“Keep your shield up!” the woman bellowed.

Annallya bit down hard on a curse before it could escape her lips, it would not be proper for her to be heard spouting profanity, even if she was among soldiers. Rather, she focused on what her instructor had just commanded. She hated it though, the feeling of the shield on her arm. It ruined her sense of balance and made it almost impossible to grip the sword with both hands. That must be why they were designed to only be wielded with one hand. Even so, it felt natural to use both hands with the sword, so why not make it so?

Annallya shook such thoughts from her head as she stared blankly at her opponent, the two circling each other. With a snarl worthy of a human, she launched another series of attacks at the woman facing her. The first two overhand strikes were met by the opponent's shield, the third was completely deflected by her sword. With her front entirely exposed the soldier shot her elbow right at Annallya’s sternum, just below her windpipe. The blow forced her back a few steps, as she finally figured out that it would be a good idea to use her shield to protect herself from blows like that. Her opponent showed no emotion at her actions, be it disapproval or disdain. Not one to give in easily, Annallya charged her opponent again. In two moves she was disarmed of her blade. At that point she had no choice but to use her shield simply to keep from being impaled. A shrill whistle was sounded and the match ended.

Sweaty, tired, and utterly frustrated, Annallya recovered her sword while making it a point to not look directly at her instructor. That became difficult when her instructor marched directly towards her, a scowl plastered on her face.

“What have I continued to explain to you, these past months?” she demanded.

“To use my shield and sword equally and interchangeably.” Annallya answered, making an effort to keep her own temper in check.

“Yes!” her instructor answered. She was a commanding woman, with a presence that carried the authority of all of her years in the Thylaran military service. She stood slightly under average height for a Titan, but was far from a feeble specimen. Her arms were powerful from years spent in training with the sword. Her dirty blonde hair was kept in a neat ponytail, ideal for keeping it out of one’s face while in battle. Any recruit that chooses not to cut their hair short is required to wear it in a ponytail while training or before battle. Her skin was tan from many summers of marching under the sun. And as of now, she was not in a cheerful mood. Annallya wondered if there were ever times that she was.

“I have attempted to ingrain this into your head for months, and still you refute my teachings! And it has gotten you nowhere except dead in every sparring match you have ever fought.”

“I humbly apologize, Sergeant Heleanna.” At least, she tried to sound humble.

The Sergeant continued her tirade. “You attack predictably, with nothing but blind rage and force. You assume that if you are angry enough that you can break through your enemies like they were a pack of humans.”

She allowed the insults to wash over her without giving them much mind, her thoughts were elsewhere. Annallya knew that she was onto something. She’d heard that the Imperial Guard of the Queen carry swords that are held in both hands, and they were reputed to be the greatest swordswomen in all of Thylara. If she could only learn for herself, blood and tears but it was frustrating! And she had thought that training with the sword would help curb her temper.

“Annallya!” Sergeant Heleanna snapped!

At once she snapped into proper attention before her superior. “Yes Sergeant!”

Heleanna frowned pensively at her. “I know not what dreams of battle you carry in your head, but you best forget them. The battlefield is not a place of glory like in children’s stories where you may challenge an entire army by yourself and win. You are a soldier, not a warrior! Remember that!”

Annallya banged her fist against the shield on her left forearm in salute. “I shall remember!”

Sergeant Helenna gave her one last frustrated gaze before nodding in acceptance. “To the bath house with you. You are dismissed for the day.”

Annallya snapped one more salute and then proceeded on her way to the bath house, eager to be rid of the sweat and grime that coated her skin. Normally she never minded the dirt too much, if anything it made her feel as though she had accomplished something. Today, though, she wanted nothing more than to be home as quickly as possible. The training yard she had been sparring in was a large circular courtyard surrounded on all sides by pillars. The circular area itself was sunken a few feet into the ground with the bare earth and dust for a floor. A short set of steps brought her up from the training yard and onto level ground. Annallya headed to a closed stone building that was the bath house. Each bath was a large pool of water where dozens of women may bathe at the same time. The water was heated in furnaces in other rooms, and then pumped into the pools, where they would emerge from carved fountains. Upon entering the building, Annallya first had to pay to use the baths, for although they were public, that did not mean that they were free. She then continued onto the changing room where soldiers would strip of their armour, and leave them on special placeholders, along with weapons and other clothes. From there the baths were in the very next room. Setting foot into the baths was nothing short of euphoric. The feeling of the warm water soaking into your every muscle and cramp was a pleasure many looked forward to everyday, for Titans were not soft when it came to drilling soldiers.

