I watched as the girl matured, absorbing all of my teachings that not even my peers understood. In her own time, she would experiment with the craft- even when I warned her not to do so.

She was an inquisitive one… albeit she was more than willing to push beyond limits that should not be pushed.

-???

Months of Earth- Bud

“Miss Kinnsy, even if you insist, I’m afraid rules are rules.” Airen caught traces of the conversation behind the dark mahogany doors. With nothing to do while waiting for his audience, he had decided to study the strange wood that was likely imported from distant lands. Once he grew bored, he turned around to survey the waiting room.

Hermann’s silver stairs and overly lavish audience chamber had long since been stripped, melted down and minted back into currency. In many ways, the auction house looked more prim and proper compared to the arrogant display of wealth it was prior.

“My husband won’t take to this kindly…” A venom-filled hiss slipped out from the other side of the door. “He hasn’t been very inclined towards this particular auction house lately…”

“That is a shame.” Cordellia’s tone was curt and polite, but there was a coldness in it that regarded the other woman’s words with scorn. Cordellia was someone that had worked, risked everything and fought to achieve the position she was in now, while her client was someone that had everything given to her by right of birth.

“If our business is concluded, then I will have to ask you to leave.” Cordellia continued. “There is another guest that I have kept waiting, and our appointment is at an end.”

There was a snort, and the carved wooden doors opened with a slam. Airen looked up meekly to look into the eyes of a thin woman whose clothes probably made up fifty-percent of her weight.

“A servant…?” The thin woman’s eyes glanced over Airen’s apparel before she huffed and marched down the stairs in a fuming rage. Airen made sure not to meet the woman’s eyes as she passed. Rabid dogs were known to lash out.

“Apologies for making you wait.” Cordellia held open the door for Airen as he stood up. “This is regarding the upcoming display at the Amphitheater of Blades?”

“How did you know?”

“Words travel fast.” Cordellia smiled, but it was the sort of smile that lacked any emotion behind it, only cold calculation “Rumors are that a hermit and his apprentice have been personally invited by the Six Swords, and the actions of the Six Swords is always tracked with scrutiny by many individuals, myself included.”

“...I see that teacher has been causing trouble again.” Airen faked a sigh, which wasn’t too hard since he has been sighing nonstop lately.

“This what I would consider good trouble.” Cordellia laughed. “There are many patrons that would pay handsomely for a seat just to watch, much less being able to participate.”

“I am sure that I am nowhere as good as the other participants.” Airen shook his head. “The one they invited was not I, but my teacher. My seat is only a mere courtesy that was given in respect of him.”

“You misunderstand. Airen.” Cordellia laughed, much more naturally. “The disciple is often seen as an extension of the teacher’s will in the Red Slate Republic. Lord Dumeis himself seldom makes a public appearance, but wherever one of the senior Six Swords come up, it is often stated that he is making a stance.”

“It is very likely you are being treated the same way.” Cordellia continued. “If I may be be honest, Airen. Throughout all our interactions, I have been treating you in the same fashion. Please don’t take offence.”

“...None taken.” Airen said after processing Cordellia's words. He was all too aware of what what sort of striking figure his alter-ego made with Fieluri’s assistance was, and Airen was more than content to ride on the tailwind.

“Chatter aside, how may I help you?” Cordellia folded her hands and placed them on her desk. Stacks of paper were carefully organized, and there was a rack for various types of writing utensils.

“I’m looking for information.” Airen replied as he sat down on the other side. “On whom some of the more dangerous contestants would be.”

“For yourself or for your teacher?” Cordellia raised an eyebrow. “It did not strike me that Neäir was a cautious man, but that is a good aspect to have.”

“You are correct. Teacher is the whimsical type of person that acts to their own wishes.” Airen grumbled. “If anything, I am the cautious one since I was roped into participating. I am just trying not to make a fool of myself.”

“Hmm.” Cordellia fiddled with her clothing for a moment while she considered Airen’s words.”From what I know, there are two stages to the Amphitheater of Blades.”

“The first stage is for open participants. These are spots that anyone can participate in, given they have a standard invitation. There are many deals made behind the lines for the acquisition of these invitations, but the general gist of this stage is a preliminary round to weed out stragglers.”

“The second stage is for those that have already made a name for themselves, or held in high regard. Since you and your teacher got a personal invitation, it is likely this is where the two of you will be. You will need not participate in any of the preliminary rounds, and can be considered VIPs.” Cordellia's eyes glittered.

“There are roughly a thousand invitations sent out each year, but only a hundred VIP seats.” Cordellia continued. “Those hundred seats are set aside for well-known individuals, but more often or not, they end up being empty. As time passes, those empty seats will be given to the remaining few from the first stage.”

“And then a month after the start, the finals begin.” Cordellia’s eyes glittered. “The winner will be granted the opportunity to face Lord Dumeis as a courtesy. It is said that he has yet to be defeated.”

“Thank you for the background.” Airen nodded. He was already plotting things he could use to his advantage. His Future Visions only works if he manages to survive an attack, and getting a glimpse at it beforehand would help him survive it initially. “Are there are any… limitations?”

“Only swords and blades are allowed.” Cordellia replied. “Furthermore any form of magic that doesn’t use a sword as a catalyst is not allowed. For example, you may coat your weapon in flames, but you cannot release Firebolts at your enemies.”

“I don’t see an issue there.”

“...I would think that your teacher would have problems, no?” Cordellia questioned.

“As much as I hate to admit it…” Airen caught himself before he said ‘she’. “He is capable of abilities beyond human imagination. He prefers to use magic, but I have not known him to lose with a sword. ”

“I had already planned to make a wager in his name but...” Cordellia leaned back and contemplated on the meaning of Airen’s words. “Perhaps I should add on the reserve fundskept for emergencies. ”

“...There is gambling involved with the tournament?”

“The Red Slate Republic runs on gambling.” Cordellia shook her head wryly. “Sometimes with goods and services, sometimes with money, and sometimes with lives.”

“I hope one day to take my step-siblings and leave this accursed and barbaric country, and hope you do the same.” Cordellia advised. “Here, only the strong or the rich can thrive.”

