Before I knew it, my left leg lunged to where his right would be. Where I expected to meet a heal, I found nothing. Followed by a tug from an escaping foot on the other side of my leg’s follow through.

I wound up tumbling once more. Made to eat dust for the third time in two days.

Ashes.

I stayed on the ground long enough to see a wall of faces, dotted with smirks approach me.

I couldn’t bring myself to meet anyone's eyes. Not that many cared, the majority were still too focused running.

When me and Jusuf ran, two years ago, there was never this intensity. It was just fitness. But even yesterday with the silvers, I saw an almost zealous focus. They didn’t look a lot stronger, but they moved with much more control and power. I was too weak to even realise how much weaker I was. Was it all the pyre?

I’d heard what it could do for a man. Focus, fuel, strength. But they said we couldn’t train it too young, it corrupted the mind. I only knew of it from books and listening to embers. I knew it as craft. The stuff mages used.

You’d call it pyre when a man beat a bull or maybe even fell a tree with his hands. and I of people like Edric that trained it as young as eleven. But he had his father’s help, the most powerful ember in the village.

Common thought still stood against him though. You needed some craft in you to make the knights templar. The old templars from village had always trained the youth and never thought it right to teach it before we turned of age, by them that being fifteen, as golds. ‘No rush.’ they’d say, ‘Let the vase shape before you fill it.’ What changed? The keeper?

Jusuf had trained with them too. Is that how he handled Lex? Why didn’t he tell me earlier about the pyre? I wondered why he brought me at all when he knew I would be this bad.

For the last few laps, I still struggled finding that same rhythm. I managed to avoid being too close to the back, yet never really caught up with the main group. I wasn’t exactly jubilant to be done though. After running there was combat, and I had too many enemies and knew too little about them and everything else.

I used to watch some of the golds fights when I was younger. They fought how I’d seen all men fight, just four limbs propelled by fury and fear. Whether it was by the village bar, impassioned by spirit, or when the keepers had to restrain some of the boys in the orphanage, the ones who’d grown cold from abandonment and loneliness, they'd each fight with the same bare fists.

I’d even seen the fight of men in the circus. They’d come for the annual carnival and stage all the conflicts of man. When they swung they reached further than dogs could leap, their steps and knuckles more precise than dance.

Often I’d wonder how some men moved so fast. Or reacted so quick. It would be a tiny bit out of character. One punch would have skipped a moment, just enough to catch the assailed off guard. Sometimes, by the bar, if there was a crowd, there would be murmurs of pyre or rarer still, craft.

I knew what the skilled could do. With pyre great knights like Tabamor could slay dragons and wreaths. They could wrestle bears and race the wind. I knew less of craft but I’d read men tamed fires and commanded the earth, imposing their will on the world.

When I trained with the silvers last dawn there wasn’t much telling. There was mentions of it before the run, the pyre, but I took it all as boyish fancies. But maybe they were all too fast.

“Line up. Height order.” The keeper’s force was like a gong ringing. Everyone was sent into action, from the smallest boy the line built. The other boys stood were they expected to be and slotted into place as the line shaped. This was practiced. I ended up fumbling my way to the back.

“With enough leverage you can move the world, but advantages like that are few and far between, the world’s a sadistic mistress boys, best you learn that young.” The Keeper casted us a crooked smile and continued, “Exploit any gifts you’re given and overcome whatever else. Matchup tallest and shortest, when I say go, you fight.”

Like a hurricane, the boys scurried around, I stood in the centre of the chaos, riling up with the motion. my heart throbbing like bubbling lava. I had some fears, but I’d yet to see anything too impressive. I could manage.

“It’s you and me.” A boy, that looked too young for even the rusts approached me. He was the one that was first in line, the shortest here. There wasn’t much to his voice, neither fear nor excitement, although his eyes still seemed wary. I recognised him from the race, he finished a bit after me. The sack of weight proving it was more of an opponent than he could handle.

