A young boy wakes late at night. He crawls out of bed, careful not to stir the sleeping parents on either side of him. He slides down the thin sheets until his bare feet rest upon the stone floor. The boy maneuvers his way through the dark, much like he does most nights, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The boy reaches his destination, relieves himself, and begins to make the journey back to bed, when he notices a shadow pass through the cracks around the front door. Curious, the boy walks towards the front window, and lifts the shutter to peer into the night.

Moonlight envelops the cobblestone street as well as the stone buildings that line the street. One-by-one, side-by-side, as only found in a dense metropolis. The boy only opens the shutter a crack, curious, yet afraid. Unsure of what he would see. The boy continues to examine as much of the street as he can through only a few centimeters of space, unwilling to open the shutter all the way.

Upon seeing nothing, the boy lets out a breath, relieved, with just a touch of disappointment. He closes the shutter, eager to crawl back into bed, and return to his dreams. As the boy is drifting off, again safely nestled among his sleeping parents, he wonders what he had hoped to see. However, even this young boy’s imagination could not have conceived the truth of that night.

Outside, no more than just a few meters from where the boy now slept, two cloaked and hooded figures appear. The two figures crouched in a shadowy alleyway, pressed against one of the two walls on either side. Both figures are wearing grey cloaks, and both carry small packs. Neither seems to be carrying a sword, or any other weapons, though they are anything but defenseless.

Several minutes go by, and still they crouch in the street. Each one with their eyes raised to the sky, almost as if they are waiting for something. Just as a cloud rolls in, obscuring the moon and casting the city into shadows, the two figures move.

The pair moves through the street with caution, making every effort to go unnoticed. As quickly and quietly as they can afford, they move from street to street, until the shadows drift along, following the cloud that cast them. Caught in the moonlight, the pair of cloaked figures enters another alleyway, and once again press themselves up against the wall.

"Dammit Dorian, for just once I would appreciate it if your great knowledge and skill with magic would be of some use to us." Soren moved as close to his friend’s side as he could, whispering his discontent.

"Do you realize how hard it is to clear your mind when you can see everything?" Dorian responds in the same, emotionless, flat tone as he always does.

"Damn, those eyes of yours. Never helpful in the real world."

"Well excuse me, sir. I was unaware how inconvenient it is for you."

"Oh, shut it. You were the one that wanted to sneak away from The Institute. Did you really think that saying pretty please would work? And after that colorful tidbit about them being, and I quote, 'Used up old goats that haven't made a useful contribution to the world in a century.'"

A moment or two of silence passes between Dorian and Soren.

"How was I to know they didn't have a sense of humor? Besides, have you forgotten? You're a mage too."

"Yes, but I can't use spatial magic, you twat." Soren hissed in his ear, not pleased with the most recent turn of events.

"Twat? Really?" Dorian turned to look his friend in the eye, raising one of his eyebrows as he does so.

"I'm expanding my vocabulary."

"Well keep at it. Before too long you'll be able to curse like the best of them."

"Pipe down, little boy. Another cloud is coming in." And with that they were off, back into the street, under cloud cover yet again.

Soren's apprehension was understandable. If The Institute caught them, the worst that Dorian would get is a slap on the wrist, but the same is not true with Soren. Whether or not he belongs to Dorian or to The Institute could be up for debate. However it is a debate that the Triumvirate would most likely win. In which case Soren could find himself sent to the Pits, or worse. Soren knew all too well how some rich men liked the company of pretty boys.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind, determined not to get caught, and on they went, street to street, alley to alley. Several hours of careful and cautious movements, crossing Rahk Sur in the dead of night, gradually making their way to the river.

"Dorian, I can see the docks." Soren whispered over his shoulder. They were to meet a man. Someone Dorian had said could be trustworthy.

"Did your friend happen to mention the particulars of how we are to meet him?" Soren whispered, still using hushed tones.

"I never said he was my friend."

"Oh great. That inspires confidence."

"There. The man with the lamp." A rather round man had just stepped around a corner, holding a lit lantern up above his head, as he peered into the darkness.

