"Imagine a crossbow. Except the bolt flies so fast that you only see the point of impact. And it can kill a person." I stopped and said calmly.
The Soldier translated. The Rider froze, lost in thought.
I sighed. (I said it. Now let him think for himself.)
Silence.
I looked at the bright sky. (I've been here about four to six hours, and so much has already happened. I'm tired and hungry.)
The Rider snapped out of it and approached me, studying my face and throwing a brief glance at the pistol in the Soldier's holster.
I looked at his face too. But my gaze caught on the scar under his eye. (Where did that come from? A straight, short scar.)
"Alon," the Rider extended his hand. Even though I understood it was his name, the Soldier still translated.
I looked at his rough, scarred hand, fresh cuts. (This Alon is most likely some kind of guard commander or a soldier.)
"Seraphim." I shook his hand. The Soldier translated.
(He has a firm grip...)
Alon nodded, took the pistol, mounted his horse, and rode off. I watched until he disappeared over the hill.
"I hope the duke appreciates the gift," I said into the void.
The Soldier behind me remained silent.