A bell rang at the academy, one that could be heard throughout the entire island. This bell rang every morning at five. The academy was made out of an old castle that used to belong to this island's king. The king died with no heirs, so the islanders of Hror decided to join the nation of Terath.

Slumping out of his bed Anarion cursed the morning “God damn bell,” he exclaimed. Anarion was quite tall. Six foot three, he weighed two hundred pounds, had short by messy auburn hair. He had a physique that reflected his thirteen years of arduous training at the Swordsmen Academy.

Putting on a black Ghee and sandals, Anarion left his room and went outside to the front hall of the academy. Children and Teenagers ranging from ages five to eighteen gathered, there were roughly three hundred in total. At birth every child has their potential assessed, those with strong chi are sent to become Swordsmen at the age of five.

Anarion blended into the crowd. Atop the balcony which overlooked the lower part of the Academy were the instructors and the headmaster. The headmaster belonged to a pointer eared race with slightly green-tinted skin known as the Wood Gir. He was tall, with long white hair that reached down to the middle of his back.

“Our day begins," he exclaimed. "Today we will start with ten laps around the island. Breakfast is at seven." With that said the doors opened. Not only did the students do this exercise, so did the instructors and the headmaster.

The island was small. Five square kilometers. With no food in their stomachs, the first training of the day began. Jogging next to Anarion was a fellow student, Ithilious. He was quite handsome, the same height as Anarion. He had short spiky blonde hair and a well-shaped face. “Every damn day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year,” grumbled Anarion.

Ithilious laughed and exclaimed. “I know you hate it here, but this is nothing Anarion, especially compared to what comes after we graduate.” Anarion glared at Ithilious “Don’t remind me, you bastard. I’ve got a few things to say to the assholes who put me through all of these years of hell.”

Ithilious continued to laugh while jogging ahead. Anarion cursing his destiny so he always put in minimal effort when it came to exercise. Despite that, thirteen years is bound to produce some results. Every day Anarion returned exactly when it was time to eat.

Fortunately, the food in the academy was somewhat decent if not repetitive. Three solid meals every day, to make sure the young Chosen could become stronger. However, breakfast, lunch, and dinner were only given out for a single hour.

After breakfast, Anarion walked with the determination of a snail to the Dojo. A massive room where these young Chosen practiced with wooden Katana. The older teens seldom dueled with each other, but often practiced their strikes. The much heavier practice sword was for strike practice, however today there were duels.

Anarion sat down with his age group, muttering angrily to himself and cursing his very existance in the academy. His angst contributed to a negative aura that caused most of his instructors and peers to avoid him. Right after sitting down the instructor, Hisashi, a small but firm Asian man with long black hair and a long black beard called "Anarion Ragnor vs Falcon".

“Shit, fuck.” he said while getting up. Anarion hated Falcon. He had short naturally wavy black hair, he had a scar below his left eye from an accident in his younger years. Falcon was smaller at five foot eight, but easily the strongest of his age group.

Anarion got in a stance, he was ready to defend against Falcon’s attacks, Anarion glared at Falcon. Hisashi yelled “Begin”, within a flash Falcon was on the other side of Anarion. A single, swift strike to the diaphragm. Anarion fell to his knees and began coughing. Falcon looked behind with an expression of disgust. “How can you be Aenos Ragnor’s brother?”

Hisashi declared the duel won by Falcon. Anarion stood up to his feet, still coughing from the painful and cruel strike. Glaring at Falcon Anarion muttered, “Don’t say his name in front of me you son of a bitch.” Bringing a hand up to his ear Falcon said “Huh? Sorry there, I didn’t catch that?”

Anarion's eyes turned red with anger. Lifting his training sword he yelled, "Don't say that bastards name in front of me!" Anarion swung his training sword at Falcon's head. Falcon dodged the strike with expertise, a wide blow from his wooden sword hits Anarion's stomach, bringing him to his knees."Enough Falcon, the match is over." said Hisashi.

Falcon smirked. "It's obvious where all the talent in the family went." Anarion stood up spat on the floor. "I'll kill you someday.", he muttered. Anarion's anger was palpable. You could feel it as if it were a presence on its own. Hisashi looked at both of them with disappointment. Falcon was a fine student, but his ego was too big. Anarion had natural talent, but he had always put in minimal effort. His disposition was an issue. Without another word, the two sat down so the dueling could resume.

All opponents Anarion faced beat him without effort. By the time lunch came around Anarion had plenty of fresh bruises covering his body. Ithilious and his twin sister Amma sat down across from Anarion. “Are you okay?” asked a concerned Amma. She was short, five foot five. She had long blonde hair that went past her shoulders and a figure that reflected what a stunningly beautiful woman she had become in recent years.

Before Anarion could respond Ithilious began to laugh “You sure got the shit kicked out of you today Anarion.” It was not a comment meant to mock, just the blunt nature of Ithilious. Regardless this got him the stare of death. Amma punched Ithilious. “He’s having a rough day, show some compassion.” Before Amma could look back at Anarion he had taken his food and left.

“He’s damn moody today,” remarked Ithilious. “That’s because you feel the need to state the obvious you idiot,” said Amma now giving Ithilious the stare of death. Anarion took his food to the front steps of the academy to eat alone.

The aches and pains did not bother him. That had been a normal life, though it was only once or twice a week he took a beating like that in the duels, the rest spent in strike training. “For as old as you are, I expected you to at least be able to put up a fight.” said a voice behind him. Anarion turned his head and glanced upon an unfamiliar face.

It was a wood gir like the headmaster. Except he was clad in the same garb he saw his brother in when he was younger. A black cloth shirt with long sleeves with a similar style of pants. The swordsmen never wore armor, but the lightest garb possible, especially in the warm seasons. A Katarn, a Katana shaped sword made out of a metal that is indestructible once forged hanged at his left hip. Looking at the stranger Anarion bluntly asked "Who the hell are you?" There was no grace or politeness in his question.

“A guest,” said the man. His features were similar to the Head Master Calmantos, but Anarion never gave it a second thought. “Fuck off then, my skill or lack of is none of your business.” Anarion focused on his food while resuming his meal. Feeling it was odd that no reply was given, Anarion looked over his shoulder to discover the stranger was gone.

For two hours after lunch was time for meditation. Swordsmen could wield elemental magic called Elestran, but to do so they had to increase the strength of their Chi. To increase your chi you had to meditate. Right after was three grueling hours of calisthenics. Push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks.

After all of this, it was time for dinner and an hour of free time which Anarion often spent in some remote corner of the academy. Around this time it was six or seven in the evening. The perfect time for twenty laps around the island.

The purpose of the academy was to give a potential swordsman basic training in combat, but it was mostly a place to hone the Chosen’s bodies and prepare them for the real challenges ahead in life. At the end of the day, typically around 10 pm, Anarion would take a bath then slump into bed, ready to repeat another day in hell.