Once they were sure they were clear, together they crossed the last stretch of open space, meeting up with the man holding the lantern. As they approach the round man Dorian produces a pair of tented spectacles. He had fashioned them himself, quite a while ago. Strangers often reacted poorly when they saw his eyes.

"Ah, so you are my employer. Not quite the sort I tend to deal with." The man rubbed his hand over his stomach, his round face split by a smile.

"We are the sort that pays, good sir. And that's the only sort I believe you care about." Dorian had stepped up to the man, holding several gold coins in the palm of his hand.

"Hahaha, as you say, my friend." Upon seeing the coins in Dorian's hand, the man's eyes gleamed, pleased with the offering.

"And our arrangement is that you are to receive the rest of your payment upon our safe arrival at our destination, yes?" Soren was dumbfounded. How did Dorian do all of this? Where did he meet any smugglers? He's a 14-year-old magical prodigy who never left The Institute.

"Aye, sir. Now then, we must hurry. I believe our guard friend will be distracted by a rather peculiar sound for only another couple of minutes." Together the three headed down the docks until they came across a rather quaint little boat. "This is us here. She might not seem like much, but she's hidden away much more than just two skinny rich boys." The round smuggler spoke as he crossed the gangplank. "And here, young sirs, is where you will be staying. Until we pass inspections and are clear of the city." He motioned toward a tiny alcove nestled in the floor at the nose of the ship.

"Dorian, I really don't like this."

****

An endless expanse of pure darkness, filled with nothing but a whirling sea of tiny starbursts. This is what Rygart saw as he experienced what he called the “Ruha world”. As Rygart watched the eddy spiral and flow around him, his focus adjusts narrowing in on one starburst. It expands and contracts, almost shrinking out of existence. The colors are always shifting, never stopping on any one color. Doran calls out Rygart's name, which snaps him out of his reverie.

"You did it again, didn't you?" Doran asks in his deep, silvery voice as he rubs his eyes as he does when irritated.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." A sly grin split across Rygart's face ear-to-ear.

"Fine. Spend as much time as you want floating in your little, 'Ruha world'. I thought you wanted to learn how to enhance your body with Ruha. Sorry if I was wrong."

"Come on Doran, this stuff is boring. This isn't magic! It's...school!" Rygart's smile was gone now, replaced by exasperation.

"It's biology, Rygart. You must know how something works before you can improve upon it. Simple logic."

For the past several days Doran had been teaching Rygart the inner workings of the human body. Things that Rygart never thought he would need to know. Things he’d never wished, nor cared to know. Rygart's enthusiasm had long since worn out. He was yearning to get up and do something. No more talking. Rygart was more than ready to move on with real magic.

Ever since his first foray into the arcane, Rygart had taken to sensing Ruha, and even drawing it in, like a fish takes to water. He had expected the next step to be magic and not learning how human muscles worked.

"But I learn by doing. Not by sitting on a stump listening to you drone On-and-On."

Doran let out a little sigh. He understands well the frustration an endeavor like this can cause. He also knows that a key aspect to Rygart's success would be avoiding burnout at all costs.

"Alright. Then let's do something." Rygart lifts his head a little, hopeful of what his teacher is about to say. "I think it is about time you and I continued with your other training. Your body should be healed. We won't have to worry about reopening any of your injuries."

"When you say 'other training' you mean..."

"Swordsmanship, Rygart. Along with strength, endurance, agility, all the things we were working on before you got yourself hurt."

"Um, I'm sorry, correction. When you almost killed me, is what you meant to say, right?"

"Call it what you want. Do you want to get beat up or not?" Doran smiles his oh-so-familiar 1/4 smile.

"Fine, but I won't go easy on you anymore, old man." Rygart sstands up, beaming. His enthusiasm rekindled into a blazing inferno.

"Whatever you say, kid." Doran stands, brushes himself off, and says, "Grab that sword of yours. Let's see if you're still so cocky tonight."

Doran leads Rygart thourgh the forest, passing tree after tree. After what couldn't have been more than a dozen or so minutes, the two step into a bright clearing, perfect for their needs.

