It had all been real. This time when Rafe slept, he dreamt about it all. Not just his last few hours at home, but his whole life, his family, his friends, his team.

In his dreams, Rafael Kingsley thought about his two lives.

****

When he woke a second time, there was no banging in his head. The banging outside was still there though, and it was hot, and he opened his eyes to a yet groggy scene of a thin boy with wiry muscles lifting a black smith's hammer. He brought it down on red hot metal, and sparks flew.

Noid didn't show any hints he'd noticed his waking, only continuing to work away at his anvil. Rafe hadn't known him for a black smith, but then again, had he ever really known the walking enigma.

“You probably have a lot of questions,” Noid commented, stopping his work not at all.

That was an understatement. Rafe had so many questions they'd both grow grey before he'd even made a dent in them. But he had to start somewhere.

“What is this place? This world I've lived in for the last ten years of my life?”

Noid grunted, but otherwise made no comment. He continued to beat on his piece of metal for a few moments, and just when Rafe was going to complain, he stopped his banging. He lifted the still red hot metal using a pair of gigantic tongs, and put it into a tub, cooling it off with an audible hiss. The product was something in the shape of a bastard sword.

It was great, large, black. It didn't look pretty, with the sharp edges uneven. What's more, it wasn't whole for more than a few heartbeats. He hit one of it's edges with a tiny hammer, and like a piece of glass the metal fell apart. With a sigh Noid collected his metal, putting it all into what Rafe could only guess was a mould and delivering it back to the roaring furnace.

“I can answer all your questions, I assure you. Though the answers might disappoint. I'd rather I gave you my own question first, before we begin. I need to make a decision, and in order to do that, you'll need to decide first.”

Rafe was immediately on guard. He didn't know why, but this felt like some kind of test. As he lay there, under the most intense scrutiny Noid had ever subjected him to, he knew something was going to change today. And hadn't it already. He'd gotten his memories back, and perhaps this was the reason Noid had given them back to him. Swallowing, he nodded his head in acquiescence, wondering how his life would change after this day.

“You have your memories back. Do you still wish to pursue the path of the sword?”

Rafe breathed out in a slow, audible puff. He'd expected it, somehow he'd known he'd be expected to make a choice. He was scared. He'd killed people, on this path. He'd chosen it to begin with, he remembered, right before his memory had abandoned him. And how had his memories abandoned him anyway? He would have preferred Noid answer his questions before he committed to following his instructions.

“You don't have to tell me now,” Noid said, turning away from him. “But bare in mind that I won't answer any of your no doubt burning questions until you make a decision.”

Even decisiveness was a factor being tested, Rafe realised abruptly. What would a warrior do in the case of an ambush? Would he give his opponents time to prepare even more? Would he turn his back and run? Rafe hesitated, trying to squirm his way out of the bed. He knocked something over, something cold and hard, and it fell with a clang to the floor next to his pallet.

He looked down at his swords, two of which were short and curved swords, almost just big knives. Twin swords shaped like fangs. He'd bought them because he thought they would fit his style, Orlandir's style, better than ordinary short swords. He looked at the forge, remembering the sword he'd been designing in his head for years now.

The sword he now knew had taken inspiration from the katana from his old world. He'd only seen one as a decoration in his father's house, and it had been fragile and beautiful and not a tool for war at all. It was a decoration, but the one in his head wouldn't be. It would fit his slender build well, and it would incorporate all the techniques he'd learned so far. Even Orlandir's windmill style, although with Rafe's speed, he could turn it into a twister style or something of the sort.

It was only a fraction of a second Rafe spent in his thoughts, and before Noid had finished turning, Rafe had made his decision. He might not trust Noid, might not respect him as a mentor, but he could admit he'd seen multiple scenes of gods doing battle, and that simple swordsman had captured his attention.

“Wait!”

Noid turned to him with a raised brow, his sleeveless arms showing off long arms with wiry muscles.

“Teach me. I think I still want to follow this path to it's end.”

“Really? Even after you killed those people?”

“It wasn't the sword's fault that I killed them. After all, in your vision, you didn't kill that man you fought with, nor did it look like you had any intention to.”

“You cannot always afford to spare your enemies. Especially when you're so weak.”

Rafe hesitated, but…

“Even so,” he spoke with determination.