Airen made no comment, for he was all too aware what a lack of power or money can lead to.

Fieluri had made sure of that.

“....What is happening here?” Airen arrived at the market that he frequented, thinking to grab some supplies for dinner. Eullina had been ranting on about wanting some seafood lately and Fieluri had ‘hinted’ at also wanting some. And by hinting, it meant giving him pocket money and bullying him until he acquiesced to her demands.

What surprised him, however, was how empty the market was. Normally, it was an endless sea of people accompanied by an endless array of noise, but now it was desolate in comparison. The shoppers would hurriedly go from kiosk to stall to wagon, buy their groceries without even attempting to haggle, and then be on their way.

Even the shopkeepers were quiet and on edge. Instead of hawking their wares, they would quickly bag things up and send them on their way without a word. Every so on occasion, one would peek out from their stall or wagon and down the street.

Following their gazes and catching a hint of copper in the air, Airen quickly saw the reason why this back alley market was so quiet. One of the entrances to an alley had been barricaded by the military police and there were many uniformed men going around and interrogating any passerby.

Airen decided to not involve himself, so he tucked his head down and went about his way. He hurriedly went about the stalls to buy what he needed, but eventually he needed to walk past the alley entrance and soldiers.

As he approached, he could feel his stomach twisting as he recognized the familiar scent that he had caught a whiff of earlier. His curiosity, and the need to confirm what he believed got the better of him and he glanced from the corner of his eye inside the alley.

He caught the site of a small mound of bodies from a gap between the military soldiers ranks. To be precise, it wasn’t a mound of bodies, but a mound of flayed and torn apart body parts. It seemed to Airen as if they were all interconnected and twisted into some abominable shape.

Airen shuddered at the grotesqueness of it all, and put extra force into his steps. He did not know what happened in that alley, but after getting a peek into it, his curiosity was replaced with a sense of foreboding.

He quickly bought the rest of the ingredients he needed before hightailing out of that silenced marketplace.

Little did he know that what he saw was merely the beginning.

“And that’s what happened at the market today.” Airen repeated the scene as he sat across from Fieluri after serving her a bouillabaisse-like seafood stew.

“How interesting.” Fieluri replied as she helped herself to the dish with a knowing glint in her eyes. “You had the fortune, or perhaps misfortune, to run into a Flesh Golem.”

“The art of creating one is something that should have been long lost in the ages.” Fieluri continued before Airen could ask questions. “It’s one of the byproducts when harvesting corpses to construct a Skeletal Golem.”

“Why would something like that appear in the middle of the city?” Airen mumbled to himself quietly. He expected Fieluri to mock him for his lack of insight and provide an answer, but instead she rolled her eyes at his obvious ruse and returned to her books.

Slightly embarrassed, Airen immersed himself in his own food. Lately, he had been eating his food in the Archive instead of with Eullina, and the reason being was that she had been quite inquisitive lately. If Airen had to describe it precisely, it would be that she had been… paranoid.

“Running from your problems again, Airen?” Fieluri smirked as Airen listlessly spooned the soup into his mouth. “We both know how that will end eventually.”

“I wouldn’t be having these problems if you stopped causing mayhem that leads back to me.” Airen scowled. “It always starts small… and then it escalates into a disaster.”

“Disaster? You know nothing, Airen.” Fieluri smirked as she snapped a finger and an aged bottle and crystal glass appeared out of thin air. “You should know better than to exaggerate in front of me.”

“Each story is dependant on the eyes of the viewer.” Airen snorted, using some of Fieluri’s words against her. “That was something you said.”

“Exactly. And I am calling you a fool.” Fieluri snorted as she sipped on a strange emerald-liquid. “The implicit and explicit meaning of words are like the four seasons, ever-changing.”

“Do you ever take a step back?” Airen rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath.

“Hmph. Wiser men than you have challenged me to debates.” Fieluri harrumphed. “If you have time to make nonsensical attempts at verbal sparring with me, you are better off going off to train. Regardless of how well you will fair at this measly competition, you are still going to be representing a disciple of the legendary Neäir.”

“I don’t doubt in your ability to create an illusion.” Airen scowled. “But how exactly do you plan on having one do battle? Another spell?.”

“Why go through so much work?” Fieluri rolled her eyes. “All I would need to do is don the Night Sculptor’s Mask and Mantle of Age.”

“Oh. Then why did-” Airen started to say but he stopped in his tracks after he fully comprehended Fieluri’s words. “Wait. You are going to wear it?”

“Why not? This is the easiest and most flexible solution.” Fieluri’s mouth curled into a smug grin.

“You were the one that said you weren’t going to interfere in my business.” Airen scowled. “Or is this still outside the scope of ‘my business’?”

“Correct.” Fieluri nodded. “The existence of Neäir is for both our sakes and serves as a twofold barrier. If my presence is discovered, there will be no end of individuals that will seek me out. And inversely, if you are found to be my disciple, then they will seek you out.”

“I believed that neither of us wished for this outcome, which is why the persona of ‘Neäir’ came into existence.” Fieluri continued after a momentary pause. “There are many false names in history, aliases and personas of those that wish to remain secretive. ”

“'Tis a common tale.” Fieluri finished while staring at her drink, as if reminiscing of days past.

“Then is Fieluri Archive also an alias or persona?” Airen smirked.

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” Fieluri replied ambiguously. “The question you should be asking if it is a name that was given to me, or a name that I have given myself.”

“But that is a conversation for another day. You are being seeked out, so you’d best get going.” Before Airen could reply, Fieluri flicked a finger and Airen felt as if he had been projected back hundreds of miles. With a falling sensation his vision blanked out, and the next moment he opened his eyes to see a pillow envelop his vision.

“The zombie awakens.” Eullina chuckled as Airen sat up, pulling the pillow off his head.

“We’ve been through this many times already. Can’t we be a little less… violent?” Airen sighed as he put the pillow back in its proper place.

“You could sleep through a storm.” Eullina rolled her eyes. “Yet at the strangest of times, you would wake instantly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have some sort of sleeping condition.”

“I’m just a deep sleeper, and it helps that I’m tired all the time.” Airen shrugged as he stood up and stretched.

