The Elyfesta floats above the sky as it always has, blessing the world with its rays of light. The cool winds drift through the forest, announcing the gradual entrance of autumn. It feels just like another day, mundane life going on as usual as Avalel and Kavlina return from the village school. The leaves rustle above, greeting them as they pass by, the little pebbles beneath their feet giving satisfying crunches as they are stepped on.

Avalel’s brown hair sways to the wind, allowing the millions of small particles to pat his head. He hasn’t grown much since that encounter, but instead of a weak, skinny frame, he now possesses a more athletic build, his hands and feet rough from all the physical activity and training with Faresoenn. An aura of confidence conceals his inner self, displayed through a light, supposedly mature smile. Yet this facade is only a shallow veil. It has been long broken by the friend walking alongside him, who has known him and his habits for four years already.

Kavlina walks leisurely with calm strides, her cold, gray eyes piercing whatever is in front of her, emanating an aura of coldness contrasting to Avalel’s warmth. She has grown much in the past four years, becoming even taller than Avalel and possessing a finer build. To mask her emotions, she has wrapped herself in a rather unappealing shell, distancing herself from many to protect her fragile self. Of course, this aura, this appearance, quickly crumbles when she’s with Avalel. The two of them know each other as well as friends possibly can.

“Can’t believe it’s been four years already,” Avalel notes. “Four years since I met you.”

“Since we met each other, you mean,” Kavlina quickly responds.

“Sorry, oops.”

“Can’t believe you’re the ‘humble one’, praised by all while I’m the self-serving loner, Lel,” Kavlina says. The nickname was once a mistake on Kavlina’s part in an attempt to call Avalel, but it quickly stuck, becoming a personal name used only by Kavlina to Avalel.

“You just need to talk more with people,” Avalel says. “It’s easy once you start a conversation.”

“Easy for you, maybe.”

“But you talk fine with me.”

“There is a difference between someone I trust and someone I don’t.” She takes a few quick steps forward, her dark hair fluttering a little. “Come on, hurry up. The Old Man is waiting.” Soon, her pace is already at a jog, her feet kicking up the soil behind her.

“She’s great at ending conversations, isn’t she?” Avalel mutters before he, too, jogs behind her, feeling the wind massage his face.

The neat, pebbled road soon turns into a dirt path, patches of grass and weeds growing to the side. It’s always the same, the same plants welcoming them, the same chirps and squeaks from the bushes, the same puffs of dust as they make step after step on the path. After a while, the same house appears in their view, always kept in such a good shape, the wood and bricks never struggling, the paint always so vivid and powerful. At the door, of course, is Faresoenn, standing next to two wooden mannequins, his right hand holding two rather worn down sticks, the surface rugged with chipped up bits.

“You two are quick as usual,” Faresoenn says as Avalel and Kavlina show up sweating before him. “Did the teacher release you early?” Without even waiting for an answer, he hands them their sticks, signaling the beginning of their day’s training regimen.

Faresoenn is already forty-eight years of age now, the age finally beginning to show in the form of wrinkles on his forehead. Yet, despite becoming quite lean over the last four years, his strength is still unfading, doing his routines to the villagers as usual, with maybe the occasional conversation with the village head.

“Dad, I’ll go get changed first,” Avalel says, placing the stick by the wall. “My clothes are becoming quite sticky from the sweat.”

“You’ll just get your other set of clothes dirty as well,” Faresoenn replies. “Your clothes aren’t too bad right now, and I still have an appointment with the village council later.”

“Again? What is it this time?”

“Well…” Faresoenn sighs. “It’s something to do with a group of people from the Outside who stumbled upon our village.”

“The Outside?” Avalel exclaims. “Do you mean we might finally have stable contact with them?”

“... Maybe,” Faresoenn says tiredly, although quickly returning to his previous mood. “Anyway, let’s begin our routine today, shall we?”

“Alright.” Slightly disappointed, Avalel grabs the stick again and begins making his way to one of the mannequins. Kavlina, having put down her bag, is already hitting the mannequin systematically with her stick, making clear sounds as she steadily whacks the object. Her arms are firm, delivering each blow with strength yet remaining steady enough to maintain the rhythm. Gradually, the speed increases along with the variations, from thrusts to swings, utilizing not just her tools but her arms and legs. Avalel, although also hitting the mannequin with a similar frequency, finds the sounds quieter, the vibrations from the mannequin less violent.