“Mhmm,” Noid said, studying him intently. “Are you sure? If you choose to remain on the path, I will treat you as my apprentice, and I will only give you answers as they become pertinent. Some of your questions may never be answered.”

Rafe cursed internally. Was his learning sword play more important than finding out about this system as soon as possible, finding out about how he could get home, if he could get home, finding his family? But then again, his family, home? What the hell was that place? He'd felt more welcomed by Jonathan Wilde and his family than his own father. If anything, finding out about his current world was more important than finding out about earth. And that thought disgusted him so much, he didn't even want to think about it anymore.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

They were his family, for crying out loud, his own flesh and blood. And the ones who'd taken him in and shared moments of peace with him, right after a brutal war. He couldn't decide. So maybe he was being a coward, but he let his sword decide for him, and it wanted to sing. Noid’s eyes widened, like he could see his thoughts written plain on his face.

“Your reason for choosing this shouldn't embarrass you, Rafael. If anything, it is very similar to my own reason. I turned to the sword after my own family abandoned me. The sword is my family. But that is my truth, not yours, and the purpose of our coming here, of me returning your memories, of this whole challenge, was to help you find your truth.

“Now then, young master Kingsley, tell me, why do you fight? No don't answer that, your sword will.”

****

His system, his status, all the skills he had been looking forward to studying, everything was once again blocked off by Noid.

“The system is an important tool in the mordern world,” Noid had informed him, “but it isn't important to you right here and now. Right now your skills would be nothing more than a distraction. You cannot pick a class yet, in any case.”

“Why not?” Rafe had demanded, especially after learning he could not level up, and therefore was only getting stronger at a tenth the speed he would have otherwise.

“The system has already marked you for a tutorial. You can only get a class once the tutorial starts.”

That did tell him a few things, namely that whatever the tutorial was, it was yet to happen. Still, he'd been marked ten years in advance? That seemed irresponsible. Lots of people could die in ten years, and then what would be the use of the marking. Or maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been in this place for more than ten years. It was a stupid hope, but Rafe wanted to hope anyway.

“We are not here to learn about the system just now,” Noid said. “Ours is to start the journey of creating your concept.”

“My concept?”

“Yes. When you fought at that inn, Jonathan said something to me, something that got me excited. He said you let your sword think for you. Your sword wanted blood, and so it got blood.”

“Let my sword think for me? The sword, or swords I'd just bought because I desperately wanted revenge?” Rafe asked dubiously even as he stirred the ash put of his kiln.

“Yes, and no. You have a sword, in your soul. It is not the best path, using a single tool to build your future around, but it worked for me. It won't make you super powerful, but it will be easy to develop. And it will make you my disciple.”

Rafe didn't know what the hell Noid was talking about, and he let his silence answer for him. The kiln had been going for most of two days, and Rafe intended to keep it burning a few hours longer. If he could make an alloy with the strange magical metal Noid had given him, maybe he could make his katana a little more durable.

“Yes, first you'll want to know what a concept is, I presume. It is just that, a concept, an idea, an idea which you believe with your very soul. Your concept is your truth, or the first fraction of it.”

“You talked about truth before. Said it was why we were here?”

“Ah yes, the truth. Your very own piece of reality. Some people took to calling it the dao, for some reason, and some believe it is something we steal from the heavens. It is your very own way of inflicting your will on the universe, on reality.

“An attack made with a poison concept cannot be cured with a mundane healing spell. It can be directly combated by a purifying concept imbued spell. But in the right hands, even a sword concept could fight off the poison concept. A stronger truth could even wipe out a concept, even if common sense dictates otherwise. For example a stronger truth to do with fire could cool down lava, even though conventionally fire should help the lava stay hot.”

“That's all good, you know, but I still don't quite get it.”

Noid looked at him for a moment, frowning, trying to think his way forward. He sighed, then looked up to the sky as he so usually did these days. Rafe wondered what he had to be so wistful about.

Just then though, a scene Rafe had seen a thousand times in his dreams the past week returned.

He was in the expanse of space, and a man and woman exchanged deadly blows. As the man moved, a whole planet disappeared like it had never been, the side of the galaxy nearest him went dark, and with a punch to the woman more still disappeared. The woman healed instantly, and with a flex of her robe, light returned.