“That’s what you always say. Are you sure you haven’t been bewitched by a Duuga?” Eullina said half-jokingly. “Since you have a weird knack of running into strange things, I wouldn’t be surprised if you ran into a dream demon.”

“I don’t dream.” Airen chuckled to himself, his back to Eullina. "Usually."

“Say Airen…”

“Hmm? What is it?” Airen turned back around to see that Eullina had approached him quietly without his knowing and they were almost face to face.

“Are you really Airen?” Eullina’s eyes stared into his eyes without blinking.

“W-Why would you say that?” Airen wanted to look away, but he had the feeling that under no circumstances he should. “Eullina, are you alright?’

“No… I must be mistaken.” Eullina paused and smiled before looking away. “But to think that you have been invited by the Six Swords… it seems that you were much more gifted than what you’ve shown.”

“That’s…” Airen stopped for a moment before replying. “There’s no reason to go all out in a friendly spar, since only in the heat of battle can you actually display your prowess.”

“You just don’t get it.” Eullina shook her head and sighed. “You don’t get it at all. Airen, you concern me.”

“...How do I concern you?” Airen was taken aback by her words. In his eyes, he was always the more responsible and more mature of the two.

“You have no friends. You seldom talk about your day. You are always harboring secrets. You don’t express yourself. You don't relax.” Eullina replied as she picked herself up. “You disappear for months on end without anyone knowing where you really are, and you make friends with people that are strong beyond reckoning.”

“And above all. I do not know your story, even though I have told you mine.” Eullina continued quietly. “I trust you, Airen, but I feel as if my trust has not been returned.”

“I know you have your circumstances.” Eullina held up a hand as he made to speak. “I empathize with you, Airen, but I cannot agree with you.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. But it’s time that I should move into my own dorm.” Eullina finished. “This should do the both of us some good.”

“That’s something I thought I’d never hear. Airen with woman problems.” Orshan chuckled as he gave a few practice swings with his iron sword.

“It’s not a problem.” Airen scowled as he deflected Orshan’s thrust. “If anything, this frees up some of my time, and that means there’ll be more space for me.”

“You’re being stubborn.” Orshan deftly swapped his weapon to his other hand and parried Airen’s counterattack. “That’s quite unlike you.”

“It’s better this way.” Airen mimicked Orshan’s movements and also swapped his sword to his other hand. “I am only a source of problems.”

Orshan didn’t reply, instead gripping his weapon with both hands and swinging down. A bit distracted due to their conversation, Airen had no choice but to grip his own weapon and lock blades with him in a contest of strength.

“Take it from me.” Orshan cautioned as he easily overwhelmed Airen, pushing him back several steps. “It’s not smart to isolate yourself like that, especially when you’re going to participate in the Ceremony of Blades.”

“So you’ve also heard about it. Why does everyone seem to make such a big deal about it?” Airen grumbled angrily as he reached towards his waist a towards his second sword.

“Because you are the youngest participant, and also because you personally received an invitation.” Orshan replied as he side-stepped Airen’s surprise attack.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Airen scowled as he changed his stance.

“There are many things outside our control, but this is something that isn’t outside your control.” Despite Orshan’s practice longsword easily being twice the weight of one of Airen’s blunt iron swords, he still managed to keep up with Airen’s flurry of blows. Easily enough that he was still able to casually hold a conversation.

“I am in control.” Airen replied, both mishearing and misunderstanding Orshan’s words.

Orshan did not say anymore during that training session.

“Quite pathetic, Airen.” Fieluri commented as Airen’s mangled body on the ground transformed into a silvery dust-like cloud and converged. “To think you still can’t last a single exchange... embarrassing.”

“You make it sound like it’s my fault that I’m not a match against the ‘all-mighty’ History Eater.” Airen scowled as he walked over to where he had been ‘slain’ to retrieve his weapon- a dao with the hilt forming a magical rune with a blade of crystal that resembles rubies.

Opposite of him, Fieluri held the same weapon. To any onlookers, it would have been impossible to tell which was the real and which was a replica. Even an experienced swordsmith or historian could spent years studying the two and would not be able to tell them apart. They were the exact same weapon, yet at the same time... one was without a doubt a replica.

“Expecting me to go easy on you?” Fieluri smirked. “Do you know how many people died because they decided to ‘go easy’ on someone?”

“Don’t tell me.” Airen grumbled as he held up his weapon again and resumed his stance. “Would it kill you just disarm me and not make me go through that every time?”

“Tsk-tsk.” Fieluri wagged a finger. “Do you think I would give you a chance to use Future Visions as the one that gave you that ability? Think again, child.”

“Then what is this training even supposed to be for?” Airen snorted. “It’s like you were bored and you’re just toying with me instead of actually teaching.”

“Ah? What gave it away?” Fieluri snapped her fingers and both of their weapons vanished. “The goal was never to train with weapons, Airen. But rather to help you manifest your soul.”

“There are many names for the soul, Airen.” Fieluri wagged a finger. “Vitalus, Yeichaya, Aeht, Enima, Zuuji, Istok- to name a few in some of the ancient tongues. “

“Regardless of what it is called, there is one thing that is true- it is font of all magic, and some would even say- life.” Fieluri’s eyes tinkled.

“Hundreds of thousands of your kind dedicated their lives to the research of the soul.” Fieluri continued. “There are countless words to describe it, yet there is not a single description that does it justice.”

“You will understand what I mean one day.” Fieluri smirked as she watched Airen try to gauge the meaning between her words- and the intentions she had speaking them. “As your soul is still young and have yet to grow, I’ll help you out this once.”

Before Airen could reply, he felt his heart still. He looked down at his chest to see a thin, feeble ribbon of light slowly squirming out, and with each centimeter, Airen felt fainter and fainter. He would have preferred pain over this sensation of encroaching nothingness.

“If your soul wasn’t already linked to the Archive, this would have killed you.” Fieluri had closed the distance without Airen knowing. With one delicate hand that seemed to shimmer with purple light, she had pinched one end of the ribbon. Airen would have been surprised at how carefully she was, if not for the fact that he could not muster up any sort of emotion.

