Ranvir was exhausted when he showed up at the weapon class’ field. His legs shook from that morning’s training, helped along by the tether exhaustion from warp, manifesting as tired bones. Each step a gamble, a roll of the dice determining how far he could go. Would his muscles give in? Maybe it was the bones? Or somehow would they both sustain the stress and keep going?

There was a handful of people on the field already, among them Sansir and Grev checking out a rack of wooden weapons. He also noted the unwelcome broad shouldered form of Dovar.

They made brief eye contact, Ranvir winced circling around to his friends. Before he could arrive, the bell rang once more.

“Students!” Teacher Vigo’s cry seemed to appear, along with his physical form, from out of nowhere. “I will be overseeing weapons class, for you first years. Though there will be a rotation of different weapons masters on-hand throughout the coming weeks.” Ranvir noticed the other person standing next to Vigo.

He was of a similar build to their teacher, but slightly shorter. He also lacked the demanding presence of his colleague. “You can call me Teacher- or Master Vigo.” He gestured towards his companion. “This is Master Stjarna, he will become your best friend in this class. For those of you who haven’t, pick up the weapon you’re gonna learn.”

Before Ranvir could get close to Sansir and Grev, they both retreated from the racks. Grev was holding a wooden short sword. Sansir had a wooden axe, with a spike as counterweight to the blade.

The rack was quickly swarmed by the other students. Ranvir debated which weapon to pick, but in the end there was only really one choice. He picked up a sword similar in appearance to Grev’s, it seemed to be the standard shape.

Once all the students had made their choices, Master Vigo spoke up again. “Alright students, let’s split you into groups. Swords over there with Master Stjarna. Axes over here with me. Hammers behind the sword group and spears axe group. I want a clear line between the groups. I don’t care if you can’t talk with your friends, move!”

Ranvir started jogging over to the sword group, but almost fell as his legs refused to cooperate. Instead, he managed a brisk walk, the weight of the sword shifting oddly as he moved. The weapon felt awkward in his hand, making him wonder if maybe it was too long, or too short, for him.

They quickly split into groups, swords being the largest, followed by spears, which surprised Ranvir he’d have thought axes would be the more popular of the two. Hammers were however a distant fourth, which he’d expected.

“Alright dreamers, spread out properly. I don’t want you accidentally slashing your neighbors.” Ranvir looked around for a moment, before some of the student around him starting moving, spreading out.

Dreamers? An odd thing to call them.

“Simple ones, give them more space!” Behind Ranvir, the hammer group backed up as they spread out too.

I guess I can kinda see that. He still felt a little flash of orange yellow indignation at hammer-wielders being called simple.

“Easy ones, that was a pattern. It shouldn’t be that hard to follow along.” Master Vigo kept harassing them, as he pointed at the axe wielders. “At least if you’re capable of more than staring”

“What’s going on?” Ranvir questioned. He’d kept it quiet to avoid Vigo’s wrath turning on him.

“Honestly, it’s pretty simple. We are dreamers, because-” Someone said from behind him. He turned to see Dovar staring at him like he was slow. “Most stories about heroes feature them wiel-“.

“I get it.” Ranvir interrupted. He shuffled a little further forwards, putting more space between them.

Vigo and Stjarna had turned to checking the spaces between students, making sure no eyes would accidentally get misplaced. After they finished Vigo strode in front of the sword group.

“I’m sure you’ve all been spoon-fed stories of mighty sword-wielding heroes, and have dreamed up all sorts of scenarios in your head. I’m going to say this now, and again tomorrow and, just to be safe, a while after that. You are not locked into your current group, yet.

“Learning the sword is a long and difficult journey, it will not be finished by the time you leave this academy. You will likely get better results for less effort wielding the spear.”

Ranvir frowned at Vigo, standing only in front of them. The sword group was the biggest, but that still felt like an attack. Judging from the discontent murmurs from the rest of the group, not including Dovar, he wasn’t the only one feeling some sort of way about it.

Teacher Vigo walked to the axe group, though his speech, which was easy to overhear, only briefly involved them being able to change weapon group. Master Stjarna stepped in front of his group, briefly explained how weapon class was going to work, then got them started on a warm up exercise.