"We've lost quite a lot of time due to your injuries. I'm not sure what kind of shape your muscles will be in after recovering from such severe damage. Let's start easy and judge where you're at. First, we will start with the Yozu movements." Rygart gets into position across from his teacher. "Remember, Yozu is about breathing. Breath creates the tempo at which our bodies move. If it is too slow or too fast, our bodies can't operate at their full potential." Rygart nods his head as he sets his feet and clasps his hands together above his head. "Now then, we will start with the first movement, The Dawn."

Rygart eases his hands down in front of his face, slowly filling his lungs with air and making the hand sign for life as he does so. His hands continue to descend as they shift to the next hand sign, energy. Again Rygart's hands shift, lowering to his navel just as his hands and arms complete the movement with the final sign, the sign of beginning.

Rygart holds the end of the pose for just a second, then releases his breath in a steady stream as he transitions to the next movement. Rygart turns his body and sweeps his right leg around behind him, drawing a semicircle in the ground. Together Rygart and Doran move. Each with their eyes closed. Both controlling their breath.

Several minutes pass as the two go through the Yozu movements. The final movement brings their legs together and their hands, once again, in front of their faces. This

time making the sign for the end. The pair begin to exhale as their hands descend, forming the sign for creation. Again their hands fall to rest at the navel, forming the sign of rebirth.

"Well done Rygart. You remembered and executed each of the movements quite well." Rygart opens his eyes and looks at his teacher, the faintest smirk on his face. "Now we will move on to the Yomu movements." After hearing that, Rygart's little smirk is replaced with a scowl.

"Ugh, not that. My body can't handle it."

"Rygart, the Yomu movements help the body recover. They may be difficult, but nothing worth having comes easy."

"Alright alright. Let's just get this over with."

"Do you remember the movements?" Rygart nods, already getting into position. "Good. Now, this time we will increase the tempo. Elevate our heart rates. Ready?"

Both Rygart and Doran move in concert. Often bending and flexing in incredible shapes. After some time of contorting their bodies the two slow, finishing the final movement. By now, Rygart's heart was beating hard in his chest and his muscles burned from the effort.

"Well done Rygart. Your muscles seem to be healed and ready to go. I'd say they are even better than before."

"Great, can we stop with the stretches now? I feel like my muscles are about to peel off my bones." Rygart caresses his sore muscles, hoping to work some of the ache out.

"Not yet. I'd say you're ready for the Yoru set now."

"Oh come one! I've never been able to complete that set! The human body was never meant to bend like that."

"Rygart, the Yoru set is the most important one. It is designed to keep the body in peak condition. Not only does it work your flexibility, it also improves your balance, coordination, and control. How do you think I've maintained such good condition at my age?"

"Because you're a freak" Rygart mumbles to himself.

"Not a freak. Just dedicated. How far will your dedication take you?"

"Fine! Let's do the stupid movements."

Doran sighed to himself. He knew Rygart's begrudging mood would make it almost impossible for him to complete the complex set of movements.

"How about this? If you complete the set to my expectation, I will answer any question you have about my past. Is that enough to get your full cooperation?"

Rygart thought about that for a moment. Doran never talks about his past. Never. Rygart had often tried to learn more about the man, but he had always answered as vaguely as possible.

"You mean a real answer? Not something laced with ambiguity."

"Yes. A real answer. As thorough an answer as I can give."

"Alright then. I think that is fair enough compensation. Let's do some stretches!"

Rygart wasn't as familiar with the Yoru set as he was the others. This time, he would have to watch Doran and follow along as best he could. Throughout his training, Rygart had tried several times to complete this set. His attempts had always ended in failure, leaving him on the ground contorted in pain.

The Yoru movements were all long and complicated things. It was often required to lay on the floor or even lift yourself with your hands. Each movement took a precise amount of concentration, yet it also required focus on breathing. This split Rygart's attention, which would lead him to collapse. Not today though. Not this time. Rygart was determined to succeed. If only to spite Doran. Rygart knew the man didn't part with details about his life willingly and getting one up on Doran would please Rygart to no end.