Annallya stood leaning against the wall of the pool, her eyes closed as she focused on loosening her stiff muscles. She opened them when she heard a familiar voice making it’s way towards her.

“Another session lost to your temper?” a girl of equal age asked her.

Annallya, though too tired to scowl, tried her best anyway. “Do not test me today Thoren, not after the beating I took.”

Thoren Avarienya complimented Annallya unnaturally well in appearance and personality. She stood at the average height of a Titan, and was graced with a body to turn heads of all kinds. Her chestnut hair, normally kept in a long braid, practically glistened under the sun. Her face was uniquely beautiful, with full lips shaped almost like a heart, and a complexion like smooth chocolate. In contrast to this, Annallya was inches taller than her friend, a fact that had always made her feel awkward and gangly. Her breasts were nothing of great remark, while the rest of her just qualified as curvy. Auburn hair in place of the more common shades of color most Titans possessed. Thoren and Annallya had been inseparable since they were little girls, and despite years of Thoren telling Annallya that her face was equally pretty, Annallya never believed her.

“Heleanna cannot drill you like this forever,” Thoren offered her friend. “Try to understand it in a way such as this. All you need do is learn her methods of the sword temporarily, until you become an official soldier. Then you may return to pioneering your own methods of getting yourself slain on the battlefield.”

Annallya sighed. “And here I believed you were truly trying to comfort me.”

Thoren shrugged. “In a situation such as yours, that is the best comfort I can offer.”

“I still do not understand,” she complained. “I had assumed that learning to fight would improve on my temper. Rather it has the opposite effects.”

“Perhaps you must accept that you shall always be a woman of great anger and little reason.”

Annallya eyed her friend. “Then that is a woman you shall have to live with for the rest of your life.”

“Have you considered a pet?” Thoren suggested. “A little one to take care of would do wonders for your mood. My little Naela is the most precious creature! She even dances for me, quite beautifully too!”

“I already have a pet,” she said with a sigh. “He simply sits put in his cage and rarely stirs. I have heard that humans are unnaturally well versed in speech, but he remains mute. Barely eating, and only occasionally walking outside of his cage.”

“He is clearly frightened of you. Though that doesn’t surprise me. Your temper scares me as well.” Thoren replied. Annallya directed a deathly gaze at her friend, who returned it with one of innocence. “Have you considered, shrinking yourself down to his size? He may warm up to you once he has seen your beauty from a closer perspective.”

“Shrink down to his size!” she exclaimed aghast. “Suppose he attacks me? What then?”

Thoren waved a dismissive hand. “Oh please, you have nothing to worry about. They are very well trained before they are allowed to become pets. He is probably very docile, just afraid of his new, giant world.”

Annallya mulled over that thought for a moment. “Perhaps you are right. I had not considered that possibility.”

The smile Thoren wore was now one of satisfaction. “Of course I am right. I would not make for a very good Queen if I knew not of what I was speaking of.”

Another unusual aspect of their friendship was that Thoren was the daughter of Queen Phelonous. She and Annallya had met as children, as Annallya’s mother is an official advisor and personal friend to the Queen of Thylara. That friendship had persisted through till the girls had reached twenty four winters of age, the minimum age of recruitment. Thoren, although heir to the throne, was required, like all Titans, to serve a short term in the city’s military. Titan were by nature, a war like people. Conflicts among different cities were more than commonplace, they were consistent, albeit ever changing. Every Queen was required to have been a soldier for a minimum of three years. The two of them were still only in basic training, not yet soldiers but on their way.

Thoren and Annallya continued their conversation even after leaving the bathhouse, and returning home. Since her mother was an official advisor to the Queen, they took quarters in a guest house in the Queen’s palace. The palace rested on an outcrop accessible by a massive staircase. The stairs lead to a monumental building of brick and stone, longer than it was wide. The front side was surrounded on all sides by tall columns of white, and statues of fierce warriors looked down from above. Further along, the rectangular building spread out into other buildings of various heights, all connecting to form a single palace. Balconies stood out from some of the tallest areas of the palace, decorated with intricately carved railings. Women of all sorts were seen coming and going from the palace, some were couriers, others staff members, and others still were ordinary citizens in need of the Queen’s judgment. Every day they would come and go, watched at all times by a plethora of guards.

