The man looked over the crowd of eager faces, young, innocent, naïve, doomed. As his thinning hair lashed about in the wind, a slight chill crept through his old bones. He had seen those very same faces over the many years he acted as a trainer. And watched as these faces once filled with life and hope were replaced by dread, despair, and emptiness. He was responsible for it, his penance and duty, a burden he willingly bore for the sins he committed in days long gone.

A head of black hair in the back caught his attention. It was a boy about ten years old with brown skin. He recalled news of the outcast Illugi starting his training this spring along with the numerous rumours associated with him. Cursed, dark spawn, svartr were just some of the names he had heard over the years used by the locals to reference this child. At his age, he knew it was all baseless, drivel cooked up by the masses to stave off boredom and explain away their misfortune. ‘Those that do not have the power to change their circumstances tend to look outwards and not within, in fear of acknowledging their own insignificance,’ he recalled experiencing many such cases in his lifetime.

No pity was felt for the child or any of the others for that matter. He had long learned not to care lest he get attached. That way, the guilt that festered inside him like a disease wouldn’t get any worse. He let out a tired breath before beginning the same speech he made every year. Sure it would shatter their fantasies and expectations. But this was all the mercy he was willing to give. Those too weak or lacking the drive would be saved from the harsh reality, living on in a happy lie.

The exercises he would subject them to were in truth tests that the man used to separate the wheat from the chaff, the ones with potential from those that didn’t have any. The first of which tested their physical fitness.

The kids ran laps around the area, panting and gasping for air as he apathetically stared at them. Occasionally a stone would be sent flying towards the heads of those that slowed down. It would sting but wouldn’t do any permanent damage. This was enough to weed out the weakest bunch, deadweight that wasn’t needed. He observed the Illugi child with intrigue; he hadn’t stopped running ever since the order had been given. Was this because he had a strong physique or firm will? ‘Let’s find out just what you’re made of svartr,’ he decided to push the boy to his limits.

He was impressed. The child had run without pause nor slowed down for the entirety of the test. He had made them run for nearly twice as long as usual, but the child’s resilience had caught his attention. A robust physique could only do so much. He had seen such children falter at least a few times along the run. No, it was more likely that the child had been trained, but even war houses do not put their children through rigorous exercise before official training. They wanted them to have at least some semblance of a normal childhood before being thrown into the grinder.

So the boy had done so of his own volition then. The child had drive, but was that all he had? Many an aspiring warrior had fallen by the wayside, a droplet lost to the rivers of time. Drive was not enough.

Calling the children over and instructing them to line up in rows of ten. He pulled at the earth, his closest ally yet greatest enemy, creating a small platform that lifted him up. He explained the basics behind the horse stance and their second exercise, closely monitoring the svartr. To the man’s surprise, the child got into a near-perfect horse stance. He narrowed his eyes, mind filled with questions, ‘This is surely not self-taught. It looks like he’s also using the Basic Breathing Technique. He’s been trained but by who?’

The second test would further weed out those who were not fit to become warriors. It not only tested one’s strength but also focus. How long could they hold the stance once their muscles began burning and knees started wobbling? Once again, he intentionally lengthened the amount of time to test the limits of this increasingly peculiar child. The boy had closed off all distractions around him and seemed to have gone into a meditative state, never faltering throughout the test.

The child had focus, which was abundantly clear from how he could shut off all the useless happenings around him. The snivelling and moaning coming from his peers, his lessers. But over the years, he had seen many with drive and focus. They were able to become competent warriors but nothing more. Only able to walk along the commonly trodden path, following the steps of greater men. They were limited, never able to break free and reach the stars. To do that, one needed something more, a natural instinct that was not born from training, mindset, or lineage.

It was an innate ability that allowed those who possessed it to ingest what was taught and produce something more than the sum of its parts, comprehension. If drive and focus gave one the ability to bake a loaf of bread following a set of instructions. Comprehension would allow one to understand the recipe and subsequently create a new recipe, inventing a new type of bread. What differentiated warriors was not physical prowess or earthbending talent like all those power-hungry war houses believed. They were too caught up in their political games to realise the fact, not that the man had any desire to correct them.

He walked towards a stone whose height reached his waist. While the children were running, he had created it in anticipation of the final test. After a brief explanation, the children started to line up. He noticed the black-haired kid using his larger size to shove his way up the line be he did nothing, ‘If you can’t stand up for yourself, you have no right to become a warrior. We do not need those who are weak of will.’

The first child, a girl, stepped forward, and the subsequent meekness of her attempt was not out of his expectations. Too soft, too afraid, these were better off far away from the battlefront; it was the only mercy the man would give. The next in line was a boy with a decent physique, so the man expected an admirable attempt to be made at the very least. He expected too much… It took all his willpower to stop himself from launching this fool into the air and letting the sweet touch of earth embrace him. He calmed himself before closely observing the third child, the one that had held his attention since the first test. He was calm, still like the earth, a good sign.