Doran gets into position, with Rygart following suit. Doran's eyes drift close as his hands come together. His right arm and leg arc away from his body. His hand comes to rest just above the right shoulder, with his leg spread nearly as far as it could go. Doran then tilts backwards, placing the palm of his left hand on the ground. Next, his left leg is lifted straight into the air, balance spread between his outstretched right leg, and contorted left arm. Rygart follows, desperate to keep up with his teachers movements, muscles threatening to give out. But they don't. Movement after movement, stretch after stretch. No matter the malformation.

After over an hour of body contortions, the duo finishes the final movement. At long last, Rygart has completed the Yoru set for the first time. His heart is pounding against his ribs. Sweat pours from every inch of his body. His muscles and tendons burn with an all new vigor. But it was over. He had done it.

"Well, your movements were a bit off at times. You have a ways to go before you've mastered them. But," Doran saw Rygart begin to object and cut him off before the words left his mouth, “you did an adequate job for your first completion. Well done." The corner of Doran's mouth raises just ever so slightly.

"So that means I can ask any question about your past, right?"

"Of course. I am a man of my word. However, we have much more to do today. Once we are done with today's training, you may ask your question."

Rygart beams, more than pleased with his prize.

"Alright. What's next?"

"Aren't you enthusiastic? If you're ready, then next we will begin to work on your sword skills. Grab your weapon."

Rygart had left his sword by the edge of the clearing, stuck into the soft ground. As Doran sips from his waterskin, Rygart runs over to his weapon and pulls it from the earth.

"Now then. It has been a while since your last instruction. Let's see what you remember. First, we will go through the different sword stances. Then, the real work begins. From today on you and I will begin daily sparring sessions."

"It’s about time. I've missed holding my sword in my hand, strange as that might sound."

And so they began. Both Doran and Rygart held their swords and faced each other. Together the two crossed their blades and began to step around one another using slow, deliberate motions. Doran had taught Rygart several dozen different sword stances, and now he moved through each one of them.

"Good. Now, let us increase our pace." Again they crossed blades, increasing the speed of their steps. Faster and faster they moved until they were no longer going through the paces. Now, it was an all out battle. On and on the two danced throughout the clearing, and as they fought, the intensity of each attack grew. The sound of clashing metal rang throughout the forest. Eventually, Rygart fell to the ground, unable to stand against the constant barrage of Doran's attacks.

"Not bad. Your skill hasn't dulled at all. It might be less than a week since you were injured, but for some that's all it takes." Doran reaches down, and clasps Rygart's forearm. He smiles his characteristic 1/4 smile, and hefts Rygart up onto his feet.

"I'm glad. To be honest, I was worried too. But once I held my sword in my hand, it all came flowing back to me."

"Good. Ready for round two?"

"I was born ready."

"Ow. Ow. Ow." Rygart limps over to his little cot by the campfire circle before collapsing all together.

"I thought you weren't going to go easy on me anymore?" Doran says as he too comes to rest at his spot by the campfire ring.

No sooner as the last word had left his mouth did Rygart shoot the man a look that could kill.

"I didn't want you to throw out your back." Rygart spoke as he massages all his aching bits. "Where would I be if you went and broke a hip? You really think I could carry a giant like you back to camp?"

"Mmmm, how very generous of you." Doran collects a few logs for the fire. Then with a flash of light, they had a roaring flame.

"Be honest, you use magic to do that don't you? And here I thought you had some secret fire starting technique."

"Wouldn't you call using magic to start a fire, 'some secret technique'?” Doran cocks an eyebrow, eyeing his young friend.

"Huh, good point." Rygart continues massaging his aches and pains, willing them to go away.

"With magic you could be back on your feet in no time."

Rygart rolls his eyes a bit.

"Fine. If it means not dealing with achy muscles and your condescending tone. Where did we last leave off, oh great teacher of mine?" Doran rumages through his pack and produces the same bread-like substance he always seems to be eating. What, does he have an endless supply of that stuff? Jeez.

