They have returned. Are we worthy of being saved?

--King Leofwine’s Journal, 2nd of Harrowing, 452

ARC 4 - RADIANT

CHAPTER 3 - MUCH TO LEARN

Raegn was tired. Not just the normal tired that left every moment of the day shrouded in fog, constantly pushing a headache to the fringes of his mind, but utterly exhausted. The only time Cenric permitted him to be off his feet for the past dozen days was for meditation or sleep. Running was the only method of travel, almost every training event a test of both body and mind, and rest a luxury. He still had dreams at night, there was little that could change the horrors he’d seen no matter his opinion of himself, yet he slept through them, mind and body too tired to wake from the repeated memories.

Long before the dawn bell tolled he was roused from another night of violent slumber. Boots slid over worn feet, a few layers pulled over bruised skin, and the very weight of his cloak threatened to break his back. Raegn trudged along, following Cenric out of the Citadel’s main wings and into a training yard reserved for the higher ranks.

If he tried hard enough, Raegn could convince himself that each day was getting a touch warmer than the last, though with how worn down he became with each new dawn he always felt cold. They passed a scant three other members in the halls as they left and not a soul outside save for the animals that roamed the twilight hours. Upon reaching the training yard, however, Raegn realized they would not be alone. Two figures stood there, waiting for their arrival.

“Today, you learn to fight,” Cenric said as they neared, his voice low and gravely like the ground upon which they walked.

Raegn’s face twitched, a small flicker of surprise and doubt, but it was all the more energy he was willing to spare. There was no use in arguing that he already knew how to fight, Cenric would prove to him otherwise, just as he had before with numerous other topics.

“You won’t be teaching me?” he asked instead, studying the two figures. Both were about his size, which was a bit of a relief. Trying to fight with Cenric would be like moving a mountain without a shovel.

“No.”

A simple answer with no further explanation. Did that mean the instructor was a better fighter than Cenric? Or maybe instructing combat was beneath someone of his position? Ultimately it didn’t matter and Raegn gave up on the line of thinking. His only expectation every day was to train, no matter the form it came in.

“Templar Edelgard, these are Justicars Margew and Tylen,” Cenric said once they were in front of the pair.

Raegn gave a nod of acknowledgment to each. Tylen still had his hood up, but based on the jawline alone Raegn guessed the man was Elysian. Margew wore no cloak at all, but his heritage proved a bit harder to discern. Light brown eyes with matching hair, though fluffy and with a bit of curl to it, and a taller face made him to be a mix of Elysian and…Shaktikan?

“Pleasure to meet you, Raegn,” Justicar Margew said.

Raegn felt Cenric step away from beside him and he almost flinched, expecting some burst into the day's lessons. Instead, the Justicar just kept talking.

“You may call me Eryk. A name similar to that of your father, I’m aware,” the Justicar said with a chuckle before Raegn could even process the thought. “The spelling is different, though, or so I’m told. Anyway, shall we get started? I’m told your fighting needs work.”

Tylen held out a wooden sword in an outstretched arm that Raegn took. Eryk pulled his own from a loop of leather on his belt and twirled it about idly.

“I’ve heard the farlings refer to their way of fighting as a dance. It’s a fitting comparison and one that I’ve taken quite a liking to,” Eryk said as he began to circle.

With Tylen stepping away, Raegn braced himself, tightening his grip on the wooden hilt and flexing in anticipation.

“Let me explain a few things first.” The tip of Eryk’s sword flourished into a stiff point at Raegn. “You are to take these bouts seriously. Cenric has instructed me to break you enough that you will not heal before the trial if you don’t.”

Raegn’s eyes narrowed at that. The High Justicar hadn’t informed him of such a thing, though it wasn’t unimaginable - the first few days of trying to swim up the river to reach his place of meditation had nearly drowned him. Cenric didn’t seem to have any worry about his health then, so there was no real reason to think he’d feel differently now.

“And secondly,” Eryk continued, “you get three dances with me, no more. I’d ask you not to waste them. Tylen will be your partner for all the rest. Do you have any questions?”

The Justicar kept circling, though he seemed entirely unpostured to enter a fight. He wasn’t looking at Raegn, instead regarding his wooden weapon with a certain fondness as he rolled it about with his wrist.

“Why only three bouts?” Raegn asked.