“Hush now, sleep and it will be over soon-” Fieluri waved a finger and Airen’s vision started to go dim. The last thing he thought he saw in his near delirium was hundreds and thousands of strands of floating ribbons of light floating in the air.

He thought the sight was beautiful as he slipped into a gentle reverie.

“Do you really have time to be sleeping?” A light voice woke Airen up from his deep slumber, and he found himself lying on a bed of soft cushions as he was coming to.

“How long have I been out?” Airen mumbled as he sat up, fumbling as he momentarily lost his sense of balance and falling back down into the pillows that were akin to the texture of marshmallows.

“About a week.” Fieluri replied without even sparing a glance at him.

Airen made no comment as he shuffled over the bed of cushions and shimmy onto his feet. Although he was shocked that a week had passed- what surprised him more was how long it felt. He felt as if he was a bear that had finally awoken from a season-long sleep.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” Fieluri nodded as Airen felt all over his body, trying to discern what exactly had happened to him. His body hasn't changed, his senses haven’t grown sharper, and he did not feel weaker nor stronger.

“What did you do?” Airen questioned.

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself?” Fieluri clapped her hands together and a familiar mirror appeared in front of Airen. It felt like a long time ago that Airen had peered into this mirror, and only very recently that Fieluri had forced that metallic-silver liquid down his throat.

“Another copy or is this the original?” Airen quickly reasoned out what this mirror was.

“This is a false copy.” Fieluri walked up to the mirror and rubbed her hand against the glass, causing a ripple to expand out. “The true Mirror of Self is impossible to replicate, but this old prototype still has one use. It can reflect the image of one’s soul with a bit of tinkering.”

“...” Airen did not say anymore and simply strode up until he stood next to Fieluri in front of the mirror. Fieluri had a smirk on her face as a lavender-colored light emitted from her palm, transforming into a magical rune. It quickly expanded until it covered the surface of the glass, and then it sank into it, causing even more ripples to form.

After the ripples cleared, the image of the person Airen saw in the mirror was no longer his own.

But it was a face that he knew all too well.

“Now, why don’t I show you a couple of more tricks? That blades tournament is only a few days away and I can’t have you embarrass yourself, now can I?”

“Why, if it isn’t Airen. Where did you disappear off to this past week?” Orshan greeted Airen walked onto one of the sparring fields that was the trademark of Stonewall Military Academy. “I went looking for you and couldn't find you, so I asked your wife, Eullina.”

“Ha ha. Very funny Orshan.” Airen rolled his eyes as he walked in stride with Orshan as they headed to the nearby billboard on the field.

“I wouldn't have figured otherwise.” Orshan slapped Airen's shoulder heartily. “ ‘Who knows where that bastard went! Go die!’ She said. For a second I thought she sounded like my angry wife.”

“With how you play around, I'm surprised you still have a home to go back to.” Airen rolled his eyes. Before Orshan could reply, they arrived in front of the testing billboard.

“I'm afraid you'll be in quite a pickle.” Orshan scratched his head as Airen pulled down one of the lone pieces of parchment attached to the board - his opponent lineup. “You've missed two weeks so I had to ask ol' Wuulf to push back your examination. You'll have to fight three battles back to back.”

“Cost me a couple of favors it did.” Orshan sighed dramatically. “The ol’ soldier is an insane drinker, and he also gets violent to boot. No wonder he doesn't go drinking less there is someone to restrain him. My wallet grew much lighter that night. Ah!”

“Thanks Orshan. You're a good mentor.” Airen said after he loomed over the sheet. The names he was matched against were not familiar to him - but then again he had not bothered to make friends.

“Wait… are you really Airen?” With a bit of a shock, Orshan grabbed Airen's shoulder and pinched his arm. “Since when were you grow mature enough to be so upfront about thanking me?”

“I've come to realize that there are lots of people that are doing things for me…when they don't have to. To live is hard at times and I should be grateful.” Airen smiled ruefully. “Thanks Orshan.”

“Will you cut it out? Since when you become so philosophical?” Orshan had a wry smile as he scratched his head. “Thank me after you win, and it won’t be an easy task.”

“...I’ll see to my victory, you just deal with any fallout.” Airen glanced over the paper again.

The boy’s finally grown up... A sudden thought struck Orshan as he looked at Airen scrutinizing the paper with seriousness.

Airen’s first opponent was a female that was a few years older than him. As Wuulf recited the rules of the competition listlessly, Airen casually trailed a hand down the weapon rack that was placed to the side of the small fifty-by-fifty meter training field.

“There are three victory conditions-” Wuulf glared at Airen as he spoke, clearly a bit annoyed on how he wasn’t really paying attention. Wuulf was responsible for telling all first-timers the rules of the competition, so he would usually bring them all together and go over it once. Since Airen had ‘disappeared’, he had not attended and Wuulf was forced to give the lecture again.

“To cut things short, you have to either force your opponent off the arena, disarm them, or force them to yield.” Wuulf rambled on. “You can pick whichever weapon you prefer, but once the choice is made, you cannot change. You are also not allowed to inflict any grevious wounds and it is grounds for disqualification.”

“Please go easy on me.” A small voice to the right of Airen whispered out, and Airen glanced over at his opponent. Based on her regal bearing and custom-fitted attire, it was clear that she was someone with status.

“I know who you are, and I understand that I am clearly not your match.” The woman walked up besides Airen and began to survey the weapons alongside him. “I simply ask that you allow me to lose gracefully.”

Airen did not respond, instead, pulling out a standard rapier from the rack and moving to his side of the arena. It was meaningless for him to say anything until he had gauged his opponent’s skill. As he waited for the next few minutes, a crowd started to form.

After Wuulf finished announcing details that brought the crowd to a stupor, Airen’s opponent bowed towards him before brandishing her weapon in front of her. As Airen had thought, he had correctly guessed the weapon she picked - a dueling rapier. It was after all, the favored weapon of nobility, alongside dueling swords.

“My name is Khema, and I am a daughter of the Athel family. It is my pleasure to be your opponent today.” Khema gave Airen a flourishing courtesy before waiting for his signal.

“Airen. No last name. Student of Neäir.” Airen replied in kind, seeing as there was no reason to not treat his opponent cordially. He gestured to the noble woman with his spare hand, signaling that he would give her the first strike.

