Vas stirred from his cot just before dawn and found the early morning sky alight in fiery hues of crimson body and a skyline tinged with emerald. “A burning morning hides a grim warning,” He recited. “And a clear morn’ brings its own rewards.” Vas smiled. It was a phrase he had set to memory years ago. He didn’t remember from where or from whom, and it never was entirely accurate, as he had observed. However, Vas did find it enjoyable to hum. There was something poetic about it, and it wasn’t just because of the poorly developed rhyming scheme. After dressing, Vas packed his belongings and set his blade on top of the bundle, deciding to be productive with the time allotted to him. When everything was set and ready to be transported, he removed the bronze sword from its custom leather sheath, running his fingers over the insignia burned into the natural leather. It was all he had left from The Vale well that and an all-weather travel cloak.

The blade was modest, with no note-worthy embellishments, and rested at about the length of his shoulder to his wrist. Unlike most of the traditional arming swords Vas had seen, his was rounded at the hilt and tang. The blade, unique on its own, was curved along its edges and rounded at the tip, resembling an olive leaf. Vas resheathed the memory and strapped it to his waist and went for a morning walk, hoping to let his mind wander as he mulled over the previous day’s events. Absent-mindedly he wound up taking the wooded path Belmont and Joris had taken him yesterday, finding himself back at the ledge. It really was a beautiful spot. The morning sun shimmering through the broken skyline of the surrounding woods. Vas rested against the tree where he had listened to Joris’ story. Vas closed his eyes and decided to practice his breathing. He wasn’t going through a fit right now, but the more he practiced, the more Vas felt he could control how often they occurred, or at least that’s what he hoped.

He felt his chest piece tighten and loosen with his breathing. The musky, sweet smells of the berries and the remnant of the rains from last night filled his nostrils. His eyes were closed, but he could still see every bush, tree, rock, and animal. Reaching out, as he had been instructed, he combined it with his breathing. He laid his hands on the ground next to him. His fingers were sinking slightly into the damp dirt. It felt soft like a thick batter, but still slightly grainy. Vas sensed all of the invisible spirits of the natural world, the Boreinys, rolling and tumbling below the surface of the earth. The Ylni, dancing from treetop-to-treetop alight on the breeze. The A’Varys, hiding in the leaves, playing with the birds and squirrels. And the Ularyn, splashing those drinking from their crystal ponds and streams.

Vas exhaled slowly, steadily, matching each breath with the world around him. The cold mist of his breath clinging to his lips. Vas rose, eyes closed, “Boreinys Alantra,” His voice a low hum echoed through the earth beneath him. Rocks rose from the ground around Vas as he raised his casting hand. He faced the tree, the stones moving with him. Vas mimed throwing a spear, and the pieces of earth shaped themselves into blades and flew forward. The bark shattered and splintered upon impact. “Ylni Amarae!” He thrust his hand forward, open-palmed, bracing for impact. He felt the wind race through his fingertips as a dome shielded him.

The remnants of the tree and stones from the spell vaporized on impact with the shield he had made. To the left of him, Vas heard the crunch and snap of a twig. Reacting instinctively, Vas twirled to face the intruder flinging his blade from its sheath. “A’Varys!” Vas tightened his grip into a fist. Vines sprung from the ground warping and twisting around Vas’s target. The wind whistling around him as the loose strands of his hair rose, caught up in the wind. His eyes glowing a fierce and deadly, blood-red, Vas stared down whoever had interrupted him trying to decide whether or not he should flee.

“Steady… Master… Vas,” It was Joris. He was coughing and sputtering as the vines constricted tighter around his throat. Joris dropped his staff clasping at the vines to keep them from closing. Vas’s face twisted into a panic. As he released his fist, the vines withered, returning to the grass floor.

Joris collapsed onto his knees like a broken marionette. Vas rushed over to the old man, dropping the sword in the process to help support Joris and bring him upright. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Master Joris. I didn’t mean to, I promise. You just caught me by surprise and-, and I’m just so, so sorry. I hope you’re okay, please be okay!” Vas was frantic and breathless as he bent over to help the sputtering old man up. Joris waved him off, trying to catch his breath. His body convulsing as he tried to keep from laughing at the boy’s antics. After a couple of minutes of confusion and panic, Vas managed to get Joris to sit upright and regain control of his breathing.

“You worry too much, Master Vas,” Joris’ wry smile returned to his face, despite the fading tint of blue. “You’re a Mad Lad, Spirits be damned! You really can cast without chanting! No wonder you don’t have a Primary!” The mage’s face lit up with excitement. Vas glowered at him, he had nearly strangled the old man to death, and he was laughing, LAUGHING!