The passion, the ferocity, the determination to hit something, even if it’s just an inanimate object, is somewhat lacking inside Avalel himself, only fueled lightly by the will to at least compete with Kavlina at some level. Kavlina, meanwhile, seems as if she is exhausting every bit of her energy in an attempt to not just beat down the mannequin, but to destroy it. There is no clear emotion on her face, but it’s as if her strikes are powered by a burning anger, letting the emotions boil and release them through her limbs.

“Stop!” Faresoenn suddenly shouts, bringing their actions to a halt. “That was a nice warm up, wasn’t it?”

Avalel quickly drops his stick, breathing shakily as he tries to catch his breath. Kavlina, meanwhile, merely lowers her stick, still twirling it a little with movement from her wrist. From the corner of Avalel’s eyes, he sees her still standing calmly, releasing controlled puffs of air in regular intervals.

“How… Every time…” he gasps, still shocked at Kavlina’s flat expression.

She bends down a little, staring at Avalel’s reddened face. “At this rate, you won’t be protecting me, but the other way round.” She winks, smiling as she straightens herself again.

“You still remember what I said from that long ago?” Avalel says, sweating even more.

“Well, it seems you also remember what you said, don't you?”

Avalel has no answer. He forces himself back up, facing Faresoenn as they wait for the next set of instructions.

“Avalel, your stamina is still terrible,” Faresoenn remarks. “It’s just been a short warm up, and you’re already like this?”

“Dad—”

“At least I saw a bit of improvement in your frequency of hits. That’s pretty good considering you look exactly the same as yesterday.” Faresoenn laughs. “Maybe you should run a few errands for me once in a while. Helps your lungs, eh?”

Avalel coughs. “Oh, please, I can already guess how difficult they are.”

“You’ll have to help this old man do his job one day. At this rate, you’ll die of exhaustion before you reach the village square!” He laughs again, turning his attention now to Kavlina. “Kavlina, you, however, are improving quite well recently. Your stamina is definitely better than that young man next to you, and your hits are also connecting nicely.”

“Thanks, Old Man,” Kavlina says.

“But!” Faresoenn suddenly says. “Since you constantly call me Old Man, I have to point out some flaws, nitpicking until I can’t nitpick anymore.”

“Well, you are starting to look like one—”

“First!” Faresoenn interrupts before Kavlina can finish. “I noticed there’s a brief pause between your kicks and your next attack, whether from your fist or the stick. The gap is enough for me, maybe even enough for someone like Avalel to start a counterattack. Also, you are becoming a little too focused on the offensive aspect of combat. This is self-defense, not beating someone to your pleasure. It causes more gaps to show up, exposing your vulnerability to others.”

“Alright, I’ll change it,” Kavlina mumbles reluctantly, tapping her foot on the ground.

“Now that I’ve finished criticizing you two, it’s time for today’s actual training!” Faresoenn says excitedly. Going into the house briefly to put away the mannequins, he soon exits with… nothing on his hands. Instead, without a word, he walks past the two of them, heading to a freshly cleared path, the aroma of the fallen leaves and branches still wisping to their noses.

“The training’s this way!” he says, beckoning for them to follow. Confused, Avalel and Kavlina walk closely behind him, feeling the bushes from either side of the path grazing against their legs, the trees bowing close to their heads. It isn’t a long walk, however, as they soon reach a small clearing, the bushes and grass all cleared away, leaving only a large patch of exposed soil.

“Took me quite a few days, but I managed to get rid of all those bushes. Thankfully there aren’t many trees here, so this is the ideal training ground,” Faresoenn introduces proudly. Yet in Avalel’s eyes, there is the patch of empty ground, and the patch only.

“Uh, Dad… Don’t you have something set up here to be a training ground?” he asks.

“No,” Faresoenn says. “The purpose of this training ground is simple: to be a place where you two can compete against each other!”

“Do you mean we are to fight each other here?” Kavlina asks.

“Yes, and that will be the training today!” Faresoenn exclaims. “I figure you two have already learned quite a lot over these years, so it’s time to put it to the test.” He steps aside, leaving only Avalel and Kavlina on the grounds. “For today, there’ll be just a simple goal: to knock the other’s stick away from their hand. I have to rush to meet the village council now. Meet me at the village square once you’re done!”

“Wait, you’re just going to leave us here?” Avalel shouts in confusion and dismay. However, Faresoenn has already left, quickly departing from the path they came from.

“The Old Man sure runs fast,” Kavlina mutters, shaking her head. “Well, I guess I just need to knock away your stick to complete today’s so-called training.”

Avalel sighs as he grips his stick. “This is going to be just torture.”

“Are you seriously giving up before it has even started?” Kavlina asks. “Or are you just afraid to face me head-on?”