Airen’s opponent gracefully stepped into striking range with caution, her weight on her back-foot in the event that that her probing thrust soured. However, all Airen did was deflect her attack and waited for the next, making the same gesture to her to carry on.

This repeated several more times until it became apparent what Airen was doing. His opponent was also quick on the uptake, and after another failed attack she stepped back and gave Airen a slight bow.

“I see that Mister Airen is as skilled as the stories say.” Khema smiled while raising one of her hands to declare her defeat. ”I still have much to learn. Perhaps I’ll pick up a few things from Mister Airen when he is at the Amphitheater of Blades.“

Airen made no comment, instead he scanned the crowd for his next opponent.

It was time he made a point.

Airen’s next opponent was an older student Airen had seen on the training grounds, someone that embodied diligence. Everytime Airen would arrive at the training grounds, he would be there training away with his jabs and thrusts on a straw puppet or wooden post - and everytime Airen would leave, he would still be there, repeating the same jabs and thrusts.

Airen held a deep admiration for his opponent, Leyton- who gained his own success through hard work and ceaseless diligence.

Leyton gave Airen a curt nod before picking out a weapon and moving over to his side of the field. In response, Airen decided to use a scimitar against Leyton’s longsword.

After the usual courtesies, the match took off with Leyton instantly closing the distance and striking at Airen. The sound of metal striking metal rang out of the arena as Airen exchanged attacks. Neither of them used any techniques, instead relying on their own skill and expertise to try and overcome the other.

Every few exchanges, Airen would change stances, allowing him to gain a brief advantage in their battle. Still, there were only so many ways a sword can be swung, and it was then Airen regretted his choice of a weapon. Were he to have chosen a sword with a straight blade, he could attempt to switch to a reverse-grip to throw off his foe.

Still - there was a sort of relaxation to be found. The rhythm of the battle- the clashing of the swords, was oddly comfortable for Airen. Despite the age difference, they were both evenly matched. In swordplay, Airen’s opponent was much more skillful, but Airen made up with it with dexterity, experience and pin-point predictions. There was only so many ways a sword could approach- and Airen had seen them all. Airen had always favored being on the defensive and his opponent seemed to be the same- and thus it was as if their two swords were simply having a conversation with each other as the two exchanged blows.

Still, every battle eventually comes to an end, and for Airen, this came in the form of a Future Vision. Only a few select individuals managed to catch the glimpse of the lavender and rainbow colors at the edge of Airen’s eyes, but even then they were more concerned with the near-superhuman feat that occurred next.

Leyton struck with an overhead blow that would have caused any lesser man to reel back-and even a greater man to buckle. Airen did neither of the two, catching the strike with the back of the scimitar and guiding the attack to harmlessly land at the ground towards his left.

Before Leyton could recover, Airen slammed his left foot down, causing a cloud of dust to rise up. When it cleared a silence ran through the crowd as they saw that Airen had pinned Leyon’s weapon with his foot. Airen slowly held his weapon up towards his opponent’s exposed neck- and the duel was over.

Airen’s final opponent was a large hulking man that clearly had a bit of ogre blood in him. He was easily thrice Airen’s size, bald, and had arms that looked like they could easily wrench off a man’s head. Despite this intimidating demeanor, there were tell-tale signs of the man’s origin- with a faded slave tattoo and whip marks across the man’s arms, shoulders and back. He was without a doubt a veteran in battle.

“My name is Cairoken, a mercenary. Cairo for friends.” The man’s beady eyes looked over Airen before he introduced himself. In each hand he wielded a heavy broadsword that was easily the length of two of Airen’s arms. “Let us do battle and may the more skillful win.”

“Please.” Airen decided to match his opponents stance with wielding two weapons except he settled on a pair of fluted short swords instead. They would allow him to remain light on his feet, a significant advantage compared to having a bulky weapon.

As Airen expected, as soon as Wuulf's high-pitched whistle rang out, Cairo charged at Airen and lashed out with a powerful cleave. Not wanting to engage in a battle of strength, Airen decided it was better to dodge than block the overbearing attack.

Airen duck under the attack, but before he could counter strike, quickly twisted his body away as a horizontal chop came from Cairo's other weapon. Again before Airen could counterattack, Cairo shifted his grip on his weapon and lashed out against Airen's exposed flank.

"You are swift." Cairo commented in admiration after Airen parried the blow with one weapon behind his back and retreated.

"I can say the same to you." Airen confessed as well as he rolled his shoulders to shake out the slight numbness from blocking the attack.

"Still, you are the one more impressive. I would hate to be your opponent if you were my age, but alas a simple mercenary can't always pick his battles, even if it is a child." Cairo stretched his neck and rolled it around before taking a new stance, with one weapon raised high in the air and the other held horizontally upwards. It was an imposing intimidating stance, with the weapons forming a daunting X-shaped figure in the air.

“No mercenary that refers to themselves as ‘simple’ can possibly be simple.” Airen smiled grimly. “Especially not someone that uses the ‘Bearings of Arsha’. ”

“... How do you know its name?” Cairo’s eyes sharpened. “Where did you hear of it?”

“It was just a guess.” Airen shrugged, and took on a stance of his own. He swapped to a reverse-grip on his dominant hand, and spread his legs apart. With his left arm slightly extended at an angle, Airen pointed one weapon at his weapon. Unlike his opponent that crossed blades, Airen crossed his arms, causing his reverse-grip sword to point at his opponent. His stance seemed to draw a murmur throughout the crowd, but Airen was too focused on his opponent to care.

“As my old mentor likes to say... every generation, there are young heroes.” Cairo commented after seeing Airen’s stance. “I never caught your name?”

“Just Airen. A mere pawn in a game of higher powers than I.” Airen shrugged and quoted. “Enough time for pleasantries, I am sure we both have places we need to be.”

“Well said.” Cairo nodded and that was the end of the conversation on the battlefield. Compared to the high-adrenaline, rapid-paced beginning from before, it was much slower, yet with much more tension in the air.

Instead of circling the other and searching for the opponent's weak points, both Cairo and Airen held their stance and slowly advanced forward, sliding one feet along the sandy ground, moving up, and then repeating that movement.

