Standing on opposite sides of the courtyard, Alistair and Midhir bowed before readying their weapons. The wind blew from the north, tugging at their hair and cloaks.

Midhir’s heart raced with anticipation as he tightened his grasp on the hilt of his shortsword. A duel with someone from the ancient Orlein bloodline – what more could he ask for at the first day of school?

“Begin!” Instructor Soraya’s voice broke the tense silence.

Alistair dashed forward, taking three long steps within an instant to get in range of his spear, then swung his weapon with a wide, low arc. Sunlight glimmered on the sharp end of the spear as Midhir was forced to retreat a few steps.

Annoyed, he stepped back. A spear’s range was almost three times as much as a shortsword's. He was at a severe disadvantage. It was a difficult match already, and Alistair seemed to have quite a bit of experience with his weapon.

He remained passive, letting Alistair’s wide swings push him back, only using his blade to block when he couldn’t dodge with ease. He needed an opening, a small window of opportunity to get past that long spear and get into range of his blade.

Alistair swung his spear horizontally, with a downward slope before abruptly stopping his swing to turn it into a rather awkward stab.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins as Midhir stepped aside, then caught the wooden shaft of the spear with his left hand, and pulled with all his strength, causing his opponent to stumble forward, right onto his blade.

He spun his blade around his wrist, holding it backwards and hit the young noble’s stomach with its pommel.

“Enough!” Instructor Soraya’s voice rang in the air. Both combatants froze, waiting for her verdict. “Midhir wins,” She declared with a faint smile.

“It was a fine match.” Alistair bowed slightly.

As his racing heart began to calm down, Midhir also bowed. “Thank you for the match.” He sheathed his sword, and watched as Alistair allowed his spear to vanish.

“Now then.” Instructor Soraya grimaced. “That was frustrating to watch.”

Midhir felt his heart sink. Memories of when he first began training surfaced. He had heard those words so many times before.

“You,” She turned to him with a scowl. “What were you thinking, letting him just push you back as he pleased. You tried nothing and you were all out of ideas!” Her frustration was palpable. “If that were a real battle, you would have died because your opponent would have reinforcements arrive by the time you made up your mind! Patience is both a virtue and a curse – you don’t have the luxury of waiting for an opportunity in a real battle.” She shook her head almost aggressively. “You need to create opportunities, try and force your opponent into making mistakes, not do… well, absolutely nothing!”

She took a deep breath upon noticing she was yelling by the end of her speech. “And you!” She turned towards Alistair, with a fire in her eyes. “You lost to someone wielding a shortsword, with a damn spear? He isn’t any better a warrior than you are, so what happened? What was that thrust?! That’s not what the Orlein battle art is!”

Alistair’s face turned pale. “He was just avoiding everything so I thought I should try something different…” His voice faded as he averted his gaze in shame.

“Yes, he was avoiding everything because it was all he was capable of while he waited for you to make a mistake.” She still sounded awfully angry. “And you did exactly that – instead of continuing to do the thing that works, you decided to try something else. Something risky.” She folded her arms and exhaled. “Listen to me, both of you. When you find yourselves in a real fight against an opponent who intends to kill you, you can’t take unnecessary risks.”

Her words were like a punch to his gut, it was difficult to swallow his pride and take them in stride. Midhir bit his lips and forced himself to not look away from her. She was an experienced warrior, it was clear from how she carried herself. Her experience was something for him to learn from, her words were each important lessons to take to heart.

“When you’re in a real battle, every mistake can be lethal, no matter how small or insignificant.” She was calmer now, though the fire in her eyes remained. “You can’t afford to be too hasty, or too patient. You can’t just try new things or do nothing and expect to win.” She first looked at Alistair, then at Midhir. “Am I clear?”

Both of them nodded.

“Very good.” She seemed somewhat satisfied. “Practical Combat and Strategy isn’t like the other classes. We won’t be spending too much time in the classroom. So, after your history class tomorrow morning, come here. We will continue with our practice.” After saying that, she left.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed as the four of them hesitantly glanced at each other, unsure of what to do now.

“Our belongings should have been taken to our dorm rooms, right?” Willow asked sheepishly a few moments later. “We should probably check them to make sure everything is in order.” Since no one else produced any better ideas, the four of them left the courtyard, and headed to their dorms.

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The night was cold, as it would be atop such high mountains. Wind blew against the castle walls, whistling as it found a way in through the windows, or through cracks in the stone walls.

Midhir pulled his blanket up to his chin as the cold breeze within the castle caused plenty of discomfort. He had realised it during dinner as well – nothing in Solas Military Academy was made with comfort in mind. They sat on hard, wooden benches in the mess hall. The food was nutritious, but certainly nothing to write home about.

He now understood why his sister lasted only half a year here. She was naturally somewhat pampered her whole life. No power in Zamor could force her to stand for such discomfort.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest as he tried to warm up. It was so cold. He hadn’t felt so cold in a long time. Soon his gaze drifted off and his eyelids felt heavy. He let himself drift off into sleep.

“The Eldorian Empire’s history is a bloody one.” Instructor Theodore was their history teacher. He was a tall man with brown, wavy hair he wore in a ponytail. He was the youngest instructor in Solas, and one of the very few who weren’t alumni of the academy themselves.

