Ranvir joined his weapons class as they waited for Teacher Vigo to arrive. Standing ready in the cold was somehow both easier and harder than in the morning. Coming straight out of the bed, the cold bit into the exposed flesh and sent involuntary shivers all through out the body. In the evenings, it was usually hotter and you’d already spent time outside, but you’d also had time indoors getting used to warmth again and you were tired from a full day’s work.

Ranvir didn’t look especially forward to the evenings class. With Sansir and Grev having achieved Veil it was paramount that they figured out how to use their powers while fighting.

The sheer difference in power was really the issue. Where before it took concerted effort for Grev to even get an attempt at blinding one of them, having to pick the right moment gather the light necessary. Now, he could manage twelve equal streams of light from every direction. Only Sansir’s innate senses as a first-stage tethered allowed him to deal with Grev’s attacks. It took effort for Ranvir to track Grev’s powers, while Sansir’s Veil to functioned similarly to his tether-sense.

In the end, he’d had to pull back unable to spar against either of them. Ranvir simply couldn’t throw around enough power to keep up. It was a sour truth, but a truth none the less.

Teacher Vigo set the class off to spar after their warm ups with the spear. Ranvir followed Sansir and Grev longingly with his eyes, before stepping over to the instructor.

“Teacher Vigo.” He greeted the grizzled man.

“Student Ranvir.” Vigo returned.

“I’m thinking that I’m not going to get much out of training with Sansir and Grev. For a while, at least.”

Vigo raised a brow. “For a while, huh? Can’t say you’re not smart.” His brows drew together and he looked over the class, as they all divvied up into sparring rings. “I think I have an idea, if you feel up to it?”

Jorund’s curiosity drew him away from the trio of students he was sparring with. He’d spectacularly failed to make many friends within his own class, though he had managed a bit better in one of the other lounges. Personally, he couldn’t wait for second year, when they would move to a new dorm and he could join his friends.

Of course, he recognized the student standing in one of the larger sparring rings, wooden hammer in hand. He had an intensity, especially when he fought, that scared Jorund more than he’d willingly admit to anyone. He especially remembered during the tournament, when he threw the spear. For a second, he could’ve sworn he’d seen lights from behind Coldfront’s eyes.

“This exercise is simple.” Master Vigo said, standing before Coldfront. “Form a line, then you go one at a time. One touch and that’s it. Whoever’s touched first, loses. Any volunteers?”

Immediately, half a dozen or so students leapt forwards, from which Vigo picked one at random and set the others in a line behind him. All opposed against Coldfront.

That’s a lot of faith in him. Jorund thought, looking to from the Master to Coldfront.

“Begin in three.”

As the Teacher counted down, Ranvir knelt down touching the freshly fallen snow from this morning, presumably testing how well he’d be able to keep his feet. He only barely got to his feet, before they begun.

His opponent came rushing in so fast Jorund suspected he must’ve been an ice manipulator, using the snow to push off like he was on stone. He’d had the time to set it up.

Coldfront threw snow in his face, not even a snowball. His opponent flinched, pulling the spear up past his line and unbalancing. Coldfront stepped in and caught him by the collar, before he could fall, while pressing his hammer into his side.

When his opponent righted himself, Jorund was surprised to see Coldfront kneel down to grab his spear and handed it off with a nod. The only expression on his face was a dead certainty. A knowledge that spoke of things beyond Jorund’s understanding. A shiver ran down his spine as he watched the second spear-wielder approach, more carefully this time.

Coldfront stepped in, baiting out a thrust. It took a few tries before the overly cautious student took the bait and got a faceful of snow, followed by a hammer lightly pressed into his chest.

The next fights went with similar ease. There was a sort of rhythm to Coldfront’s movements. Jorund had heard stories of him fighting against the former Teacher Grimar’s students. With only a shield, he’d fought off multiple students. In the end, though, they’d blinded him so bad it’d taken multiple trips to Master Stjarna before he healed.

At the tournament, Jorund had trouble believing it, but seeing him now easily handling these similarly trained students, he was finally starting to understand. Another fell in a puff of snow, this time nearly hitting himself in the face with his spear.

Hang on a minute. Jorund thought, mentally going over the last spars. He’s been doing the same thing every fight… He bit his lip looking to Master Vigo, before with quickened breath taking the steps and putting himself at the back of the line. Coldfront had already won seven fights, there were only three people in front of Jorund.