As if on cue, right as they were a few meters from each other, they both stopped for a split second before they ‘leaped at the other’ like two magical beasts both aiming to devour the other.

Being the lighter and more agile of the two, Airen was the first to leap and cross the distance, but Cairo had the advantage of having significantly longer weapons. The black and dull blade streaked towards Airen’s left, but was only met with air.

In the next moment, a heavy clang rang out as to the audience’s surprise, Airen was the first one to land the first strike. Before there could be any further reaction from the crowd- the reverse-gripped weapon quickly follow up in a wide arc that struck at Cairo’s exposed shoulder. With one of his weapons pinned against Airen’s and the other in an unfavorable position from missing his strike, Cairo had no choice but to disengage and dodge the attack.

Yet as soon as Cairo took a step back, Airen took a step forward and lashed out once more, this time using his main hand to jab towards Cairo’s left. It was clearly intended to catch Cairo off guard, as he had retreated with his left foot back first. Airen’s opponent had no choice but to shift his weight to parry the strike, and at the same time lash out with his other weapon.

But to strike while being off balanced while wielding two-weapons makes for flawed attacks, and Airen took advantage of it. Easily parrying the blow by twisting his weapon catching the flat side of the longsword against hilt of his reverse-gripped short sword, Airen performed a riposte as slid his weapon down his opponent's weapon and struck at his opponent’s exposed hand.

To Airen’s shock, his opponent performed a similar maneuver as he had done. Cairo twisted his hand, causing the hilt to turn exactly enough to block Airen’s encroaching blade. As soon as blade met hilt, Cairo shifted his weight again lashed out. Put in a bad position due to his failed riposte, Airen had no choice but to roll with the attack while blocking it with his other weapon.

With both of Airen’s short swords being used to block only one of Cairo’s weapons, Cairo had free reign to attack, and forcing Airen to block each of his strikes with the combined force of both of his short swords. There are very few advantages to wielding a weapon longer than a dagger in a reverse-grip, and one of those were defense.

And the other was something Cairo would soon suffer. After another slash, Airen repeated the same maneuver by parrying with his reverse-grip sword and attempted another riposte. Of course, Cairo twisted his weapon in response, but at the same time, readied his other weapon in case Airen’s attack was a feint.

However, it was no feint as Airen’s fist smashed against Cairo’s face. This act not only caught everyone except Airen off-guard, but caused some angry shouts to resound throughout the arena. Cairo attempted to retreat and regain his senses after having a fist in his face, but Airen would give him no quarter. Everytime Cairo retreated, Airen would keep pushing forward, occasionally mixing in a punch or a kick. At one point, Airen even blocked a blow by punching out at his opponent’s hand before it made a full swing.

And that was how Airen won the battle- by utilizing his agility and frame and his opponent’s choice of weapon to prevent his enemy from even attacking. If Duncan had seen Airen, he would have compared this battle to the fight Airen had with Lilrum far in the past- except this time Airen was the aggressor cornering his prey.

It was too late for Cairo when he realized his feet had left the bounds of the arena and Wuulf blew the whistle to signify the end of the match.

"That is an unfair match! The boy used his fists but he was not disqualified!" A young, thin man started arguing with Wuulf after he had announced the winner. His stark gray hair made a sharp contrast with his age, but that was not the most eye-catching trait.

"Did I not state the rules clearly?" Wuulf snapped back. "Or are you as deaf as you are crippled?"

"But he used his fists and legs!" The young man shouted back after he recovered from Wuulf's scathing remark. It took Airen to realize that the man was indeed a cripple, having only one arm and a leg that was a rusty metal rod.

"I don't see the problem, especially when it's someone willing to wage their fist against a sword." Wuulf growled. "If they have the skill to escape without a broken or severed hand that is."

"Let it rest, Malcath. A victory is a victory nevertheless." Cairo gripped the man's uneven shoulders to signal him to drop it. "It is a friendly match and not a fight to the death."

Malcath snorted before glaring over at Airen. Airen met his eyes and after a brief moment, Malcath sighed and nodded his head at Airen.

"All is fair on the battlefield, and sometimes you have to sacrifice much to kill your enemies." Malcath conceded as he rubbed the shoulder without an arm attached.

"Now if you two are done squabbling over pointless semantics, get the hell off my field!" Wuulf roared, clearly unhappy that the battle had taken much longer than he expected.

"Airen, may we have a moment to chat?" To Airen's surprise, Cairo and Malcath jogged over and caught up with him as he exited through the crowd.

"Perhaps at a place less filled with tension and wanton eyes hoping for a fight." Malcath coughed loudly and several people in the crowd looked away.

"Fine. I can use a cool drink." Airen agreed, having an inkling of an idea of why they sought him out.

Several minutes later, in a local tavern known for serving a type of Guulash Ale, made from the gnarly spikes and fruits of a hardy yellow-colored cactus that grew only in the Red Slate Republic. The ingredients were readily available and the drink relatively easy to brew, but each tavern had their own 'twists' on the mix.

This particular tavern was known for the ‘Dragon’s Belly’, since they used cloves, cinnamon, licorice, along all manner of ingredients that would leave one’s stomach in flames. It was a drink for sipping and mulling over thoughts.

“What a little abomination. Did you drink alcohol from your mother’s teat instead of milk?” Malcath stared as Airen finished his second mug. Before the barkeeper could ask if Airen wanted another, Malacath chased him away with a hand gesture. This place was pricier then most.

“I will take that as a compliment.” Airen grinned as he set down the mug. Several of the patrons looked over at Airen’s direction as if they had seen a monster, especially since Airen appeared no more than a young boy.

“I appreciate the drink, but can we get down to business?” Airen took a look around him and decided he was better off elsewhere. Many of the people in this tavern bared the posture and aura of seasoned adventurers, or battle-hardened slaves with the marks of gladiators. There were some that were neither but were like Malcath, thin and seemingly hiding weapons behind their clothes, and those were the ones Airen were wary of.

“Of course, we shouldn’t keep you.” Cairo nodded before his face tensed up. “I have only one question for you, Master Airen, and I am hoping you know the answer.”