“Relax your face, boy. It makes you look like my old wife,” He smiled. “Help an old man up, why don’t you.” Vas rushed to help him up, squatting and looping Joris’ arm around his shoulder, and together they got him to his feet only for Joris to wave him off afterward. “I don’t need help walking. At least not yet,” Joris bent over to pick up his staff, his back popping and cracking as he let out a groan.

Vas was embarrassed. He should have at least helped Joris collect his things. ‘I should have also not tried to strangle him.’ Vas’s face grew hot and red again as he turned away from Joris. “Idiot boy,” he mumbled to himself. Joris raised an eye at him, and Vas stilled himself.

“I just told you yesterday to not be so hard on yourself, Boy,” he said, setting his staff against a nearby tree. Vas tried to hide from the man’s piercing gaze. Joris sighed and shook his head. “One day you’ll be able to look a person in their eyes,” He clicked his tongue and started walking to wear Vas’s sword teetered on the ledge.

“Now, don’t forget your blade,” Joris stooped to pick it up and began walking it back over to Vas. Joris spun the sword in his hand and began inspecting it for any damage. “It’s a nice sword, a strong sword,” Joris made a few swipes as if testing the weight. “I would hate for you to lose it.” Vas rushed over to meet him halfway. “Ahh, that precious, eh?” A glimmer shone in the wise man’s eyes. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift from my friend… well, fiancé technically… I guess.” Vas wiped the blade down and found himself staring into its reflective surface, a deep sorrow filling him. With a shake of his head, he put the sword back in its sheath. “Thank you,” He said quietly and began returning to the camp. Joris eyed him expectantly, Vas kept his mouth shut and head down. He didn’t want to continue, he wasn’t ready yet.

“I came to introduce you to the other Blades here. They have been very curious about the new blood.” He smiled at Vas. He ignored the mage and continued heading down the path leading back to the camp. Vas felt Joris’ hand on his shoulder, he found it reassuring. and tried to hide a small smile. “Now come, Elementalist, I believe the others have been dying to meet you.”

Joris started leading Vas to the tail-end of the Spectre’s campgrounds. As the two swerved through the different camps, Vas couldn’t help feeling like everyone was staring at him. Their eyes, penetrating his cloak and armor, judging him. Goosebumps and shivers, going up and down his spine. The hairs on his arm, standing at attention. When he would walk by other camps, the other soldiers would be hunched over whispering. Vas’s mind raced with abstract thoughts and couldn’t cease its worrying. ‘What are they whispering about?! Are they talking about me? What were they saying? Is it about me, is it because I’m new? Because I’m a Blade? A Elementalist? They probably are talking about me, about how I fell so far behind everyone. About how I nearly killed—strangled-- Belmont’s Second. About how abnormal it is for me to cast spells. Do they know that Frost and Belmont want me to lead them? Do they hate me for it?’

Vas shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts to no avail. The back of his head began to itch again, as he slowly and tightly began clenching and unclenching his fists. Knuckles, turning white while the skin around them cracked. His palms, turning redder each time his nails dug into them. Joris was trying to talk with him, what was he saying? The mage’s voice came as a whisper to his ear, almost unheard, being devoured by the gossip of the scouts and the toxicity of Vas’s thoughts.

Vas reached into his pocket and clutched the stone, and finally, Joris’ voice rang through. “Remember to breathe, Young One. You’re among friends. No one here is going to hurt you. We’re all working towards the same goal. Well, most of us, anyway.” A thin smile decorated Joris’ face, and a twinkle sparked in his eyes. “I’m just here for the stories, and to see history unfold,” He turned to Vas, trying to comfort him with a warm smile. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself otherwise.”

Vas gave him a brief, awkward smile in return and closed his eyes again, focusing on his breathing, focusing on the river stone clenched tightly in his palm. Vas reached out with his senses, in an effort to calm himself.

Inhale. The world melted away as Vas tuned into the Spirits. He felt his body begin to relax as he started letting the tension and anxiety fade away. Maybe he could channel it into that piece of malachite?

Exhale. After a couple of seconds, the itching also subsided, replaced with mild numbness. Vas began to feel like a refreshing stream of water started flowing through his body, entering into his hands and feet, entering into the stone.

Inhale. Vas felt his chest rise and fall as he focused on every single breath. His heart, already racing a mile-a-minute, slowed its pace and returned to a regular pulse. He clenched the stone again, feeling the rough edges and the smooth faces.

Exhale. Vas’s hands cracked and pale, relaxed. The blood, slowly returning to his fingertips, losing the purple-ness and tautness they had previously held. His grip loosened, and he felt the stone fall away back into his pocket.

Inhale. Vas needed to control himself. Vas would never be able to pass The Trial if he kept letting this crippling and helpless sensation rule over him. He needed to be calm.