"Ya know, if you ever want to lose the attitude, I'd be willing to live without it." Doran returned to his usual space by the fire, sitting on a log that has seen quite a bit of use since Rygart's injury.

"I could, but I'd hate to make you suffer." Rygart replied, as he, too, rumaged through his pack for food.

The two sit in silence, as they often do, both eating whatever provisions they still had enough of. Rygart soon sees this as an opportunity, and decides to try asking his question.

"Before we get back to the boring lessons, and seeing as how we're both just sitting here eating, would now be a good time to ask my question?"

Doran sighs, "Fine. What is this burning question of yours?"

"Well, Oberon said that you were powerful, and after all this time training with you I've learned he wasn't exaggerating."

"I suppose."

"Oberon also explained that certain members of the Assault guild earn a Title, and that you haven't yet because of something that happened between you and the city officials. So, I was wondering what happened."

"I see. Oberon and his big mouth." Doran looks up at Rygart to see a big grin splitting his face.

"Alright, fine. Well, this was several years ago. It's been almost 15 years now, in fact." Rygart makes himself comfortable while Doran tends to the fire.

"You see, my team was set to escort a rich noble up the Tower. He wanted to go to the highest floor at the time, that being floor 40. At that time, no one had been able to find the Labyrinth’s exit. But, many had come across the Archfiend for that floor. A big, dangerous thing. Apparently, the creature possessed a valuable gem imbedded within its forhead. This rich noble wanted us to hunt down the Archfiend and retrieve said gem. We were never told what for, but we didn't care. A job was a job.”

“Well, as we traversed the 40th floor, on our way to the Labyrinth, we encountered a demon. One only found on the upper floors. Tall with leathery skin. Nasty claws, thick muscles. They're called Strega, and not something to be taken lightly.”

“During the encounter, our benefactor decided we weren't getting the job done to his satisfaction. He got himself in a bad situation, and when we moved to save him, several of my teammates got injured.”

“I told our employer we needed to retreat. To remain on the 40th floor with most of our members too injured to fight was suicide. Of course, the man wasn't satisfied with that explanation. He was furious, and threatened to ruin our reputations. I was beyond angry, yet I didn't want the rest of my team to suffer the wrath of this idiotic nobleman. They were still young. Younger than me, anyway. And all talented. If this noble followed through with his threats their budding careers would be over. So, I continued on. I led my team to the entrance of the Labyrinth and entered it on my own. And so, I alone hunted the Archfiend.”

“I wandered the Labyrinth. Clashing with other demons and monsters. Labyrinths, you see, are a nesting ground of creatures. Well, the ones on the upper floors are. For days I stalked through the passageways until I came face to face with the very thing I had been searching for. It was a horrible creature, with... alien, cloven feet, several meters tall and carried a vicious blade. Truly a monstrous demon. For 3 whole days we clashed. I threw everything I had at that monster. It was like nothing I had ever encountered before. Nightmarish. Eventually, it fell. But not before giving me this," Doran pulls the neck of his tunic down, indicating the long scar that stretched down from his brow and disappeared beneath his tunic, "as a souvenir.”

“I was gone for just over a week before I returned to my team, dragging the creature's head along with me. The noble wasn't so quick to be pleased. He was the most belligerent person I have ever met. He continued to snivel and moan. Still displeased, he said he might be merciful upon our return to the city. Calmly, I removed the gem from the Archfiends head held it out to him and crushed it in my hand, right in front of that nobles eyes. After that, it was all over. We returned, with him in a rage the whole way back. I was rather impressed. It took us several weeks to return, yet that noble raged on the whole time."

"I don't understand. Why did you piss off the noble if you were so worried about your reputations? Why go through all the trouble of risking your life and fighting that thing?"

"Well, I had to try appeasing that noble. But when I saw that he wouldn't relent, I took all his disdain upon myself. By crushing his prize before his very own eyes, I ensured that I became the sole object of his rage."

"Damn."

"Well, I think it's obvious that ever since then I've been on something of a blacklist. Very few of the high level contracts accept me. These days, I just venture into the Tower for myself. Occasionally returning with something valuable."