“And that question is?” Airen met Cairo’s fierce eyes.

“From where did you learn the name of that stance I used?” Cairo spoke bluntly and directly. “I do not know the origins of where I hail, much less the name of some of the skills I used. Even the name you’ve given me is a clue to my past.”

“You have amnesia?” Airen’s eyes furrowed. He did not truly think that amnesia was something that could happen to people since ‘it was something in cheap tales’, as Fieluri put it.

Malcath and Cairo exchanged a look before turning back towards Airen.

“...Venosphora.” Malcath hissed, and that word caused the quiet tavern to rouse with half of the patrons looking over at their direction. Some cursed and took deeper drinks of their beverage, hoping to block out the emotions that word invoked.

“It’s something slavers force some of the more combative slaves to drink.” Cairo said slowly. “It’s usually never used except in cases where there is an asset of major value. And the effects-”

“Memory loss.” Airen had long realized the implications and finished the sentence.

“And if you are forced to drink it, or if it is slipped into your drink long enough, there’s no returning back.” Malcath sniffed before taking another mouthful of the burning drought. “It is a common tale.”

In the corner of his eye, Airen saw several patrons nod their heads in agreement with a bitter smile. Others put a hand on their weapons, as if they were the only thing that defended them against the unknown. To know nothing about themselves and be forced to rely on nothing but their skills of slaughtering…that was a pitiful existence..

"And that's why you came to me, because I knew the name of that stance." Airen confirmed his suspicion and cursed his loose tongue.

"Memories can be lost, but not the habits and instincts of one's body." Cairo shook his head ruefully. "I have asked around several League of Adventurer branches, paid good gold for false information, uncovered the identity and tortured the one who made me a slave. Of course, they had no information for me, not even my name. Now that I am a free man, I wish to seek my origins. You have a clue to-"

"It will cost you nothing to tell us what you know and we will gladly pay you." Malacth cut Cairo off with a wave of his hand and turned to Airen.

"I can't help you." Airen said quietly and slowly. "I just happened by chance to see it in a drawing, with the figure bearing the same stance you did. And that painting was called the 'Bearings of Arsha'."

"For all I know, it is the name of the painting and not the stance."Airen finished.

"Where did you see this painting?" Malacath tapped his fingers against the table after reasoning out that Airen had no reason to lie. “We should take a look too.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. The painting no longer exists.” Airen shook his head. The original artwork was painted by Keri on her travels, and it has since been seized by Fieluri. Of course, Airen could ‘ask’ for her to give it to him, but that would involve more trouble than it was worth.

“Then we can ask the original author. It would be harder to find them but much more of use. Perhaps we can ask a-” Malcath started.

“You can try that, I suppose.” Airen nodded. Even he did not know where Keri is, was, or had been since their parting. “But who knows how long ago or how recent the painting was created. The artist could have been long gone.”

“Airen is right. There is little reason for false hope.” Cairo shook his head. “Can you at least describe the painting for us?”

“It is a full-sized portrait of a warrior cloaked in red silks.” Airen replied. “Standing on a field of grass, he is looking at the viewer, holding himself in the same stance you had earlier. There is a streak of white to show the sun’s glint off the crossed weapons, and the figure’s face is hidden behind a red silk veil. You cannot tell if the person is a male or a female based on their figure- but I think it was a woman based on the picture.”

“The picture had an intimidating yet serene aura. It’s the same feeling when facing down someone in battle, but there is no tension, only a deep respect and the hope for an honorable and fulfilling battle.” Airen finished, recalling that striking pose and picture.

“...It sounded like a very powerful picture. I would have liked to see it.” Cairo commented before turning to Malcath.

“A sea of grass sounds like many places… but perhaps the Dew Plains would be a good place to start.” Malcath said after thinking a while. “It’s a long and arduous journey from here.”

"It is said that many of the inhabitants from and beyond the Dew Plains are also half-breeds." Airen agreed. "It's more likely you will find information there."

"No need- consider it my thanks for the drinks." Airen stopped Cairo as he reached towards his coin pouch. "If anything, I am ashamed that I cannot do more."

"You're a good child, Airen. You should leave the Republic as soon as possible." Cairo places a few coins on the table as he stood up along with Malcath to leave. “Even if you have a powerful backer, this sort of country only turns people into monsters."

After Cairo and Malcath left, Airen made to leave as well - except he caught a familiar face in the corner of his eye and stopped in his tracks. There, in the corner of the room with a table full of empty bottles, sat a haggard and broken man.

“Menda?” Airen spoke aloud without realizing, and the haggard man looked up. After a brief moment a dim flash of recognition appeared in the man’s eyes.

“...Oh, it’s you.” Menda tried to muster a smile, but ended up coughing. Every time the man heaved, Airen would catch a whiff of alcohol. It was as if the man had drank nothing but hard liquor for the past month.

“Glad to see that some made it out of that slaughterhouse.” Menda pushed away a few bottles off to the side of the table and gesture for Airen to sit. Looking over the table, Airen noticed several filled cups- but the seats they were at were empty. Airen decided to sit down in one of the empty seats without a cup in front of it. Menda placed a stone cup in front of Airen and started to pour, but his shaking fingers cause some of the alcohol to spill all around the cup and soaking onto the table. Judging by how there were several damp spots already on the surface of the table, Menda had been here for some time. After Menda finished, Airen picked up the cup and clinked it against the lonely cups without owners on the table, before drinking it down.

“You don’t seem to be holding up well. I heard rumors of what happened to that League of Adventurer’s convoy.” Airen said quietly. “...You lost everyone?”

Menda nodded slowly as he started to refill a drink. After spilling about half a cup’s worth, he scowled and abandoned the cup and drank straight from the bottle.

“I should have died with them.” Menda replied slowly, his words slurred. “Sadia was my ward, and Nina and Ester were planning on getting married and starting a transportation business. This was supposed to be our last adventure in these lands, and we were to go home to the Kingdom of Four Winds.”

“Sadia never liked this place.” Menda continued without waiting for Airen to reply. “But I pushed her, saying that it would be good for her to see the world, even the bad parts of it. But I was wrong, so dreadfully wrong.”