Exhale. Vas needed to be decisive. Vas had to approach the world from every different angle. He needed to let go of control.

Inhale. Vas needed to think beyond the obstacles blocking him and keeping him from advancing. That helplessness his anxiety drowned him in, but most of all, he needed to focus.

Exhale. As Vas let out his last breath, he opened his eyes. He was calm, he was focused. He was… already at the end of the camp. Vas looked around, the area was clear for the most part, save for a cookfire and some fallen logs and boulders, half-buried and green. It was a small barren patch of sod at the edge of the glade. The nearest soldier’s tent to this campsite was about fifty yards away, Vas estimated. In the current area, though stood four packs and mounts and, his own?

“I don’t know why you thought to camp so far from everyone,” a dwarf hobbled his way from around the backside of Kaami. His hair was jet-black and unbraided, falling just to the start of his stout, barrel-like chest and broad shoulders. His beard was rough and patchy, reminding Vas of a sparrow’s nest and looking like it had just started to grow back. Vas found it odd to see a dwarf in such a haggard state. I mean, the dwarf seemed proud, at least from how he strutted from behind Vas’s mount, but the man’s hair was unbraided and his beard… well, his beard was almost non-existent. Vas’s own, just from a couple of weeks’ worth of growth, looked cleaner.

The dwarf smiled, noticing Vas’s confused gaze and rubbed at his chin, “This lad, this is ’bout five years’ worth of growth, for us Highland Dwarves,” His smile still ever-present. The dwarf’s accent was rough, like he had gravel or drink clinging to his throat, or coughing up phlegm depending on how much you drink. Vas smiled at the thought. “Its why we do n’ shave once we get it in.” The dwarf’s body shook as he erupted in a deep, bellowing laugh that echoed throughout the still air.

“Oi, cut it out, Beardless. Some of us actually prefer the quiet sounds of the early morning to your damn guffawing all the time, ya sodding Boomwing.” A man, looking to be a few years Vas’s senior with golden hair, stepped out of one of the nearby tents. He was relatively little standing right at Vas’s shoulders. Vas couldn’t discern whether or not he was fae or human. The man’s ears were a cross between the flowing leaf-shaped ears of a Syl and the round lobes of a human’s. The ears came almost to a point at the tips. Whereas Syl’s had long feathery brows, his were quite thin and well… ordinary, as if they had been painted on by a brush with gold paint, if only as an afterthought.

“The name’s Dallion, a Half-er, my Tall Stoic Friend,” it took Vas a second to realize who the person was talking to and that he had unintentionally brushed off Dallion’s open hand. “The silent-type, eh? No matter. Between the dwarf and I, we make enough noise for the five of us!” Dallion flashed a warm smile at Vas.

“My apologies. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just, I was just in my head… again. Please forgive me,” Vas spat out of his words as if he had drunk something foul. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. With a look from Joris, Vas managed to force a weak, abashed smile as he reached out to shake Dallion’s hand. “Umm, my name’s Vas, a full-er,” Vas winced as soon as he realized what he had said. His ears grew hot. “Sorry that was, that was stupid. I didn’t mean to make fun of-“Joris looked at Vas mouthing the word, relax.

Dallion gripped his sides as his laughter burst from his mouth, “Good to know, Master Vas! I never would have guessed otherwise!” He said, motioning to the height difference between the two. He turned to Joris: “I like this lad, quick with his wit!” He continued to laugh and clapped Vas on the shoulder, urging him to join the three.

“Have you eaten yet, Elementalist?” Joris asked. As if on cue, Vas’s stomach gurgled at the realization that he never managed to eat last night. By the time Vas had returned to his bedroll, he was so exhausted he had laid down and went right to sleep.

Vas shook his head in response, “I spent the morning at the overlook… practicing,” Vas moved his gaze downward, away from the old man. Joris showed no signs of wear or tear from the incident. In fact, it almost seemed that he had forgotten it entirely, which made Vas even worse.

“Good! Karson should be coming back with water from the river momentarily. He is a phenomenal cook!” Joris hurried over to Dallion and the dwarf, who took their spots next to the cook fire. “I always do love it when that gorilla is on mess duty.” He cheered and pointed at Vas matter-of-factly. “When you see him, you would never have guessed that he would have such a talent for the ilk.”

Vas took a couple of steps toward the motley crew and then paused, breath clenched. ‘Was that an invitation to join them?’ He stood there in a pose of awkwardness as if he was just caught outside without underclothes. He clenched hands squarely behind his back and shifting his feet. He wasn’t sure if he should just join them or wait for an actual formality or go to his tent, which he just remembered was packed and now set with all of their items. Vas’s insecurity gave way to anger, he wasn’t sure where to direct, ‘Why couldn’t they just leave me well enough alone! No people. No busybodies. No one to disturb me from my thoughts! No one to laugh or make fun of me. Let me be alone!’ he thought. It wasn’t really an argument much less than it was an excuse.