Watching Coldfront’s face inch ever closer, like an unflinching and unfeeling specter coming ever closer with each passing second, Jorund’s heart started racing. He tightened his grip on the spear, feeling the leather of the gloves bite into the handle, though it lacked the same finesse as bare hands, the cold wasn’t worth the trade off.

Again, he saw another student losing in a puff of snow and a soft press of hammer to ribs. Despite the seemingly gentle nature of the touch there wasn’t even a hint of the nature reflected in the wielder.

Suddenly, no more students stood before Jorund. Only he and Coldfront. In the sparring ring. Those eyes settled on him again. A light brown colored both eyes, though his left eye’s pupil seemed to be weeping into his iris.

Already crying for my loss. The thought struck Jorund unbidden and he very nearly stepped out, only barely stopped by a whisper of a feeling that he was right. There was a pattern to.

Even now, Coldfront’s free hand was in a loose fist, ready with the snow.

You can do this. Look at him, he’s hardly taller than you and he certainly doesn’t have your strength. You were a blacksmith’s apprentice before coming here. Jorund squared his shoulder, which were appropriately wide, though it was hidden well underneath his bulky coat.

“Begin.” Master Vigo said, beginning their spar.

Jorund kept it slow, making sure of his footing before he moved on. Keeping his spearhead between him and Coldfront holding his opponent at a distance, one he could cross with a lunge but the hammer couldn’t.

After baiting him for nearly thirty seconds, Jorund realized he couldn’t get around it. He would have to take Coldfront up on the offer, his positioning and defense was hard to overcome, especially since he kept pacing to Jorund’s left, towards his open flank. It forced Jorund to keep turning, pushing the butt of his spear out from him, otherwise he couldn’t interpose it between them.

Taking a deep breath, Jorund adjusted his grip making ready for a sharp motion, then stepped in to attack Coldfront’s seemingly open right shoulder. The flurry of snow came for his eyes, almost before Jorund moved. He stumbled back, despite having seen it coming, Coldfront timed the throw well and Jorund still lost his balance. He did manage to jerk his spear in a sweep, while blinded by the ice in his eyes.

The spear jarred to a halt with a slap of wood on leather after which the hammer was pressed into his shoulder.

“Finally, someone saw it.” Coldfront muttered.

Jorund blinked his eyes open tentatively, hoping the snow would avoid his eyes. Coldfront had grabbed his spear with his freehand after throwing the snow.

“It’s a peculiar failing of the spear training you’ve been receiving.” Master Vigo said, stepping into the ring. “Though it’s unlikely that it’ll be one that you’ll see much of on the front lines. You’re being taught to fight in formation. You’re learning to fit in amongst your soldiers, when you need to spare your energy, or want to hide amongst your men. The way you wield the spear leaves your flank open, like so. However, in formation, that’s where your partner will be, so it’s only when you’re working alone that you need to be aware of this failure. That said, it is something you will be working on today and the rest of the week. You’ll be allowed to keep going against Student Ranvir for the rest of the class, if you so choose.”

“I’ll go!” Someone yelled. “Now that I know, I’ll show him not to look down on us!” Jorund looked over at the student who’d yelled. The lingering snow on his clothes told him Coldfront, Ranvir, had already knocked him down once. He was rather unremarkable looking, except for a nose that had been set poorly leaving it crooked. On his breast, he carried a pin of an eye.

Kurri’s Eye. Jorund thought, as he vacated the sparring ring and the student stepped in to confront Coldfront. He was taller than the space tethered, but Jorund didn’t doubt the resolution of this fight.

“Begin.” Vigo called

The loud student stepped forwards, spear at the ready. “No snow tricks this time.” He said, condescension clear in his voice.

The single twitch of Coldfront’s jaw muscle was the only warning.

Coldfront caught a testing jab from the spear behind the head. Stepped into the strike, while yanking the spear forwards. Loudmouth staggered into Coldfront’s stomping kick throwing him to the ground.

From the ground, Coldfront heaved the spear out of Loudmouth’s hand and tossing it across his chest. Coldfront stepped out of the ring, leaving Loudmouth wide-eyed and gasping for breath, clutching at the spear across his chest like it was a lifeline. There were some quiet murmurs after that. No one challenged Coldfront for the rest of the class, instead he practiced his forms or sparred with Master Vigo.