The Priestess was trying to teach Renya how to weave, and progress was negligible.

“I don’t understand,” Renya snapped for what must’ve been the tenth time. “You can’t just tell me to weave and expect it to happen.”

“If you allow an attitude like that to dominate your mind,” the Priestess said in her usual didactic tone, “of course you won’t be able to feel varya.”

“There has to be a better way to do this.” Renya glanced at her surroundings. She was standing at the center of a muddy field nestled in between two hills. The stench of fertilizer hung in the air, clogging up her sense of smell. For once, the Priestess had allowed her to wear trousers. A dress would only get in the way, the Priestess reasoned. “I’m grateful for the tutoring, but do we really have to do it here?”

The Priestess didn’t respond. She frowned and folded her arms, waiting patiently.

“Alright, alright,” Renya grumbled softly. The look on the Priestess’ face made it clear there was no changing her mind.

“Look around you,” the Priestess said. “What do you see? What can you smell? Listen to the life that happens around you.”

Renya sighed. She didn’t exactly understand what the Priestess was asking for, but she needed an answer anyway. “I see mud, and I smell fertilizer. This looks like any old boring field to me.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” the priestess snapped, “but you know there’s more to my question. We’ll try again tomorrow, and I expect better results. You’re a smart girl, Renya. You just need to realize it.”

After Renya’s fruitless attempts at weaving, it was onto the histories of the Azure continent. Renya learned to look forward to the Priestess’ lessons. The bulk of it was focused on the Sol Imperium and the Cloudwatch. The sprawling empire had been formed thousands of years ago by the Sol Ancestor, a ruthless conquer who carved out a piece of the Azure Continent for himself during the Era of Strife.

Kagia, the current residing power over Silverleaf Village, was outside the borders of the Sol Imperium. Of all Kagia’s past invaders, the Sol Imperium came the closest to total domination. Only after a bloody war and even bloodier revolt did the Sol Imperium back off. Kagia being one of the few nations to completely resist the Sol was a source of national pride.

The Cloudguard, on the other hand, was comparatively younger. Nearly a half millennia ago, the Skypeircer tore a hole in the sky. Underneath what followers of the Skypeircer dubbed the Rift, a fortress—the Skywatch, was established.

One thing Renya noted, however, was that the Church of the Divine Will was rarely mentioned. And any talk of Keepers and the World Tree forbidden. Despite her curiosity, her self-control kept Renya in check.

What came after history classes, current politics and customs, was pain. The Priestess had pulled out entire stacks of texts and journals from her library for Renya to study. Information that would’ve taken her a week to memorize was crammed within a single day. She lost count of the nights spent at her desk studying by candlelight.

Much to her chagrin, some of the Priestess’ texts were written in foreign script. Which meant arduous hours of back and forth with dictionaries. Renya even learned the customs of nomadic tribes from afar, such as the Sevasakarran greeting and farewell feasts. She flipped open a text on nomadic tribes in the Edgelands, specifically to the section on Sevasakarrans.

“The Sevaskarrans were once a proud people, ruling an empire on par with the Sol Imperium. Although they have been stripped of their land and great armies, banished to the Edgelands, the Sevaskarrans still hold their heads up high. To honor a friend of a family group, the hosts throw two feasts within the duration of their stay. A feast to greet them, and a feast to send them off.”

Renya found it heartwarming that even in exile, such traditions could be maintained.

Her last subject before drifting to sleep was also her least favorite. Martial arts training. Held every other night in the temple courtyard, Renya had shown to possess not even an inkling of talent.

“You will need to learn to protect yourself,” the Priestess said, standing beside a straw dummy. “That is not a choice, but a necessity.”

Renya cocked her head. “But wouldn’t varya protect me better? I can’t imagine punches or kicks overpowering a fireball.”

The Priestess snorted. “You’re far from being able to utilize varya in combat effectively, much less handle fire.”

“Look at me,” Renya said. “I’m not going to be cracking any skulls soon. What makes you think this is beneficial at all? Don’t you think my time would be better spent on things I can actually do?”

“Varya and martial arts go hand in hand,” the Priestess said, taking no notice of Renya’s complaints. “Master one, and the other will come easily. . .” the Priestess whipped her hand out at the dummy. Its straw torso exploded, scattering bits of straw and twine into the air.

Renya’s jaw dropped.

“I didn’t see the connection myself,” the Priestess admitted. “But once you open yourself up to varya and the natural order of the world, you can do what is impossible for normal humans. That is what it means to be a weaver. Do you understand?”

Renya nodded. “I understand. I’ll do better.”