"All of that from one loud mouthed noble?"

Doran nods his head as he stares into the flames dancing between he and Rygart.

“Now then.” Doran’s words break the silence. “We still have some time before night falls. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time to return to your studies.” Rygart groans, loath to go back to listening to Doran’s lectures.

A squirrel scampers about the forest, eager to find its breakfast. Rays of sunlight break through the forest canopy. Birds and other animals scurry across the ground and call out. The smell of the untouched forest fills Rygart's nostrils as he takes a deep breath, enjoying his walk through the trees. Another day, another lesson, Rygart thinks as he continues on his way.

Rygart only woke an hour or so ago. It didn't take long before Doran gave him his task and sent him off into the forest. What was today's lesson? Search the forest for an herb. This particular herb was helpful with aching joints, according to Doran. No doubt another discipline he'll want me to learn. I'm sure the Eisenverd Festival will be full of difficult, herb related tasks. Rygart was certain even the squirrels could feel the sarcasm. But can I say anything? No. Or else Doran would subject me to another of his vague responses.

By now Rygart was used to just going with the flow. If Doran asked him to do something it was for good reason, more often than not. Doesn't mean I can't curse the day the man was ever born though.

On and on Rygart walked, looking for a plant he only somewhat knew of. Several hours of searching passed, to no avail. Rygart eventually got frustrated, and sat down on the forest floor, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the tops of the trees. He closes his eyes and begins to focus on that ever present feeling again. Once more, Rygart's dark-filled world exploded with light. He shifted his focus around him, taking in the swirling spectacle.

After a few minutes, something caught his attention. There was a slight deviation in some of the stars. Some weren't quite swirling in the same direction as the others. Curious, Rygart shifted his focus again, trying to follow the direction of this new flow. It was ever so faint, like a tiny stream that formed after a long rainfall. Rygart opens his eyes and looks in the direction of the flowing Ruha.

Rygart decides he has nothing better to do, and so he gets up and follows the path he believes the Ruha had taken. Every now and then he stops, closes his eyes, and focuses on the deviant Ruha flow. The farther he walks, the stronger the flow. After a while, it was no longer a tiny deviation. Instead, it was an all new flow. Rygart continues to walk, gripped by curiosity.

Rygart was narrowing in on the source of this new flow when he heard a voice break through his thoughts.

"Who the hell are you?"

Rygart opens his eyes to find a beautiful girl staring at him with a quizzical look on her face. She had tanned skin, her hair was as dark as raven's feathers. There were a few tufts of hair that hung by her face, but the rest of it was in a loose braid that was currently resting on her shoulder, with the end stopping at her chest.

Even from this distance Rygart could see her intense, ice blue eyes. She was about average height. Maybe a bit tall for a girl. A few inches shorter than Rygart. She was skinny, yet she hardly looked dainty. She had a fierce presence that ran contradictory to her size and stature.

"Oh, uh, hi. Sorry, I was just following the Ruha." You didn't answer her question, stupid. "My name's Rygart. Mind if I ask what you're doing way out here in the woods?"

The girl eyed Rygart up and down, sizing him up like a seasoned veteran. So Rygart did the same. The girl really was pretty. Rygart guessed she was his age, maybe a little older. She wore a plain tunic, with a broad opening for her neck and shoulders, as well as a pair of trousers that narrowed as they went and cut off just below her knees. She also wore tight fitting leather gloves, with the fingers cut off, and a leather jerkin. There seemed to be something she was carrying. Some sort of basket, hanging from the crook of her elbow.

"I'm just out gathering herbs. I'm...something of an apothecary." She was still on guard, but at least her eyes seemed to have settled on Rygart's own.

"Well, if you don't mind, I'm actually looking for an herb myself. It's called monksroot? I'm not sure if you know it..."

"Of course I know it." Rygart stopped, letting her interject. "Why would a strange boy be all the way out here in the absolute middle of the wood looking for monksroot?" Her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly.

"Well, from my perspective, you're the strange one." Idiot, idiot. "Um, I was told it helped with aching joints, though to be honest I'm only out here looking for it because my teacher told me to."