“Haha, you may just win this one Jasp.” I heard a boy jeer from nearby.

“A runt against a big runt, hah, wish I could just watch,” More hollers came. More taunting. And in me, more anger.

I wanted to put them in their place. Pyre be damned. If we were in the orphanage I might lax his food or take something of his, small sabotages for compensation. Jusuf always wanted to fight my battles, but I preferred acting in the shadows, you made less enemies that way. But right now I just wanted to slam their heads through the mud.

The boy was two years younger, small, and considering how slow he was with the bag, weak. I had nothing against him so I didn’t want to hurt him. I had to figure out a way to either make him submit quickly or scare him into quitting. Worst case I would injure him on his instep, groin or knees, he was still young so he could recover from any of those with ease but he’d have to think twice before fighting with an injury there. Sternum, solar plexus, kidneys, jaw where all off the table. All the books on combat brought those areas up as vulnerable spots. I wished I read more into how the body was connected, the sleep spots Jackus .L Strauman mentioned could have been useful here if I needed to fight more.

Everyone set up facing their opponent, leaving a span of space between pairs. We were at the edge of the clearing. I hadn’t paid much attention to the other groups. The golds seemed to have disappeared into the forest, the silver’s too. The rusts were doing exercises at the other side of the clearing. I could hear the familiar scraping of Vam’s yelling from here.

“Go.”

I raised my fists ready. But my reflexes were too slow. Before I even had my guard up I’d lost him. I felt a kick on the back of my knee, forcing a grunt out of me and my eyebrows to raise bewildered.

I tried turning, but only saw a flash and felt an elbow at my gut, doubling me over. I made sure to keep my eyes open and alert, but that may have just been fear. A shove came from my back and I lurched forward. I was going to fall flat again. My shock morphed into frustration as I struggled to answer all the questions flitting through my mind, the most pressing of which being how I would save myself from my fourth soil-y encounter.

I pivoted on one foot, using my falling momentum to speed my turn, and swung an outside crescent kick. It was a blind and wild move but was all I could muster. To my surprise, I met resistance, my heel colliding with his forearm. He’d blocked, pushing against me in the process. I fell to my back, leaving him now standing in front of me, looking more tired now than when running. What. Just. Happened.

Sweat sloped his forehead and his eyes looked bleary, but there was still grit to them. I forced myself quickly back up and into a defensive stance,looking more alarmed than combative. He did the same, his movement sluggish. He’s tired? Or is it bait?

He looked worn. But the fight hadn’t even lasted a minute so far. He’d moved so quick, why would he need to bait me? He moved too quick. Too quick.

I tested a kick at his legs. And he blocked with ease, but he swiped it away with his arms. Interesting. I noticed his stance now, jagged and unstable. Whatever he had done he likely injured himself doing it.

He may have just been tired, then I could win by endurance, I was hurt but nothing damning. But that would be a battle of attrition, against a twelve-year-old. Twelve dammit. Lunar would have laughed.

I sweeped a kick big at his knees. Again he tried to block with his hands. There was a pulse of strength that resisted my leg. It felt wild and strong and desperate. Too powerful for a kid, too brief to stop me. As quickly as it came it went, leaving my leg barrelling through. I almost wanted to celebrate but I realised I had won nothing. He toppled over and I came to my senses, rushing forward to see if he was fine, however I hesitated, deciding only to go as close as an arms span away.

No words were exchanged. Jasp laid on the ground, took a deep breath, and looked at me with a bored defeated expression like this was nothing new. Within the boredom I saw pity and couldn’t quite understand why. I could see him fight wincing and groaning as he felt around his body, but his lips still fought to stay straight and his eyes steady. He got up and limped away, walking over by the trees to rest.

I was left alone panting for breath. There had been no bystanders, everyone locked in their own little war. By the time I had recovered there were only a few fights left.

“There’s a wolf in you, behind those books, beyond words and thoughts, it’s in your nature.” A voice said, the words sounded more like a poem or recital but they seemed to be directed towards me.