“This is a place where good things only happen to bad people, and good people are left with nothing. ” Menda chuckled madly as he finished his bottle, slamming it on the table and picking up another one. “The powers that rule here cares for nobody except the rich and powerful, and strength rules all. Truly a filthy society.”

“But still, at the very least, a society moves according to rules, even if they don't serve everyone.” Menda snorted, and Airen thought it was better to let the man rant than interrupt. “And then you have individuals that skirts the law, and bring ruin to the lives of normal people. Individuals like ... the Necromancer.”

“Telsin… the name of a Divine Being and the name of a mass murderer.” Menda mocked. “Leader of endless armies of dead, master of life and death, and if you have what he seeks, he would gladly wipe out a country for it. But if you refuse him… people will die until he gets that which he seeks.”

“Yes, I looked into it.” Menda smirked at Airen after seeing the surprise in his eyes. “The Necromancer is looking for something in the Red Slate Republic, and the Council couldn’t give it to him.”

“Rumors are the Necromancer and Lord Dumeis are trying to negotiate, but it is not going well. ” Menda commented. “It’ll only be a matter of time till the Necromancer will start searching in public instead of acting in the night.”

“I don’t know what he’s looking for but…” Menda’s gaze turned cold and hard. “But when he comes… I’ll be there for him.”

“You should best be going, young boy. And I’d advise you to leave this damned country as soon as possible, especially with that mentor of yours.” Menda sighed. “The hardest thing is being a mentor and watching your student die in front of you while you can’t do anything. But for an adventurer… it’s a common tale.”

“Sadia...” The last words Airen heard as he quietly left remained a grim impression on his mind. No words could express the amount of sorrow contained in that voice.

“Your stance is good, but you’re being out-classed in speed.” Fieluri pointed out as Airen sparred with a female warrior that wielded a hand crossbow and a fang-dagger.

It was a grueling battle for Airen- his opponent constantly dipped in and out of Airen’s range, and matched his movement step for step. Everytime Airen tried to attack, the hand-crossbow would rise and a magical bolt would shoot in Airen’s direction, forcing him to dodge or defend as he had no magical prowess of his own.

“Ald!” Airen shouted as yet another Fireball shot in his direction, barely diffusing the blast of flame with the kinetic blast. However, his opponent took advantage at the momentary loss of vision caused by the spell and had closed the advantage to lunge out at him.

Airen managed to raise his weapon to parry the blow, but his opponent quickly disengaged and followed up with a jab at Airen’s left. Unable to adjust his sword arm in time, Airen had no choice but to shift his weight and dodge the blow.

However, that attack was no more than a feint, and his opponent had put no force behind the blow. Instead, she twisted her body and shot a quick Firebolt at Airen’s hand. The flames seared into Airen’s hand, causing him to wince and drop his weapon. At the same time, it disbalanced him, and he tripped as he tried to dodge midair to the side.

“And you’ve lost.” Right before the woman, whom had suddenly disappeared and reappeared Airen as he was mid-fall, sank her dagger into Airen’s back, Fieluri snapped her fingers. A bright light briefly overtook the arena, and by the time Airen finally hit the ground, the woman had returned to being a memory from an old and faded scroll bounded in red silk.

“Fighting against someone that uses magic like that is a hard task for me.” Airen sighed as he picked himself up. He took a brief look at his hand and watched as the burns and scraped skin was covered with white light and vanished.

“The strongest of enemies will mix sword and sorcery, and it is high time your handicap was taken away from you.” Fieluri yawned and did not even look at Airen’s direction as she responded. “Perhaps since now you are actually taking things seriously, it’ll teach you how to overcome your weaknesses.”

“Again.” She snapped her fingers and the woman with red hair and cladded in red silks reappeared.

After several more successive losses. Airen was sprawled out over the ground heaving and trying to catch his breath. He had tried several things- from preventing his opponent from casting spells, to trying to read when his opponent is casting spells, and even at one point, trying to tank the magical blast head on and attacking the enemy, but ultimately his opponent’s speed and strength still greatly surpassed him.

“Well, at the very least, you made a bit of progress.” Fieluri tutted as she circled his vision. “And you put up a bit of a fight, although you have never won.”

“I would have won if I could have used Future Visions, but I see why you prevented it.” Airen grumbled and sat up. “Blooming left me too exposed, and Flash Stance is useless against someone with ranged capabilities and the ability to escape it in melee range.”

“Why would people use swords when magic is so versatile?” Airen sighed. “If they had a sword of flames or were able to cast a large area of effect ability, I would have lost already. And this opponent, like you said, wasn’t even a talented mage.”

“You are learning. That is good.” Fieluri clapped her hands slowly. “You will have to learn how to fight against these opponents eventually, and now is a good as time as any other. I can assure you that if you don’t, you will suffer greatly in the future.”

“I know that already.” Airen picked himself off the ground and rolled his shoulders and joints. “So how are you going to teach me to fight against them since I know my shortcomings already?”

“Well, well, already demanding lessons. What makes you think that I’ll just give it to you free of charge?” Fieluri teased as she shrugged and flicked him for his impudence.

“We’ve had this song and dance before, and we know it ends.” Airen dodged Fieluri’s finger when she tried to flick him again. “You’re the one that brought this up, so I’m sure you’ve already had something in mind, some plot of sorts that’ll come back to this moment far in the future.”

“Why, the accusations!” Fieluri chuckled as she sat down in an armchair once more and settled in. “You are only wrong on one count. This is something that should have come a long time ago, and I was simply too easy on you.”

“Ah, but there were some things in which you are correct on.” Fieluri clapped her hands and the surroundings around them transformed into the painted world of Osperica.

“It’s a common tale, Airen. Stories go through ‘training arcs’ and the protagonists suddenly gets a spike in strength.” Fieluri chuckled. “But reality is cruel.”

“There are so many stories with the same tale. Someone is blessed with talent,wealth, or knowledge from a past life, or they have an impossibly fruitful encounter. Perhaps even all of the above.”

“Airen, you are none of those. I can grant all of them to you, but I will not- because ours is a story that perhaps the most dreamt of and the most simple of all.”

“And a long, long time from now- You will come to curse me for it.”