Sitting in the infirmary I decided the best way to be helpful was probably stay quiet considering the amount of rambling and ranting Priscilla had begun to do about the injury. Turns out a cracked skull is a rather severe injury to have, not that the instructors ever told me that. On the other hand Selwig had left to collect both of our things we had left in the hurry from the library. I could barely think as Priscilla grabbed my head and held it down.
“Alright, I can heal this for you but it’ll hurt a lot unfortunately. Is that fine?” Priscilla asked, feeling rather tense judging by how jittery she seemed.
“It should be okay, if it just heals it faster I don’t mind.” I mumbled still hunched over as I heard her begin to chant.
At first it felt soothing with its warmth like a comforting hug you would get from the nanny that raised you as a child. Then it began to feel too hot which was weird in its own right as I was set on fire before but this was like it had decided to ignite the nerves themselves. Gripping the bed sheets was all I could do to stop the urge to crack my head open as I felt the sweat drip down my face. My stomach churned badly and I could feel the bile sting my throat as I wanted to desperately scream. Then it was all over like being plunged under a frozen lake as I jolted up hearing Priscilla squeak as my head narrowly missed her face.
“Ah, I’m sorry it’s just I didn’t expect to hurt that much.” I looked a little sheepish considering I nearly headbutted the girl who helped me.
She offered a small smile and shook her head. “It’s fine I expected you to react a lot worse to the healing but you kept yourself under control. That’s quite impressive pain tolerance.”
“Thanks, I guess I got well trained by my instructors back home.” I calmed myself a little as I realised Ashroth must be in my memories again considering how oddly silent he was being. Laying back into the cool pillow it brought relief to my head that felt like it might burst open.
Shutting my eyes I could hear the sounds of Priscilla’s shoes against the infirmary wooden floors as she seemed to be busying herself with cleaning and murmurs, I let the white noise distract me as I slipped into sleep.
Opening my eyes the feeling of the course and dusty ground was familiar to me as was the grip of the sword in my hand as I looked up at the imposing man glaring down at me. Yet as the tears welled up in my eyes from the feeling of bruises scattered across my body and the taste of blood in my mouth the familiar man kneeled down and put a hand to my head ruffling my hair. It was a warmth I never had from my father in my memories for a long time. His face had a distant kind of smile filled with pity.
“I get it’s hard Lucas but you need to understand an Alphonse cannot afford to be weak. We are the frontline of the empire that holds off the other races from invading. Being so weak will only hurt you when you stand alongside your siblings as an adult.”
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I nodded, rubbing the tears from my eyes as I gripped the sword only to feel my father pry my hands from it.
“An easier weapon might be better for you. A spear is versatile and has a good range to it, we will start your lessons with that instead. Does that sound good?” The smile on his face but the stern look in his eyes reminded me this was an order, not a suggestion.
“I-I… I understand father.” Getting up my body ached as I watched my father stand as well. His figure felt warped as he walked over to grab the spear like a haze of heat. Blinking it away I took the wooden staff that would simulate a spear for now in my hands. It felt comfortable but as I looked from the spear I could feel the cold wind against my face.
Looking around I found myself standing in the empty training grounds, a target dummy in front of me marked in red where to aim on the chest. It was a common idea that although striking the head would guarantee a kill, it was too small and moved too quickly to strike easily when the chest was such a more manageable target. Centre of the chest where the heart or lungs would be close to, lower down just below the ribs would allow for quicker strikes without bone getting in the way and just below that near the bottom would be good to hit as a ruptured intestine could at least infect their wounds. Gripping the spear I practised as my small body fumbled to land the hits as adjusting my distance was always indeed too close to generate enough thrust or too far for the spear to hit deeper. I paced back and forth the cold air stinging my lungs as I kept focusing on it.
The dark shadows around the edges of the training grounds felt as they grew darker and bigger as I trained. Skin on my palms torn and bloody as I kept striking the rhythm falling into place. Ignoring my misses and bad pacing to compensate with a faster recovery. Slowly I began hitting each target when I wanted to yet there were always problems with the landing of the hit. I tried to think of why I even bothered training through the night when I could be sleeping. Frustrated, I tossed the spear against the ground and grasped my hair with a deep breath.
“Why won’t this fucking work?” My language was far crasser than myself as a child but even now my body struggled to use a spear perfectly. It was pathetic and I could not even beat a commoner in a forest. Years of training simply meant nothing in my idiocy. Slumped on the sand I cursed. All these years I trained was to be my father’s pride, stand amongst my prodigious siblings and get my mother to acknowledge I even existed. Every single time it came up short I wanted to quit yet I persisted or at least tried to until the flag game. Losing a fight miserably, being tricked by a spirit and becoming the unwilling vessel of an ancient evil. If I die he gets my body and if I live there's a moment he will one day overtake me. So what am I striving for? What is making me try in alchemy, in combat and even in studies? Why don’t I just walk away from this Academy and find some menial job amongst the normal people? Then it hit me as the darkness begun to cling onto me like tar as I sat amongst the dust.
“To prove I tried…” That was all I wanted to do. Prove to everyone, no to myself that no matter what I did it was hopeless. Definitively all the effort I could throw in meant nothing. It was my only reason to march forward, my only proof of myself and in the end a way to console myself when I reach the end. I guess I’ll at least try to graduate and find some way to survive on my own.
Afterall how hard could graduating from this Academy be?