Their days were busy, filled with practice, studying, then more practice. Once dusk arrived, everyone but Midhir was free to do as they pleased, but he then had more practice to attend.
Standing on the petite instructor’s balcony, facing the strong winds blowing against him, he tried to keep a small flame at the tip of a dagger lit. The wind fought him, and so did his whirling emotions. His thoughts refused to clear, his mind refused to focus.
The flame blinked in and out of existence, causing Instructor Caarda to purse her lips in disappointment. “That’s enough,” she shook her head with a sigh. “We’re just wasting our time at this point – you aren’t even trying, young Induen.”
With a gasp, he let go of the thread of power. The small flame vanished immediately as the glow of the crystal faded away. “I’m trying,” he wiped the bead of sweat off his forehead. “I’m just… having some trouble.” His learning had just hit a wall – no matter how much he tried, he simply couldn’t get past it. He still was unable to control the flow of power fully.
The instructor winced as she stood up from her rocking chair. With small steps, and leaning on her cane fully for support, she walked up to him. Her sharp gaze met his. “You’re not focusing.” She stated coldly. “What could be more important to you than this?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You must learn to control your power – control your mind. You can’t let emotions cloud your judgement.”
Midhir averted his gaze. “I know, Instructor.” He bit his lips. “I’ll do better.”
“Again!” Instructor Soraya’s shout marked the beginning of another duel. Alistair’s spear struck hard and true. He tried to defend against the strikes, but he couldn’t quite follow them – he retreated, until his back was against the wall, and he was out of breath. His hands shook, and his knees barely kept him standing.
“Enough!” Instructor Soraya shouted. “Midhir! What in the Daughter and the Sun’s name are you doing?” She marched towards them with a disappointed look in her eyes. “Alistair, go spar with Willow. And you – with me,” she pointed at Midhir, then marched off towards the edge of the lake.
With a sigh, he followed her, preparing for what’s to come.
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“What’s wrong with you?” She asked as soon as he reached her. “You beat Alistair every single time, and now you can’t even stand your ground for more than a dozen breaths?” Her eyes were filled with a fire – was it anger?
“I’m still getting used to the new sword-“ he began to speak, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
“Keep your excuses to yourself, Induen,” she spat. “You’re distracted, your mind is elsewhere.” She furrowed her brows, and glared at him. “If you keep this up, you’ll die on the battlefield – and it will be a pitiful death.”
Pressing his lips together, he remained silent. What was there to say?
“Do better.” She barked before turning around and marching off to watch Alistair and Willow’s duel.
Sitting on his bed, he rested his head against his palms. His instructors’ words were still fresh in his mind. He had to do better. He needed to be a better swordsman, he needed to be a better crystal manipulator, he needed to learn more about Eldoria’s history, he needed to study Calador’s situation, and learn more about how the civil war started…
With a sigh, he collapsed on his side and pulled the covers over his neck. He needed to find the woman in white. He needed to figure out what the Great One was asking of him.
There was so much that needed to be done, and he had no idea where to start. He was drowning, with no shore in sight. The weight of everything had started to come crashing down, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
His eyelids grew heavy, and his consciousness began to drift away.
Wither
The woman wearing a white nightgown walked down the marble hallway. Her bare feet made no sound as she stepped into a large chamber. With her silky black hair cascading behind her back, she walked to the centre of the room, raised her arm in front of face, and bit into her wrist.
The short vision repeated itself, over and over again. The word ‘wither’ echoing in his mind until he finally rose from his restless slumber.
Feeling even more exhausted than the day before, he prepared to leave his room. His steps were sluggish, and his thoughts preoccupied with the vivid, disturbing vision.
Watching the two armies march towards each other, she pursed her lips and folded her arms. Calador was aflame, and that damned old man was nowhere to be found. The death toll kept rising, and all she could do was to watch from the other side of this damned desert, just waiting for the second bell to toll.
“It’s not good, my girl.” She finally spoke after a long stretch of silence. “The war won’t end any time soon. You should prepare – this won’t be contained in just Calador.”
The young woman on the other side of the sending mirror scowled. “It’s not good here either.” She said with a desperate voice. “Things that shouldn’t happen are happening all over the empire, and…” her voice faded as she bit her lips.
“What?” The witch glanced at the mirror.
“I think he’s slowly withering.” Her voice was shaking. “I think there’s still a price to be paid.”