He adjusted his large, round glasses as he spoke. “As you all know, Eldoria is neighbours with the Kingdom of Calador. While we do have a mostly peaceful and somewhat mutually beneficial relationship right now, we do have a bloody and war-torn history between us.”

He then let out a sigh. “However, one must note that none of the conflicts Eldoria had with the Kingdom of Calador happened in a void. Which brings us to the main subject of our class.

Despite being neighbours with the strongest military force in Zamor, our empire’s greatest challenges, and most brutal wars happened within. The War of Flames, the fall of the Rose Capital… These are the most impactful events in our history. They have shaped our empire to become what it is today.”

Instructor Theodore pulled on a white string hanging from the ceiling, pulling down a map neatly hidden in a roll fixed to the wall where it met the ceiling. The map depicted the continent of Zamor as best as the mapmakers knew it.

Two large countries dominated most of the continent. The Empire of Eldoria was at the centre of the map, leaning west and covering most of the coastline. A series of tall mountains impassable by normal means of travel marked Eldoria’s borders with several small sovereign states up north, and down south. Northeast of Eldoria was the second large country, and the largest known country on Zamor – The Kingdom of Calador.

Calador’s borders stretched from the western coast above the small sovereign states, all the way down south of Eldoria. It had full control of the eastern coast of the continent, and had it not been for the small church-states on the southwestern shore below Eldoria, it would have control over all the shores but Eldoria’s western shore. North of Calador was a desert, depicted in golden lines scribbled on the map. The Golden Desert, dubbed so for its scorching hot golden sands, was the limit that anyone had travelled north in the last several millennia.

“Eldoria’s founders, the Ardagh bloodline, still rule our empire.” Instructor Theodore pointed at the large symbol at the centre of Eldoria's territory. “However, An’Larion wasn’t always the capital city. Eldoria’s first capital city was Bareon.” His gaze turned to Alistair for a split second before he pointed at a point slightly east of An’Larion. “Bareon, also called the Rose Capital, was Eldoria’s first and largest city until disaster struck.”

Arwen leaned forward. Her eyes were narrowed behind her large, round glasses, and her lips were pressed together, forming a thin, pale line.

“Surely young lord Orlein here knows,” Instructor Theodore said with a rather mellow voice.

Alister nodded once, sternly. “The fall of the Rose Capital is taught to us at a young age.” His voice was tense, and so was his posture. His fists were clenched.

“Indeed, as it should be.” Instructor Theodore hesitated for a moment. “The Bareon Disaster is the most important event that has shaped our empire. I will talk about it in detail at another time, but let’s just say most of the truths about those events remain shrouded in mystery still.”

Arwen leaned back in her chair. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pursed. She seemed to be disappointed, maybe even a little angry.

Midhir turned his gaze at Alistair. Naturally, the young noble was on edge. The events of the Bareon Disaster were indeed still mostly a mystery, much like the events leading up to the bloodiest war in Eldorian history.

“What I want you all to do is read ‘The Fall of the Rose Capital’ by Lord Andor Orlein.” The Professor continued. “Lord Andor was at Bareon when the city fell, and he was one of the very few survivors who accompanied the Emperor to An’Larion, and he was also present for the reclamation of Bareon. The book details the events of the disaster. It’s the most comprehensive resource you can find of the subject, and Lord Andor was certainly a better storyteller than I could ever be.” He awkwardly smiled.

Alistair seemed relieved. A faint smile touched upon his lips for a split second.

“Since we have a foreigner in our class,” The Instructor continued, “I should probably add that Bareon was reclaimed several decades later by the Imperial bloodline, with the indispensable aid of the Orlein family. After the reclamation of the city, Lord Andor Orlein was made the Lord of the City, and his descendants continue to rule city ever since.”

He then pointed at An’Larion. “The Chalk Capital, as we like to call it, An’Larion remained the capital. It’s currently the empire’s largest city, consisting of thirteen districts.” He grimaced. “An’Larion has a history of its own, and it’s fairly recent as well – the events that led to the destruction of the thirteenth district of the city are a complete mystery still. I’ll eventually talk about that too, but for now, let’s start with the Bareon Disaster. Remember to read ‘The Fall of the Rose Capital’ before our next class.”

After leaving the classroom, the group slowly began making their way to the cafeteria. Alistair trailed behind them in silent contemplation. Shortly before they reached the cafeteria, Arwen cleared her throat. “I think I’ll go to the library, I don’t feel particularly hungry right now. Excuse me.” She quickly turned away and with hasty steps walked off towards the stairwell leading to the upper floors, where the library was located.

“I suppose she’s really eager to get started with that book.” Willow muttered watching her leave. A moment later, she shrugged. “Well, I’m starving. Let’s go.”

The cafeteria, unlike the mess hall next to the dormitories, was at least minimally decorated. Tables surrounded by cushioned seats dotted the large rectangular room. A counter was situated next to the entrance, with a few students waiting in line to get their food or beverages.

Midhir, Alistair, and Willow also got in line, and soon were able to give their order. Once they received their orders, they moved away from the counter to a table by the windows on the left side of the room. As they pulled their seats and placed their trays on the table, Alistar suddenly scowled. He sat down, and turned his gaze towards the window, peering into the distance.

“Greetings,” A sharp voice sounded from behind them as Midhir and Willow also motioned to sit down. “Lord Orlein, it’s an honour.”