The Justicar paused for a moment and the corners of his mouth pressed against his cheeks. “A wonderful question,” he said through the wide smile. “The reason is simple: true fighting is an intimate affair. After three bouts any fighter worth their salt will begin to truly know their opponent; how they move, how they think, how they feel. I’m a duelist, Raegn. I just can’t bear to have someone alive know those things about me.”

Eryk stood still for a moment, then gave a light shrug. The circling did not begin again. The Justicar took a posture with one shoulder facing forward and the sword held in a frozen point upward towards Raegn’s throat. Raegn sniffed and unclasped his cloak, letting it fall free of his shoulders.

No shields. Eryk wasn’t large, but Raegn was tired. And sore. It was customary to go without using one’s affinity in these training bouts, yet it wasn’t something Raegn could afford at the moment. Just a touch would be enough to hide the fatigue of his body from his mind.

They felt the need to tell him to take this seriously? It was insulting, really. He’d been fully committed so far, even through Cenric’s odd methods.

Raegn took a strong step forward the same moment Eryk did. Wood clacked, feet repositioned, and off-hands went for grabs. It was over as quickly as it began. Raegn scowled at the wooden blade resting against the side of his neck.

“And that’s your first dance.” Eryk grinned. “I wonder, what did you see? What did you learn?”

Raegn threw away the man’s free arm that he’d grabbed and stepped away. What was there to see? He’d lost, that was obvious enough. The Justicar was fast, too. He’d reacted to Raegn’s attack almost as if he’d known what was coming in the first place.

“I’ll start then.” Eryk dropped the wooden sword back through the loop on his belt and lazily strode over to pick up a skin of water. “You fight like every other farling I’ve ever met. Your first lesson is this: people don’t fight like the Void do. Namely, they’re not full of uncontrollable bloodlust. Some might blindly rush you, but most are capable of strategy and of deceit.”

Eryk took a large swig of the water. He gave a knowing wag of his finger as he finished, then leaned back into a crate. “You are strong and your movements confident, but while your footwork gives you a good base it’s far too predictable. You have much to learn.”

When had the library become a place of such comfort? Perhaps it was the quiet. The few patrons made little more than muffled noises as they went about their business, their self-awareness a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of Elysium. Or maybe it was the knowledge - the simple fact that if there were answers to the questions that haunted the mind they would likely be upon the sprawling shelves that filled the room. Either way, the warmth from the hearths, the aged air, and the sight of books in every direction was, simply put, cozy. That sort of comfort could always be appreciated.

Tera laid her head into the nest of her arms atop the thick wood of the table, its surface worn smooth from decades of use. She sat in her usual spot beneath one of the large stained glass windows, idly tracing a finger on the cover of a book she didn’t remember grabbing. Even with her head next to the table, she was able to watch as a few Oracles disappeared down aisles with arms full of texts only to reappear elsewhere with empty hands. There were also two young Templar that snuck into the bowels of the labyrinth, one after the other a little too soon to truly be inconspicuous. Looking for a hidden spot to do some necking, probably.

Amateurs. Tera’s eyes rolled with all the weight of a great stone, but she stayed in her seat. What was she going to do, scold them herself? She was the same rank. Reporting them to an Oracle was an option, she supposed, but there wasn’t much of a point, they’d just find somewhere else. Besides, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered doing something similar with Raegn on more than one occasion.

Her fingers absently went to the side of her head but found the smooth surface of the clip rather than her hair. She began to chew her lip as her mind raced down pathways already explored. She’d done the right thing. He needed to focus on the trial so he could become a Justicar and she needed the space to…what? Become one herself? She’d mapped the lower levels of the Slants as best she could and passed the information to an Inquisitor, so that brought an end to her investigation into the cultists. The only thing left to do was go back to training, yet something had brought her here rather than the secluded spot on the edge of the Citadel’s grounds. For all the knowledge the library held, it had utterly failed her in overcoming her block with the Light.

Like a slumbering guard wakened by an alarm, Tera bolted upright in her seat. Someone new had entered; a hooded figure in flowing robes, though layered and more fitted than what the Oracles wore. The figure took a few steps through the doorway and headed toward the stairs to the right, then paused. The head turned and regarded Tera with a curious tilt.