The child walked forward and placed a hand on the rock, feeling it, understanding it, becoming it. The silence that permeated the area only increased the tension within the man. He very nearly shouted out loud to get on with it but held himself back lest he interrupts what the boy may be doing. Finally, the boy opened his eyes, and instead of facing head-on with the rock, he stood sideways. The hope for what was to come leaked out, his patented devil’s smile making an appearance once again. Seeing it, the children behind the boy backed away, clearly spooked by the man though he no longer cared for their actions. If this boy was about to do what he thought, he was worth more than a hundred of those other kids.

The boy took in a deep breath, his eyes ablaze with intensity, muscles tensed like a coiled spring. He forcefully exhaled, stepping into a horse stance while punching forward, the collision between fist and stone creating a crisp snap that rung through the area. The rock skidded backwards, about a foot in distance. ‘Wait. Just a foot?’ The man was bewildered, the child had performed the move as well as one would expect from a first-timer, but it should have moved at least two or three feet at the minimum. His form and mindset were excellent, which left just one explanation, this boy’s talent was the lowest of the low. He barely qualified as an earthbender.

‘Such a shame, if only your talent was slightly higher, you could have accomplished something great. No matter, you still have it in you, and there are ways to cheat talent. Let’s see just how far you go.’ Either way, he decided to sincerely train the boy to fully unearth his potential. Who knows, he may just be a diamond in the rough. The man stepped forth, clearing his throat, as the boy who had been staring at the rock with furrowed brows turned to face the man. “As good a form as any would expect from a beginner, what is yer name, boy?”

“My name is Sǫlmundr, sir…” The boy trailed off at the end, not knowing the man’s name.

Noticing the pause, he replied, “The name’s Gammal Galti boy. But tis Trainer Galti to ye.” The birth of a legend upon death throes of another, the sun shone bright, impartial to all below.

I sharply inhaled as I lowered my feet into a filled wooden basin. Cuts that had occurred over the day stung as the water cleansed them. The cool sensation helped numb the pain and discomfort as I went over what had happened earlier. For my first training session, I was made to run till my legs were raw, hold stance shortly after and finally instructed to shift a rock far too large for a first-timer to accomplish. I was happy with how I performed for the first two exercises but not for the last.

I will be the first to admit that I did much better than any other children in terms of form and shifting the rock. Only I managed to get anything more than a slight wobble out of the stone. The children had attempted a myriad of different techniques to put in politely, each more absurd than the last, but none could come close to what I did.

I had done something different compared to how I usually earthbent. Allowing my chi to instinctively act once it exited my body, moving based on my physical actions instead of consciously directing it that had become my norm. There was a reason for this. I wanted to observe how my chi acted when I had no idea what to do. I provided my intention to move the rock, letting it do the rest. I had felt chi rush down my arm as it flew through the air towards the rock before gathering into my fist, forming a protective coating that would shield it from any damage that might occur when it met rock. On impact, chi rushed into the stone while my muscles strained against its weight. My chi acted as a surrogate for my physical strength and exerted force, shifting it about a foot back before exhausting itself.

It was a positive outcome, but I wasn’t satisfied, and from the brief flash of confusion on warrior Galti’s face, I assumed neither was he. I could only wonder how much further the rock would have shifted if my talent was higher. After this performance, the urgency to fully absorb the essence ball has only grown within me. I did not want to lose out on any opportunities because my talent held me back. Maybe it was time to find out other ways to increase the speed at which the ball dissolved in addition to my spiralling technique? I already have a few ideas brewing…

The door creaked open as I mulled over potential ideas. Turning my head, I saw father walk in, or out in this case, of the house. After the training, I had come to his place to tend to my wounds and continue my blacksmith apprenticeship. I sat on a bench in the backyard, nursing my feet while he was inside entertaining a customer. Seems like he had finished business with them and had come to check on how I was faring.

“How are your feet feeling son?” he asked as he neared.

Pulling my foot out the water to get a better view, I replied, “It doesn’t hurt as much as before, but I’m sure it’s gonna blister soon.”

He squatted before me, inspecting the wounds, “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard on your first day of training. I know you must have been excited, but — sigh.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to let Trainer Galti down on my first day,” I uttered while twiddling my thumbs, putting on a guilty face.

“Galti? Is he the one who caused this?” Father questioned with a slight edge to his voice. Picking up on his tone and the real possibility of him doing something rash, I tried to pacify him. I couldn’t have him hinder my training and progress.

Muttering in a low voice, “I’m sorry, father… I just wanted to do my best and quickly become a strong warrior so I could protect you… like mother.”

His expression softened, hearing my words, and he patted my head. “I know, as each day passes, you remind me more and more of her. Just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay? She will never forgive me if I let you keep hurting yourself for me.”

A cheeky smile spread across my face, “I promise, father. I won’t push myself too hard.”

“Sigh — As long as you understand, that’s fine. Now let’s get you patched up, don’t want any of these cuts to get infected. You have your second training lesson in two days, and we don’t want to miss out on that now do we?” he stated while dressing my wounds, “Ah, your naming day is coming up…”

The two idly chatted with each other as the day wore on, uncaring of the happenings around them.