"Teacher? You do realize that you're, more than, a day's ride from the nearest town, let alone school."

"He's not that kind of teacher. You see," By now Rygart has loosened up. He was fairly certain if the girl posed any threat she would have acted by now. "I'm looking to join the Assault guild. And the Eisenverd Festival is a little over a month away. We've been out here for a while now, and he's teaching me how to manipulate Ruha and use magic."

The girl eyes Rygart with a condescending look before saying, "You're only just now learning magic? And you think you have what it takes to compete in the festival?"

"Ay, you don't know anything about me. I could be some kind of prodigy."

"Well, are you?" Rygart hesitated a bit before answering,

"Not technically."

"Ah, right. Not technically." By now the girl had also relaxed. She had an amused look on her face as she eyed Rygart once again.

"Look, I'm a great sword fighter, and I'm a quick learner. You should be careful of whom you underestimate."

"Perhaps." She paused, chewing on her next words. "Well, Rygart, I suppose we'll both see just how...estimated you'll be. I'm joining the festival too." After a couple of minutes of speaking with her, Rygart wasn't all that surprised. She seemed to be able to handle herself. "Anyway, I found some monksroot earlier. Do you know how much you need?"

Rygart thought a bit before he spoke. Doran hadn't specified. He'd only told Rygart that he needed to find it.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. All the instruction I received was, 'Go find me some monksroot.'" Rygart used what he was certain was a poor imitation of Doran. He flexed his chest, and held out his arms like his muscles were too big rest by his side, and adopted a deep, slow voice. At first Rygart was a bit embarrassed, feeling dumb for his display. But all that went away when the girl smiled and laughed a little at his failed impersonation.

After a second or two she spoke, with a smile and a friendlier tone.

"Well, if I had to bet, he just wanted you to sense it."

"Sense it?"

"Yeah. Monksroot, along with a few other herbs, has a funny way of interacting with the local Ruha. It pulls it in, which can lead to an increased concentration of Ruha in the area. It must have been part of your training." That does sound like Doran. Stupid, vague bastard.

"Well, thank you. I think that's what I was following when we bumped into each other here."

"Yeah, now I'm not so surprised. I have quite a few herbs here with me that do something similar. If you want, I can give you a bit of monksroot to take back with you?"

Rygart thought about it for a moment, but decided against it.

"As much as I would love to cut the corners, something in me knows the crazy old bastard would know. And that's the last thing I want." The thought of Rygart getting caught cheating by Doran must have had some physical impact on Rygart because the girl smiled and laughed again.

"I get what you mean. Teachers can be like sometimes."

"Yeah. Sometimes." Again she smiled as she started back on her trek through the woods.

"It was nice meeting you, Rygart. And I'll look for you during the festival."

"Thanks, and good luck. In case we don't see each other again before then." Rygart smiled and watched her go. Pleasantly surprised at the day's turn of events.

As she was several steps away, a thought struck Rygart.

"Wait, I didn't get your name!" He called after her, feeling stupid for forgetting something so important.

She turned around, and kept walking backwards, before shouting back, "Aria!" And then turning her back to him once more.

Rygart returns to camp with the sun high in the sky, deep in thought, contemplating his interaction with that girl, Aria. Once Rygart walks back into camp and sits in his usual spot, Doran notices that his young friend's mood is much more positive than he would have thought. He was certain that Rygart would return peeved and his usual sarcastic, snide self. Yet he seems different. At peace almost.

“Did you have a nice stroll through the woods?”

“Yeah, actually. It was nice to just...walk around and enjoy the forest.” Rygart thought about telling Doran about running into Aria. After a second or two of thought, Rygart decides to keep it to himself.

“Well, did you find what you were after?”

“Yeah, I found your stupid herb. Was that really worth the time? Sending me on some useless errand.” Rygart tosses the monksroot at Doran’s feet, then crosses his arms in haughty derision.

“Look, Rygart. There were reasons. Two reasons, to be specific. I wanted you to gain a little experience using your senses to track down an objective. I also wanted you to experience first-hand how some things can affect Ruha. You are bound to come across many things that act similarly. It might even be the goal of some of your future missions.”