“You ever seen it before?” The voice came from behind me, this time direct and distinct. I turned to see the keeper. He was not looking at me, instead he stood scanning the other fights. This was my second time being so close to the mysterious man. He smelled a busy kind of rough, like he had worked caves and dungeons in the same dress.

“See what?” I asked.

“The pyre boy the pyre, I know you felt it when you ran, haha, and the shock in your eyes when little Jasper used it! He's made some good progress that one.” He spoke with a pirate’s charm but an embers brightness, the kind of talk that could chirpse a maiden’s maiden. This time I noticed he had oddly large hands, the kind that you could imagine teased boulders to half, and he had a tight gold ring on his left hand. It was impressive too, it made me wonder how they painted it so convincingly.

It took me some time to bring together a response to his words. “What is it exactly? How’d I use it... sir?”

“They all know me as Nimor, you might as well call me the same.” he said.

“king of the lost?” I murmured, Velma’s drilling of Cenmar seeping out of me.

He turned to me, letting me see his eyes flash. “It’s a joke my mother had, it translates better as the leader of the losing,” he said, giving me a wry chuckle, then with crossed brows asked, “Where’d an urchin learn Cenmar? I didn’t think even embers here would bother learning it.”

“I...I live at the Tomes, Velma taught it to me.” when I said Velma I could see a spark of recognition pass through his eyes.

“Mhhhm” He gave a slight nod, and said no more. He turned to the other boys. They’d all finished now and were already beginning to break into talks again.

Nimor walked away, finding the centre of all the boys. “I saw all the fights. A lot of improvements, more of you using craft than before. Good. Round two. Pick whoever you want. Settle your grudges, I don’t care.”

Most of the boys lit up at his words. I was on a slight high having won my fight, now seeing eyes dart my way, my confidence crashed. Boys partnered up, many laughing as they squared each other up, suggesting they were friends. I noticed many honest rivalries. Giddiness, excitement and respect shown in different measures all around. Then I saw hate. I saw black long hair and pointy features.

“You’re a friend of Jusuf? Why don’t I recognise you from the Keep?” The question came from the long-haired boy who ran with the leading trio. His eyes still sharp. He looked barely worn, even after the running and fighting.

The orphanage was referred to as the keep for those that only came for the lessons. During the day they’d teach low Yoren, basic reading and writing, and some arithmetic to any boys who got it. Usually it was kids nine and older, but Me and Lunar used to listen in as young as five, Jusuf rarely joining. The literacy helped us steal half a dozen of a baker’s loaf’s once, we mastered forgery, penning a large order from his wife to the ascetic’s tower.

Those with no families at the Keep stayed, we were usually apprenticed into trades through time or funnelled into the church. Some made the army but few had the skill or support. Supposedly the ascetics offered Vam extra money to train us in body as well as mind, knights earned there village and family extra compensation and considering we had none currently it made sense for the ascetics to invest in the us urchins.

He tried waiting me out but I didn’t answer the boy. I saw his irritation. He smirked and continued, “Okay, looks like it’s just you and me with no partners, we can talk with fists. We’ll know if you’re friends from Jusuf’s face when he sees you bloody,”

What has Jusuf been doing.

It was clear that Nimor was about to commence the fights. Again, my heart pounded hard. My palms started sweating. I deepened my breath to calm myself. I couldn’t run. Jasper was enough to alarm me, this was probably not going to go well.

Nimor’s voice yelled, “Go.”

It all happened too quick for thought. With a boom something crashed across the centre of the clearing. Not something, someone. Some shouts and screams sounded, forcing my heart to pound hard and fast. The air become heavy, and my fear made my vision swim. I felt a need to leave but an even stronger pull to figure out what just happened swayed me, I knew I’d be too anxious if I left and did not. As the cloud of dust that shaped from the crash cleared, I recognised what was the centre of it all. It was one of the ascetics. One of the powerful embers who ran the village now here looking scraggier and bloodier than I’d ever been.