A glimpse of the ageless expression was all it took to for Tera to recognize Harut. In truth, she’d guessed the figure’s identity based on the regal movements and attempt to hide her face. Harut probably made herself stand out more by leaving her hood up, though as she approached Tera found it near impossible to peel her eyes off the Angel’s. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all, if the Angel would keep her head down a bit more.

Harut glided to a stop behind a chair across the table from Tera and leaned onto its back with folded arms.

“You seem troubled, child.”

The words flowed like silk and Tera’s shoulders relaxed back against her seat.

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

The Angel took a seat with all the grace of a noblewoman, folded hands in her lap and all. “Normally when I see you, you have your head buried in notes and the table filled with rather serious texts. A bit surprising to see you studying…” Harut craned her neck a bit and frowned as she tried to read the title half-hidden beneath Tera’s hand. “Legends of the Far East. Interested in stories now, are we?”

“I haven’t read it,” Tera muttered and slid the book to the side.

“Ah,” Harut said and sat back with a smile. “Well, still. No notes? No maps?”

“I finished the map as best I could. Someone else will compare it with the reports and see if there’s any overlap.”

Harut sat, waiting. Only a person who no longer aged could hold an expression of such patient confidence.

“And I have my notes,” Tera continued with a pat of the leather bag slung over the back of her chair, “but there’s not much of a point in finishing them. I don’t know why someone would conceal their supply order, but that’s all it turned out to be. Maybe most shops do it, I don’t know.”

“You didn’t strike me as one to leave a thing unfinished. Come, let us see your work.”

Tera frowned, but Harut gave an encouraging wave of the hand and leaned across the table like a child waiting for a toy. Hard to deny someone with that much enthusiasm.

The Angel took the papers, both the originals and the ones with Tera’s translations, and started to flip through them. Her lips moved faintly, never forming an entire word as they failed to keep up with eyes darting through neatly written characters. The longer she read the more one corner of her mouth began to rise. Tera’s eyes narrowed as they focused on that peculiar development.

“What?” she asked before the Angel was done.

Harut brought her head out of the pages and stared back at Tera.

“You should finish this.”

“What? Why?!”

Tera all but leaped across the table and gathered the pages back up. She began to reread her own writing, comparing it to the original and using the cipher table she’d memorized nearly a season ago. The list said what it had every day prior. There were simple things like rope, vials, flasks, cooking utensils, and crates full of food. If anything it looked like a convoy’s supply order.

“Keep going,” Harut said.

Tera glanced to the side and saw the Angel leaned in next to her, a smile full on her face. The rest of the list was a bit slower as she had to actually do the decoding, but Tera worked quickly, committing the words to memory rather than writing them down. There were a dozen or so weapons, swords mostly, and bits of armor as well as more foodstuffs like sacks of grain. A large order of cloth, too, plus the accompanying sewing tools.

The list ended with no fanfare. There wasn’t anything that stood out. It was a simple supply order, nothing more. Tera slumped into the chair she’d taken up next to Harut, defeated.

“Why did you have me do that?” she grumbled.

“Disappointed?”

Tera looked up at the Angel from beneath a moody brow. Yes, of course she was disappointed. It was a cruel thing to get someone’s hopes up like that.

“You did very well to learn the cipher method so quickly,” Harut remarked. “Though you’ve misunderstood the numeric portion.”

“I what?” Tera questioned.

“Your decimal conversion is wrong,” Harut said. Her finger traced a few lines, showing the inconsistencies in the translation.

“Oh…Oh!” Tera snatched the piece of paper from the woman’s hand and ran the correct conversion in her mind. Not several dozen…several hundred!

The image exploded in her mind. There was enough weaponry and armor to outfit a whole legion on this list! The foodstuffs could keep them fed for over a year. The cloth and other items could be made into clothing, bedrolls, or even banners!

“They’re making an army?” Tera muttered under her breath as she scanned the contents of the list.

Harut shrugged. “You might infer many things from that list, now that it is complete.”

With that she rose, but Tera managed to break herself away from her pages before the Angel could depart.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Harut answered matter-of-factly. “I took you as someone who saw a task to its end, regardless of the difficulties along the way. It may have taken a nudge, but you stayed true to that ideal. I would encourage you to treat all things in your life similarly. There is a path through every obstacle, you need only to find it.”