“Yes, you will. You must.” The Priestess sighed heavily. “Now, go down to the village and enjoy yourself.”

What? Renya’s mind blanked. Martial arts training had only taken half its usual time today.

“Isn’t today the date of that insipid festival?” The Priestess sighed again. “You promised that boy a date, did you not?

Renya gaped, then blushed furiously. “It’s not a date!” she protested. “And how did you even know about that?”

“Enjoy yourself,” the Priestess said softly. “We have difficult days ahead.” She turned her back to Renya.

“Wait!” Renya called. “Don’t you want to come to the festival?”

“No,” the Priestess replied. “Give the Mayor my regards.” And with that, the Priestess disappeared into the hallway to her room.

Renya shook her head slowly. It was understandable if the Priestess sat out Qilen’s performance, but would it have killed her to show up and have some fun?

Chuckling at the idea of the Priestess ever having fun, Renya changed out of her simple cloth garments for something more presentable. An elegant dress handed down to her from the Priestess. It wasn’t quite in line with Renya’s style, but she figured the occasion called for it.

The dress was cut in the traditional Kagian style; a tight, formfitting top and a silky skirt underneath. The dress was red silk, with golden embroidery running down the sides. Renya had no idea from where the Priestess obtained the dress, and she wasn’t too inclined to ask.

At the foot of the temple hill, Sujin was waiting underneath the canopy of a poiberry tree. He picked a berry from one of its low-hanging fruit-laden branches and offered it to her.

“They’re good,” he muttered, looking down at his fine leather boots. “And you look good too.”

Renya rejected his offer with a shake of her head. “Berry juice is impossible to get out,” she explained. “Especially Poiberries.”

Sujin scratched his neck. “Sorry.” He tossed the berry in his mouth. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

“No, no,” Renya said, waving her hand. “It’s too early to tell.” She adjusted her spectacles. Heavens, she hated how they constantly slipped from her nose. “Ready to go?”

The corner of Sujin’s lips tugged upwards—his attempt at a smile.

. . .

Renya and Sujin made their way to the Center, where most of the festivities would take place. A group of village girls, a few even older than Renya, swarmed the pair not long before passing by the first cluster of cottages.

“Where’d you get a dress like that?” One girl asked. Everyone had chosen to wear their best, but it was Renya’s dress that stood out the most.

“It looks expensive,” another girl said.

“Alright! Cut it out!” an irritated voice demanded. Shan, looking as red as the skin of a tomato, marched up to Renya and Sujin. Behind her, Sai Aja and a boy with a scar followed. “Can’t you see you’re smothering her?”

“What do you want, Shan?” one of the older girls asked, placing her hands on her hips.

Shan grinned. “I want you all to piss off!” She puffed her chest out. “And you better do what I say unless you want a beating.”

The girls gasped, their faces frozen with shock and fear. At the stamp of Shan’s foot, they scattered, shooting dirty looks back at Shan.

That’s not language a young girl should be using. But despite it, Renya grinned.

“What would your mother have to say about that?” Sai Aja asked from the side.

The boy with the scar snorted. “Nothing good, I reckon.”

Shan’s head jerked to the boy with the scar. “Shut it, Kanki.”

So his name was Kanki. Renya had seen him around before.

Kanki blew air out his nose angrily. “Don’t blame me when your mother hears of this.”

“She won’t,” Shan snapped. “Unless you tell her.”

“Now, now,” Sai Aja said, holding up her hands. “Let’s leave these two birdies alone. We wouldn’t want to interrupt, would we?” She looked at Shan pointedly, then at Kanki, who shrank under her gaze.

Sujin started. “I-”

Renya cut him off, “thank you.” She elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” Sujin said mechanically.

Renya exchanged farewells before continuing down the path to the Center. Naturally, Sujin grumbled about the elbow to the ribs, but stayed for the most part pleasant.

“I didn’t know you were acquainted with Shan,” Sujin said softly, glancing at Renya briefly before looking away.

“We aren’t too familiar,” Renya admitted. “I think she’s a nice girl, though a little too much at times.”

“She’s a wild child,” Sujin grumbled. “Poor Renmei Mierka has her work cut out for her with that one.”

The two continued walking in silence until they reached the Center.

Tables and benches were set out at the Center. And in the middle of it all was a large wooden stage. A crowd had already gathered in front of it. Helpers of the Mayor weaved in and out of the mass of villagers, handing out baskets of rice cakes and jugs of wine.

Renya and Sujin arrived just in time to see the final moments of a contest of strength between two of the older village boys. The rules were simple. Punches, kicks, grappling, everything was permitted save biting or unnecessary cruelness. It went without saying that only men partook in contests of strength.