The class were split into two segments, each equally long. First was practice, where Master Stjarna, or Vigo, would give them a few exercises to run through.

They started on figure eights. That wasn’t so bad, every eight-year-old could figure out how to swing a stick like that, a sword was no different. Then they added a step sequence to the figure eights. Ranvir almost hit himself, when he first tried it. It was only on his second attempt, he realized he’d need to time it with the figure eights. Otherwise he’d bungle the rhythm of the sword, then knock himself in the head.

Then Master Stjarna expanded the step pattern. Previously, they’d just been going forwards, then returning to the start position, now they had to stop mid-way through. For most of the sword-wielders, this meant stopping the figure-eight briefly and restart the rhythm.

To Ranvir’s annoyance, Dovar was not one of those wielders. The few times he glanced over his shoulder, Dovar was performing the maneuver with ease and an almost uncomfortable elegance. Despite examining Dovar’s moves intently, he was unable to figure out how the larger student kept the rhythm while staggering his steps.

Ranvir spent that entire period intermittently cursing the weapon, hitting himself in the thigh, or somehow hitting his own fingers. It hurt, badly. And for each mistake he made, Dovar executed the pattern flawlessly, with a bored look on his face. His sword swept through the pattern with a easy grace, that made Ranvir look like he was holding one of the hammers.

The sword felt ungainly in his hand. It rubbed at his calloused hands wrong, making them sensitive and sore. And despite the fatigue from overworking his tether fading, he felt no steadier on his legs. The low stance and stepping pattern exacerbating his weakness.

“What is this good for?” He growled to himself, shaking out his fingers after flubbing a newly added flourish. It stretched his wrist uncomfortably, making his grip weak. “No combat would allow you to fight like this.”

“You’re right.” Master Vigo’s voice made Ranvir straighten up. “No combat would, but this isn’t combat. This is about getting you to feel comfortable with the weapon, not being afraid of it. Trying to get you to learn a rhythm, that is a half-step away from actual fighting patterns. Now, I suggest you pick up your sword and keep going. The dream isn’t going to achieve itself.”

They continued with the flourishes, steps, and trick movements for a while longer, before changing to simple chops, slashes, and stabs. Master Stjarna mostly kept quiet, but helped Vigo with the guidance, especially the sword group.

Edge alignment was something Ranvir hadn’t thought about before, he’d always thought of it as being a simple matter of hitting. Like, if he could strike through with the hip and torso, he would have enough power.

However, every time Master Stjarna passed him, he would twist his wrist slightly, adjusting the alignment. But if Ranvir focused too hard on keeping the sword aligned, he lost the force, or his footwork became too sloppy, or one of a thousand other things they would correct.

It was annoying, leaving him in a black mood, though it wasn’t as physically difficult as the first portion of the practice. He’d been used to swinging hammers all day, even if most were a little smaller than the ones lined up on the wooden rack.

The handle had supposedly been shaped to be comfortable in his hand, but no matter how he adjusted his grip it never felt right. By the end of the first part of the class, his fingers were sore and the pads of his palms were developing a familiar redness.

Worse, whenever Master Stjarna or Teacher Vigo would correct him, he felt Dovar’s smug eyes boring into his back. Dark red roiling clouds of frustration stretched minutes into hours, as he swung and stabbed at imaginary targets.

In all that time, he only heard the teachers compliment Dovar on his forms, swiftly followed by criticism of his own forms.

Finally, they changed to sparring.

Ranvir let out a sigh of relief, as Vigo and Stjarna gathered at the front of the class again. They directed them to a neighboring field, where small areas had been set up for sparring. Really, it was just a field with oblong obsidian stones outlining a multitude of ranges. Most of them were about twenty feet by twenty feet, which as Ranvir saw them, he realized wasn’t a lot.

They were directed to spar within their respective groups, to hopefully gain some insight into their weapons. Ranvir was excited, as he searched for Grev. Unfortunately, he appeared almost immediately within one of the field, with a student Ranvir didn’t recognize.

“Wanna spar?” The student was vaguely familiar, Ranvir thought they might be in the same physical class.

“Sure.” Ranvir agreed. Maybe I will be able to pick up the next fight with Grev. He thought hopefully.