It was here that the sister-like friends parted ways, Thoren had other duties to attend to that were part of her training to become Queen. Annallya likewise had her own studies, for she was looked on as a potential successor to her own mother’s role as a royal advisor. She headed towards the guest house in the southern area of the palace. It spoke volumes of the size of the place to say that the guest house was it’s own building, while still connected to the rest of the palace, that was bigger than most homes throughout the city. A small courtyard was all that separated it from the rest of the buildings that made up the palace. The front door lead inside to a lounging room, where the family would receive guests. Annallya walked through the lounging room and up the stairs to where her own room was. It was a bedroom entirely too well furnished for the simple young woman. Everything inside was imported for the task of making whatever guest the Queen may have, feel comfortable. The bed was large enough for three people to comfortably share, despite having only a single occupant. Candle stands of metal, shaped into twisted designs, provided light during the evening, along with a chandelier. A brazier sat in the center of the room, giving heat on cold nights. Bookcases line the walls filled with both educational, and entertaining materials. Between two bookcases was a writing desk of well polished, red wood. Piled onto the desk were all of Annallya’s studies, something she did not want to look at at the moment.

Removing her sandals upon entering, Annallya padded over to a life sized mannequin, kept next to her closet. There, she removed her armour and placed it over top of the mannequin, and hung her sword and shield on the wall nearby. Then she decided to change into a fresh outfit for the rest of the day. A sleeveless white dress that only reached as far as her knees, leaving her legs and feet bare, with a deep red corset-like sash across her abdomen. The dress itself was trimmed with very little embroidery, as Annallya did not care for gaudy clothes.

Once she was dress, Annallya walked over towards a metal stand, taller than her and made of brass. A shining brass cage hung down from this stand, a cage that was home to Annallya’s pet human. The inside of the cage was furnished with miniature versions of Titan furniture, with a bed, a lounging chair, a stand of candles, matches to light them inside of a nightstand, and a rug in the center of the cage. Her human sat on the floor with his back against his bed. His red and black coat was open to reveal the white laced shirt underneath. Both were thoroughly ruffled from having been worn for days in a row. His black trousers and boots remained in relatively good condition. His hair had grown shaggy and his beard was unkempt. Even as Annallya removed the cage from the stand and set it down on her desk, he remained still. Not once moving, or even glancing at her. He’d always been like this, since the first day she’d received him as a gift weeks ago.

Annallya slowly undid the latch and opened up the cage door. “Wyell,” she called using the name she’d given him upon receiving him. “Wyell, please come out. You need your exercise.”

But Wyell remained where he sat, turning his head away from her. Annallya sighed, this was typical of him. This was the first human she’d ever had to herself, the first man she’d ever seen in her life, and all he did was nothing! She’d heard so many stories about men in the wild forests beyond Thylara, who would hunt and kill their own with their bare hands and uncontrollable rage. She’d expected him to be more wild, more exciting to watch. Frightening even, if something as small as her index finger could be considered frightening.

“Wyell please come out,” she called louder this time. He flinched, but did not stir. Annallya had to remember to keep a hold of her temper so as not to scare the tiny man. It was hard, owning a pet that did not want to talk or interact with you. He refused to even let her see his face most of the time! The pathetic little thing should be grateful. Without the Titans he would be roaming the woods right now, starving and waiting to be eaten alive by his own savage kind. The Catchers had found him, fragile and alone, had taken him in, washed him, gave him those nice clothes, and given him everything he would need to live like a civilized creature. And Annallya gave him love and care, something she knew he would never receive among his own kind. He should be dancing at her feet in gratitude, so why then was he like this?

Feeling too frustrated for words, Annallya closed the cage and left it on her desk. Then she picked up a broken broom handle that she kept under her bed, and tried once more to practice her sword play. The Titan sword were designed to be handled with only one hand, but there was no grace to it, it felt wrong to just swing it like a club. She’d been trying to figure out how to use both hands to wield her sword, but was making little progress finding a way that felt better. Annallya tried practicing this for a few minutes, going over every form and pose she'd been taught, before she sighed and looked back at the cage. Wyell lowered his head back down from having watched her. This made her feel strange, to know that she had been watched by a man as she performed a challenging task. It made her feel bold. Annallya opened the door again and set the cage down on the floor. Then, without any effort, she began to shrink.

Titans are unique in that they are the only creatures that can change their size from big to small, along with whatever they have on their possession. No one knows why they alone are born with this ability, and why it works on nothing but themselves. When they shrink, they can only become as small as they would be if they had been humans. Few Titans had tried to interact with humans while small and vulnerable, for even a human woman is stronger than a Titan while they are of the same size. But they were still animals who knew nothing of disciplined fighting and self defense. That fact comforted Annallya as she shrunk as small as she possibly could. A mere five feet and nine inches to a human. Wyell had not noticed, as he was refusing to face her again. So Annallya took a moment to admire the sight of her room from his size. It was truly wondrous, the world around her, but also frightening. She could understand now why he always seemed so afraid of her. Well, she would fix that, one way or another.