The men of Silverleaf Village weren’t violent, nor were they bullies. However, the contest of strength was an opportunity to lay disputes between two men to rest. Renya thought the whole thing foolish, but her fellow villagers were not the same of thought.

The taller of the two boys on stage slammed his elbow into the gut of his opponent, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“I declare Tak Kun from the Crossroads the winner!” the adjudicator of the match, an older farmer in his fifties, announced.

The loser of the match slinked down from the stage, grumbling to himself.

“Who’s next?” Tak Kun roared, baring his bare chest.

Village girls cheered in response, a high-pitched symphony grating to the ears.

“What a fool,” Sujin muttered under his breath. “Prancing about like an ape in a cage. A foreigner who doesn’t know his place.”

Tak Kun was a laborer from the Crossroads. He wasn’t a true foreigner as everyone was technically a Kagian by nationality. But someone from the Crossroads was about as foreign could be in Silverleaf Village.

Renya raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think highly of these contests?”

Sujin sniffed. “It’s not that,” he spat. “Anyone could beat Sazh Eiro. An arm tied around my back wouldn’t be enough to keep me from thrashing him.”

“Oh?” Renya touched her spectacles. “You’re sounding awfully confident.”

“You think I couldn’t?”

Renya grinned, crossing her arms underneath her chest. “No.”

“Fine,” Sujin growled. He stalked off toward the stage.

“Don’t push yourself too hard!” Renya called out after him. “I’d rather not spend the rest of the festival patching you up!”

Sujin looked back at her and frowned. “It’s not me you’ll have to patch up.” He looked up at the stage. “Tak Kun, I demand your attention!”

Tak Kun looked down from the stage, his eyes widening. “So, the little Mayor’s son wants to scrap?” He grinned, his face like a fox. “Don’t go running back to your father if I push you around too hard.”

“Don’t bet on that happening,” Sujin said coldly, slowly climbing up the steps of the stage. “As the challenger, I request a change in arms!”

The audience collectively gasped, even the adjudicator looking lost for a moment. As far as Renya knew, contests of strength were always determined by empty-handed combat.

“An archaic rule,” the adjudicator muttered, stroking his beard. “But I’ll allow it!” He looked at Sujin. “What will it be?”

Sujin’s response was short and curt, “quarterstaff.”

Tak Kun, who stood a whole head taller than Sujin, peered down at him with wary eyes. “What are you playing at?”

“Don’t tell me you're too chicken to cross sticks with a child half your size?” someone asked from the crowd. Renya recognized the voice. And sure enough, Qilen emerged from the audience, holding a paper fan up to his face. “And here I thought Tak Kun of the Crossroads feared no one.”

Tak Kun grimaced. “Fists, quarterstaffs, doesn’t make a difference to me!”

He sure does love screaming, Renya thought.

The adjudicator brought out two quarterstaffs cut from the same wood. He tossed one to Tak Kun, who caught it smoothly, and the other to Sujin.

The staff danced in Tak Kun’s fingers as he expertly spun it around.

“Scared yet?” Tak Kun asked, his face twisted with arrogance. “It’s not too late to back out now, bumpkin.”

Sujin didn’t rise to the taunt. He assumed a guard stance with one end of the staff pointed at Tak Kun’s mouth. “I’d stop talking, or else.”

Renya shook her head in exasperation. She didn’t understand the obsession boys had with veiled threats and posturing before fights.

Tak Kun swung without warning, causing Sujin to duck out of the way. Both boys were limber for their size. Sujin growled, thrusting his staff forward into Tak Kun’s shoulder. The older boy barely deflected the thrust. But Sujin wasn't finished just yet. His quarterstaff blurred in the air as he smashed it into Tak Kun's side, knocking him off balance.

Tak Kun grunted in pain but had no time to regain his poise as another barrage of strikes from Sujin kept him on the defensive. Handling the staff with wicked grace, Sujin found a target in Tak Kun’s hand. He released his quarterstaff, howling in pain.

“It’s over,” Sujin said, placing his boot over Tak Kun’s staff. “You’ve lost.”

“No,” Tak Kun growled, lurching upwards, his fists at ready. “It’s not over-” He paused, uncertainty clouding his face. “I. . . admit defeat.”So, he isn’t a complete meathead after all. Tak Kun was popular with the village despite being from the Crossroads, but he was still an outsider. That much he couldn’t change.

“The winner of this contest,” the adjudicator announced, “is Sujin of Silverleaf Village!”