“What? No!” Avalel manages a weak laugh. “As if I’ll admit my defeat this easily—”

Clang! He suddenly raises the stick, just in time to parry Kavlina’s first strike.

“Well then, Lel,” she says, pushing closer against Avalel. “Focus.”

Avalel quickly steps to the side, weaving his steps, parrying Kavlina’s blows. A thrust. He dodges, only for his chest to be hit by a follow up swing. He coughs, bringing his stick closer as he parries another blow near his shoulder.

“Slow,” Kavlina comments, driving a kick to his abdomen. He wheels back, nearly releasing the grip to his stick. He quickly blocks the next blow with his left arm, feeling a sharp pain stunning the entire limb. Another kick, aiming for his stomach again. However, he sees it. An opening. He dodges, swinging against Kavlina’s back.

That’s it—

A sudden headbutt, knocking him off balance. Before he can even react, he is forced to the ground, pinned down as the stick is wrung away from his hand, immediately tossed away to the bushes.

“Easy,” Kavlina says, releasing her grip as she stands back up. “Although… my head hurts a little.” She lightly rubs her forehead, feeling a bruise forming there.

Slowly, Avalel brings himself to his feet, feeling his ragged breathing. Sweat runs down his back, completely drenching his clothes. He even feels a little nausea, his vision blurring a bit from the headbutt earlier.

“Talk about getting hurt…” he groans, his left arm still buzzing in pain. “Can you help me a bit—”

“I guess training’s finished for today,” Kavlina says, completely ignoring Avalel’s pleas. “I assume we can just leave the sticks here.” She tosses her stick on the ground, beginning making her way out. Despite being in a similar appearance to Avalel, her hair and clothes similarly drenched in sweat, she seems completely unaffected as she walks away.

“Wait, aren’t you going to assist an injured, helpless person?” Avalel pleads.

“No,” she answers swiftly.

“What—”

“But I will help a good friend.” Chuckling, she grabs Avalel by his left arm, tugging him along. “Plus, you aren’t even that injured.”

“My arm, my arm, my arm!” Avalel shouts frantically.

The two of them leisurely walk to the village square, the two-storey brick buildings so imposing and tall in their eyes. Some aren’t exactly the most aesthetically pleasing, but many are built with great care, the glass windows so clean and polished. Their shoes, so used to the raw soil and dirt, rub uncomfortably against the paved brick roads, even though the two of them regularly go to the area for school.

Yet as they approach the proximity of the village hall, the apparent emptiness of the streets become unnerving. The usually bustling streets, always having at least two or three pedestrians no matter the time, are completely silent except for some murmurs from the proximity of the hall. The Elyfesta is dipping now, the sky a warm orange so different from the cold streets.

“This is…” Avalel murmurs.

“Strange,” Kavlina finishes.

Finally, they turn to the street leading to the village hall. Immediately, they are greeted with two separate groups of people on either side of the entrance. On the left, Faresoenn and the council members, completely unarmed and mostly tense, hiding their terror within. On the right, a large group of armored people, wearing something so familiar to Avalel and Kavlina back then. The same emblem, etched inside their memories the same as they are etched into their armor plates.

“Dad—” Avalel calls but is abruptly interrupted by Faresoenn, noticing his raised hand.

“Do you realize what you all are doing here?” Faresoenn says warily, his eyes focused on the group of people. “This village is a haven for the weak, not a base for the murderers calling themselves ‘soldiers’.”

“Of all people, I thought you’d understand,” the lead soldier says. “Faresoenn, the former Captain of the royal guard, once so mighty, yet now cowering in this little isolated settlement.”

“My king is dead. I have decided to move to this village, protecting one of the only places away from this war. And now you all are here to trample on one of the last bastions of peace? What gain will you have in slaughtering us all just to make this place your temporary home?”

“We will simply move in here for a short while. The villagers, including you, will be able to enjoy security and the continuation of your mundane lives. Is this not a good deal?”

“Leave,” Faresoenn says sternly. “Find another place to build your base. The village is not yours to freely enter and exit.”

“You leave us with no choice, Faresoenn,” the soldier says. “Let’s see if you can protect this village with your might alone against our company of a hundred soldiers.” He turns to face Avalel. “Especially when you have a… child who bears so much resemblance to your king himself.”

The soldiers raise their rifles, immediately being met with the frightened gasps of the council elders. Avalel and Kavlina can only stand, helpless as they look at Faresoenn standing defiantly against the soldiers.

“Avalel, Kavlina,” Faresoenn says as the council desperately flees away from the scene. “Protect yourselves.”