Very slowly, Annallya stepped into the cage, the brass floor felt cold under her bare feet. Wyell never moved from his seat on the floor. It was quite a rush, being so close to an animal such as him. She smoothed her skirt for a second, making sure she looked as gentle and unthreatening as possible.

“Wyell?” she spoke softly. “Wyell, will you face me please?”

This time Wyell did turn his head, just barely catching sight of her with his peripheral vision. Then his head violently turned back to catch a second glance. Upon seeing her at this scale Wyell sprang to his feet so suddenly that Annallya jumped back from him. Now it was a terrifying experience. Wyell was so much bigger than her while she was at this height, shoulders so wide and arms that could lift her easily. He stood facing her with his feet spread wide, almost resembling a fighter's stance, and his right hand reached down at his belt for something. When he realized that there was nothing at his belt to grab onto, Wyell looked distressed, then he calmed again. The man seemed to deflate as he dropped slowly to his knees in defeat. Annallya was stunned. For a moment as he stood against her, his legs spread, his balance even, and his hand at his belt, he looked . . . . well, he looked like a soldier. But that was ridiculous, there were no soldiers out in the wild. Only feral beasts. But he didn’t appear feral right now, he appeared tired and afraid. And something looked off about his features.

“Wyell?” she asked. “Are you well?”

Very, very slowly, Annallya stepped over to him. She got down on her knees and reached to touch him. He flinched, which caused her to reel back, but he was still again. She then forced her fears back down and reached out to him again. This time he didn’t move a muscle as she laid her hands upon his face. Her heartbeat quickened as it registered what it was that she was doing. She had just put hands on a man for the first time in her life! And it was fascinating, to say the least. The mane of hair on his face, around his mouth and cheeks, was so soft to the touch. The features of his face looked and felt strong now that she viewed them up close. And the rest of his hair, as shaggy and ungroomed as it was, somehow served to enhance his appearance. Very carefully, so as not to scare him again, Annallya lifted his head to face hers, and she gasped.

His right eye was an exotic shade of green, something unheard of among Titans. It looked like a shining emerald. His left eye, however, was black and swollen with bruises.

“Wyell!” she breathed. “What has happened to you? Who hurt you like this?”

Wyell opened his mouth and, stars above, it looked like he was about to speak. But then he grimaced and turned his head away. His hands reached up and gently grasped hers. Annallya’s heart sped up again, partly out of fear, and partly out of excitement of being touched by a man. His hands were rough and strong, but her handled her with such care as he removed her hands from his face, and walked away. Annallya was left kneeling in place, trying to comprehend all that had just happened in such a short amount of time. She had shrunken herself down to human size, walked into the cage of a wild animal, had laid hands upon his face, only to have him lay hands upon her in turn. Never once did he look like he had been about to hurt her, or even want to hurt her. He looked . . . . peaceful. Gentle.

She wanted to go back over to him, to try to talk with him again. To soothe his fears and treat the eye he’d somehow hurt, but she didn’t. Wyell was clearly more afraid of her than she was of him. He might react badly to such upfront treatment. So she rose gracefully and walk back to the door of the cage.

“Andrill,” came a deep voice from behind her.

Annallya spun in place, shock painting her face white. The human remained where he was, on his feet at the other end of the cage, facing the bars with his hands clasped behind his back.

“W-what did you say?” she asked nervously.

“Andrill,” he repeated softly. “My name is Andrill.”

His name? He had been given a name aready! Incredible! She’d never before known that humans received names in the wild. “Andrill.” she repeated slowly to herself, allowing her tongue to taste the new word.

From the other side of the cage, he nodded to himself. “Andrill. It was the name my mother gave me.”

“Your mother!” Annallya exclaimed. “You had a mother who named you? What was she like?”

This was the first time he’d ever spoken to her, and in those few sentences she’d learned more of humans than she’d ever been taught before. She tried to press him, to learn more of his kind.

But Andrill only sniffed and bowed his head. “Kind.”

And with that he spoke no more. Annallya was torn between wanting to know more, and not overwhelming the poor creature. The poor man. So she stepped out of the cage, grew to her normal height, and hung the cage back upon the bronze stand. She gave him one last pained look.

“If you ever wish to speak with me again,” she whispered. “I will listen to you . . . Andrill.”

Then she sat at her desk, and began her studies, trying hard to leave the poor man in peace.