“I guess.” Rygart sighs. He wasn’t truly upset with Doran for sending him into the woods in search of the herb. But he couldn’t let Doran know that.

“You shouldn’t rely on slipping into the Ruha world. Fighting with your eyes closed would prove difficult after all.”

He does have a point there.

“Fine fine. I get it.”

“Besides,” Rygart looked up to see Doran crushing the herb in his mortar-and-pestle, “In my old age these joints of mine do tend to ache.” He takes the ground herb and sprinkles it into a kettle of boiling water that he had just taken out of the fire.

“Are you making tea? You sent me out, all across the forest, so you could make yourself a cup of tea!?”

“It was just an added benefit.” He responds, while he smiled that oh-so-familiar smile of his. Rygart rolls his eyes as he sits back, resting on his hands.

The two sit around the fire, Doran sipping his tea, for several minutes with no one saying a word. Taking advantage of the lapse, Rygart decides to ask a question that had been on his mind recently.

“Hey, why are there no monsters in the forest? Of come across plenty of animals. Some of which are terrifying, like the bears and the wolves and such. But those seem….mundane. I’ve dealt my fair share of monsters. Both in Brekt and on the road, on my way to Draghiem.” Rygart pauses a second, and Doran continues to sip his tea. “I had expected to run into more monsters around the Tower, yet it seems to be the opposite.”

“Well, the Towers act as a kind of...repellent for the more vicious creatures out there. I’m not quite sure why, yet it seems that most monsters that live outside the Towers avoid the surrounding areas.”

Another few minutes pass in silence. As the two friends sit by the fire, Rygart’s mind begins to wander. He soon finds himself missing his forge as he often has these months he’s been away.

“I hope I can return to smithing, once we get back.”

“Ah, that’s right. Oberon said you were a talented young smith.”

Rygart looked up, a look of surprise on his face.

“Did he say that? That I was talented, I mean.”

“He did. He said that each time you forge a blade, you become better. Oberon's enjoyed your presence, you know. Oberon has had a rough life and having you around has really brought a spark back in his life.” Rygart blushes, not knowing what to say.

After a while, the red in his cheeks go away, and he looks into the open flame of the fire. His mind wanders again, this time falling on the different weapons he’s seen and worked with.

“Have you always used a long-sword?”

“I have. It’s simple, and versatile. Not to mention rather easily replaced as opposed to some of the more exotic weapons I’ve come across.” Doran’s mention of exotic weapons piques his interest.

“Exotic weapons? Mind if I ask what kind? I’m still knew, but I have seen single-edged blades. Oberon taught me the processes involved with making them, but I haven’t quite managed to perfect it.”

“Ah yes. No doubt it was a katana. That particular style of blade comes from Eastern and Western Eurelia. They are beautiful, yet still unremarkable compared to some I’ve come across.”

“Eurelia?” Rygart rarely got a glimpse at the larger world, and couldn’t help himself.

“Yes. Long ago, it was an island nation known as Eurelia. It is far from here, to the south east. Many years ago there was a large civil war, which split the nation in two. Now, there is Eastern Eurelia, and Western Eurelia.”

“And this is where single-edged blades come from?”

“Well, the katana, yes. There are other styles.”

“Could you show me these other styles?” Rygart loved exploring new ideas and concepts.

“I’m afraid I don’t own any myself, and they are very rare for this part of the world.” Rygart’s eyes became downcast. “But if I ever come across one, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thanks. That’d be great. Becoming powerful, and reaching the top of Draghiem might be my life’s ambition, but forging blades is another aspiration of mine.” There is no better feeling than working in front of the forge and then showing off your work. Rygart smiled as he thought back to all the time he’s spent in front of a forge.

“We all need our hobbies. And I think blade smithing is an honorable trade. Now then,” Doran sets down his empty cup and looks Rygart in the eye, “we should get back to your lessons. You won’t learn anything if we get distracted with conversation.”

“Ugh. You really know how to ruin a good mood.”