It was only an instant, only two movements, but then Rafe was back under the open sky, sitting beside his kiln and watching Noid.

“I am not the best teacher, the best at explaining things. Still, I believe a visual aid was necessary. Did you see the pinnacle of destruction face off against the pinnacle of immortal fate?”

“So those were their truths then?”

“Yes, but don't go getting ideas. That is a few millennia out for you, at the very least. I just wanted you to see how far you could take what you learnt here.”

“That punch the demon god threw,” Rafe said. “It spoke, a thousand words, a thousand tiny ideas. A black hole, chaos, the void, darkness eternal, the end of all life…”

Noid just nodded like this was all obvious, although Rafe didn't know what even he was talking about.

“The disadvantage of having a vague idea for a truth. The idea of destruction is so…hard to settle. You on the other hand, are basing your truth on a physical object, a simple object. A sword you'll craft with your own hands. It might not be as glorious as having a concept of say, the sun, or fate like my little sister, but simple and reliable is what we do.”

Rafe grinned. “So, how do I start? How do I make my concept?”

“I love the enthusiasm, kid, but there is not enough time left in the trial world for you to finish your concept here. I've managed to push your stay to about, ten more years at the most, if you don't waste too much energy with deaths and ressurections, in which time you'll have to come as close as you possibly can. In truth, it will harm you to form a part of your truth in the void. Here where time passes so fast and yet so slowly. That skill of yours might protect your mind, but it does not protect your soul.”

Rafe wanted to ask, dearly wanted to ask, but he'd learned what Noid meant about being his apprentice. He'd only get answers if and when Noid deemed it necessary. Still, he had to ask. Had to know.

“The void? Come to think of it, my skill description did mention something about time dissonance…”

Noid scoffed. “I'll let Enith tell you about that one. If I've got half a brain as I used to when I lived, I'd bet that's the main reason she's gotten this interested.”

“The enchantress? Do I still get to meet the other gods of Skyholm even though I chose your trial?”

“Focus on forging your blade, child. I want you out of here in a week. All these swordsmen I put in my head. All the energy it takes to maintain them.”

And that was another thing Noid had told him about. This world wasn't real. It was a mental construct, mostly from memories but also imagination. Most of the people here, like Jonathan and his family were based on people Noid had known. Even his family and his history with them. The war Rafe had taken part in though, was just a part of the test Noid had invented. The other races like Jasmine and Rhea were ones Noid had only come across after leaving his planet behind to travel the cosmos.

There were other races still, in this mind construct, that Rafe had yet to run into. Orlandir was based on a real person Noid knew once, and apparently his end in reality had been far less brutal than in the trial. There was only one conclusion Rafe could draw from all this: his fault. It was his fault Orlandir had died.

And if this world wasn't real, then what did it make all his memories of them? Were they nothing? Were they just delusions?

Rafe groaned. Thinking so much was a pain. Things would work themselves out, in the end, or they wouldn't. Nothing to do except finish his damn blade.

He broke the kiln with a pick axe, the still burning fuel forcing him to take a few steps back. He held onto the blobs of red-hot solids with the gigantic tongs, dunked them in a pre prepared bucket of water. With a hiss, the metal cooled to reveal a blob of black impurities. He hit it with the tiny hammer, and like a moulting insect, the shell broke apart to reveal grey metal with white veins slithering through it.

“Yes!” Rafe shouted.

That was step one done, just a few hundred more, and a few hundred more years to go.

As he banged down his mostly rightly shaped piece of alloy the following day, Rafe remembered what Noid had told him. It wasn't Noid's fault he'd lost his memories. It was his own. It was his own subconsciuos’ way of protecting his half destroyed brain. Noid had taken it in stride because it meant for a trial taker who knew nothing. Like a babe, being taught everything from scratch.

And then his subconscious had developed that damned skill, somehow. The skill that had been active for ten years and counting, protecting him from his own memories as it protected him from the dissonance of the trial itself. No wonder he'd lived in such a state of perpetual pain for ten years. The adamanance of the blade…

When he'd finished cooling off the metal, he got the small hammer to test it out, but before he'd even started, the blade curled into itself like a drying leaf, losing the vibrance of the white veins through it.

“I told you to start with basics,” Noid said from outside the house.

Right, always start with the basics. No point skipping steps.