To Ranvir it immediately became clear, that he wasn’t the only one struggling to learn the sword. His opponent had more than enough power, he was likely one of the better performers during their runs. However, Ranvir could see his attacks coming from a mile away. Most of them were strong enough to knock him off of his feet, but would never have a chance to land.

Their spar, first to three touches, was a short affair, which only seemed to anger Ranvir’s opponent.

“You little shit!” He growled, stalking towards Ranvir.

Ranvir was keenly aware how small their combat area was, and stepping out of bounds was equal to a loss. Seeing his opponent wind up for a strike, he darted forward landing a light stab on his chest.

He couldn’t stop the smirk from creeping onto his face, as his opponent further reddened. Then he noticed the student hadn’t stopped the swing. With a clatter of wood against wood, Ranvir’s wrist wrenched as his opponent punched through his guard, slamming into his shoulder.

Red creeping pain blossomed from the impact, as Ranvir staggered away from his opponent. Before he could reorient himself, the asshole shoved him out of the range and onto his ass.

“It’s not funny now, is it?” His opponent mocked, as he walked past.

Ranvir closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. His back hurt from the rough gravel and he’d hit one of the obsidian with the ball of his foot, as he fell. The stone was smooth, but it would definitely leave a bruise.

Slowly, Ranvir climbed to his feet. He stared longingly in the direction of the dorms, before turning his glare to gravel below him, where his sword was laying.

This shit isn’t worth it.

“You good for a spar?” Ranvir looked up to find the intent eyes of Dovar on him. Gritting his teeth, he bend down to pick up his sword. “I saw your fights, you’re pretty good for a beginner.”

He’s fucking mocking me. Ranvir realized, gripping the handle tighter. Feeling the grit and sand bite into his calloused hand. Goddess save me from this arrogant shit.

“No.” Ranvir replied, violet contempt painting his voice. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Hey! I was just trying to be nice.”

“Sure you were.” Ranvir turned away, muttering under his breath loud enough that Dovar could hear it. “Piece of shit.”

Dovar grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Look me in the eye, you coward.” Ranvir could see a vein pulsing in the forehead on the bigger student.

“You’re a godless piece of trash.”

The world exploded in a flash of light.

Suddenly, people were yelling around him, but he couldn’t make anything out. Something was in his mouth, but when he spat it out it quickly returned. White thumping and throbbing enveloped his head, running down his neck and into his chest.

Ranvir blinked, the world making marginally more sense. It had been touch-and-go for a while, but the world was finally straightening out. Icy-blue cold surrounded his face, making it feel numb.

Blinking, he looked around. He was no longer on the field, though he could see the drag marks from where he’d been lying.

Reaching up to his face, someone grabbed his hand and pulled it back down. Turning to see the culprit, he found Master Stjarna. His surprise must’ve been evident as the Master gave him a friendly smile. Gesturing to his face, he then shook his head.

“Don’t touch?” Ranvir struggled to get the words out, as neither his mouth, nor his nose, seemed to cooperate.

The Master nodded, sitting back in his chair.

Time passed and the white throbbing pain returned, though much fainter. Not long after, Teacher Vigo approached.

“You took a strong punch.” He’d squatted down in front of Ranvir and clapped his shoulder. Turning to his fellow Master, Vigo asked. “How is he?”

Master Stjarna didn’t reply in anyway Ranvir could tell, though he wasn’t looking at him. His eyes had caught on his own hands. They were covered in a crusty dark red substance. Closing and opening them in a steady rhythm, he felt it pull on his skin.

Now that he noticed it, his mouth also had a weird coppery taste to it. He tried to spit to clear his mouth, but only managed a rust colored string of saliva.

“Just the nose? Good.” Vigo said, pulling Ranvir’s attention back. “It looks like Dovar hit you pretty hard. Broke your nose, in fact.” Master Vigo ran a hand over his mustache. “That kid is stronger than some grown soldiers I’ve met, you’re lucky he only broke your nose. Master Stjarna’s ice should have you back in working order by tomorrow, just don’t touch it and let it dissipate on its own. Okay?” Ranvir nodded weakly. “Good soldier.” The Teacher clapped him on the shoulder again, before hoisting him to his feet with one hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Ranvir nodded, his head bobbing oddly. A dark, nearly black, blue exhaustion had settled it’s heavy grip on him.