Vas’s head jerked up as the thought dawned on him just how selfish and whiny it all sounded. He wasn’t angry at them, he had no right to be angry at them. All Dallion, the dwarf, and Joris did was extend an olive branch to Vas. They did all the heavy work for him. Talking to him, comforting him. The Blades even went through the hassle of gathering Vas’s things for him and bringing it to their campsite, so he wouldn’t be forced on time. All Vas had to do was grasp hold and accept it. No, he wasn’t angry at them. Vas’s destructive thoughts were because he was irritated with himself. Irate, over the simple fact that he just couldn’t function, how he felt a reasonable person should be able to do. Vas felt like an idiot. ‘Just do it! They’re not going to hate me, but they will think I’m odd, just standing here.’ Vas tried forcing his feet, but a shudder rippled through him. Why did it have to be so hard?

Dallion’s voice broke through Vas’s madness, “Stop mulling around like a deer, or someone is liable to mistake you for one and I, for one, don’t feel like yanking a bolt out your back! Now, Join us!” Dallion said, motioning to the spot between him and the dwarf. He wasn’t forceful about it. In fact, Dallion was smiling at him, and he had a surprising wide grin for someone of his stature. He probably didn’t have a mean bone in his body, so Vas didn’t think he meant to be rude. It was a genuine invitation.

Vas scratched the back of his head and forced out a little laugh, like someone slow to get a joke. “Sorry,” He managed to say. ‘Now think of something witty.’ He thought. “Spent too much time with the sheep back home. A little slow on the uptake, but eventually, you’ll get the wool out of their ears.” Vas smiled, and it actually felt genuine this time. The group laughed uproariously, their voices melodic to the quiet morning and to Vas’s ears. They didn’t hate him. That’s what he needed. Vas looked to Joris for approval and saw him smile, his eyes twinkling in the morning light. It was a small hidden smile, but Vas’s insides warmed at the thought of Joris’s approving nod. Vas realized it wasn’t the most ingenious thing he could have said, but it got a laugh nonetheless, and that’s all that mattered.

“Ah, so ya can laugh. Thought for sure, ya were a Hollow One,” The dwarf bolted upright and smiled as he jogged over to greet Vas. “Name’s Hyulfgar, or Gar, whichever’s easier for ya.”

“Vas,” he shook the dwarf’s outstretched hand and started making his way over to a spot across from Dallion, but next to Joris, and sat down. Baby steps. “Wait, what’s a Hollow One?” Vas asked, realizing what Gar had said.

“Zey are a terrible creature from old Dwarven Legends, Geomanzer. Bodies wiz no soul, such a sad fate. Alzough we have such terrible tales about zem too, in ze White Plains, of course.” Walking up to the party was a big bear of a man with a crooked nose. He had a low, resonant voice that encapsulated the surrounding environment, shaking the trees, and often found his consonants blended together, muddying his speech – as if Common was not his original language.

If a boulder came to life and talked, Vas assumed that it probably would look and sound a lot like the approaching man. He kept his hair shaved and close to the scalp. His hard jawline was pebbled with short, coarse gray hair from weeks-long stubble, and he proudly wore a scar trailing from his lips down to the opposite bottom of his cleft chin.

“Ah Karson, lad! Finally! We’ve been awaiting your hospitality! You see, our new friend here,” Dallion motioned to Vas, “His stomach here keeps disturbing the lot of us. We were afraid were going to have to put him out!” The group roared with laughter.

Vas slunk his head into his chest and clutched his stomach, color returning to his cheeks. “Sorry,” He murmured. A slap on the back nearly knocked him prone.

“Ah, what are you saying sorry for, Geomanzer!” Karson’s laughter boomed, rattling the trees. “Back home, a howling stomach is a great fortune! It means you will be fed soon!. Scooch over, Blonde One,” Karson said, forcing his way in-between Vas and Dallion. Karson dug a nearby stack of supplies and pulled out a wire rack for the campfire and handed a small wooden bowl to Vas.

“Thank you,” he smiled, and Karson smiled back. Vas looked around at his companions, a warm—and familiar—feeling washed over him as if he was being bathed and clothed in glorious waves of kinship. He had forgotten what it meant to have friends to share a meal with. His stomach growled, and Karson looked over at him as a stern mother.

“You need to be eating Geomanzer, can’t have you starving now zat we finally have you wiz us! We Blades need to be of ze sticking togezer, dah?” He ladled some of the freshly made stew into Vas’s bowl. He nodded and hungrily spooned the food into his mouth, accepting the olive branch extended to him.