Two columns of water rose on either side of his opponent. No, they were like living things. They writhed constantly and he would bet they would move through the air as if they were swimming. So the most apt comparison, on second thought, would be sea serpents.

His opponent had summoned two sea serpents as an opening move.

Desmond took off running without hesitation.

It was dangerous, but it would do him no good to stay planted on the other side. Dodging the attacks while waiting for an opening. Passivity, hesitation, meant defeat. Death.

Fights were short, violent affairs that ended abruptly, and there was one more thing all fights had in common: whoever attacked first had the upper hand.

Landing a single blow was usually enough to decide the outcome of a fight.

In this case, it wasn't that simple, but almost. Attack, attack and attack. If he managed to reach his opponent while dodging the water snakes, then he would have won.

It wouldn't give him time to defend himself. It wouldn't give him time for anything but regret that he hadn't used his magic in a more practical, effective way.

The snakes came for him.

Desmond cut off the "head" of one, wielding the sword with both hands. But the snake regenerated and came after him again. He thought fast. He threw himself to the ground.

He spun across the ground, sword in hand, spinning it with him. It was as if he had become a ball covered with thousands of spikes. Those sharp spikes repelled the snakes that were after him. Trying to crush him to the ground, hold him back, finish him off.

Fluidly, he got to his feet when the momentum of the spin was over. He continued to run towards the opponent. The snakes were on his heels, and he hadn't covered as much ground as he would have liked. Suddenly he realized that. Too late to change anything.

Soon after he was caught. One of the snakes caught up with him and broke apart. But it didn't lose its shape, the enemy hadn't lost control. He simply caused the water to change shape.

From a snake it formed something like water shackles. That not only tied his hands, literally. It also sealed the use of his sword.

He said shackles before, but that wasn't really the right word.

They weren't just on his wrists, tightening. The water covered his entire hands, and it was hard and heavy like a cement ball. Well, that wasn't quite right either.

If it had just been cement, he would have been able to free himself easily.

It was much harder than cement.

There was no need to make comparisons. Water might not be solid, but it was stronger than anything else in the world. The power of nature. The source of life.

The gods were the creators of everything, of course. They had given birth to all animal species and had made humans in their likeness. However, all that life had one thing in common: it had come from the waters. That was what he meant.

Even drops of water could bring down a mountain, given enough time. That is why water was popularly considered the most powerful affinity. But affinities were just a tool. It all depended, in the end, on the hands that used it.

Since he was trapped, "helpless," the second snake came to finish him off.

It was in for a good surprise.

He couldn't use his hands and his sword. So what? He still had his legs free. Besides, that thing about him not being able to use his hands wasn't entirely true, in any case.

Desmond leapt over the snake that attacked him, with a sideways somersault. Covering a distance of ten meters in an instant. He landed right in front of his opponent. He sent the snake after him, but, by the time it arrived, it would be too late.

His opponent had lost his cool. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have unwound the snake, allowing all that amount of water to fall on top of him.

Then he would have reshaped it again, putting an effortless end to the fight.

But he couldn't think clearly. He had gotten nervous and it would cost him everything. That and he had given him the perfect weapon to finish him off.

Yes, water represented the vastness of life. The uncontrollable power of nature. Now he would make his opponent feel that power in his own body.

In other words, going straight to the point, he dropped the sword, to the surprise of his enemy, who like an idiot was distracted looking at it.

Just a few seconds, but you couldn't say just a few seconds.

Even a second could make the difference between life and death. He hadn't committed a simple carelessness, but a fatal mistake and Desmond made him pay for it. Hitting him in the chest with the solid water in which he had wrapped his hands.

The force of the impact stole the air from his opponent's lungs. It made him open his mouth as if he was choking on something. In addition, he staggered backwards. He probably would have been able to regain his balance easily, but he tripped over Desmond's sword and fell to the ground.

He hadn't planned that last part, honestly... but he wasn't going to complain that it had happened, of course.

Desmond was different.

He wouldn't waste a single second and certainly not opportunities like this.

He threw himself on top of his opponent.He put his hands around him and, with that water, exerted force on his windpipe pushing down.

He thought the enemy would quickly surrender. From the panic, from the pain. But, to his surprise, that wasn't the case.

He held on and forcibly shoved it off him, hitting Desmond with several jets of water shot from one of his open palms.

Desmond recovered quickly, however, getting to his feet.

That would not happen again. He would learn from his mistakes.

As he approached, his opponent threw an arm toward him, as if trying to punch him. No, that was what he had actually intended, in his panic. His fist was clenched, not open. Shooting water would only have hurt himself.

So, he had really tried to punch him.

Well, it wouldn't give him time to rectify his mistake.

Desmond pulled on his arm, twisting it. He heard the crunch of his bones. He had broken his arm and it now hung limp like that of an empty doll.

His opponent screamed, writhing on the ground. Desmond grimaced. It was no big deal, just an arm. How noisy. He flipped him over with his foot. Then he lay on top of him again, to put his arms around his neck.

The water block had come undone at some point, unnoticed by him because he was hyper"focused on the battle. It didn't matter, his arms were more than enough to apply the necessary pressure. With or without the help of reinforcement magic, his best skill.

He wasn't simply repeating what he did a moment ago, hoping for a different result.

No, such a thing would be madness.

The change was very small, but decisive. Two changes, actually. Now his opponent was face down, against the ground, and Desmond had stuck as close to him as possible, so that, if he wanted to attack him, he would have to hurt himself as well.

In other words, what should have been done from the beginning.

And it worked. He surrendered.

"Okay, okay. That's enough. The fight is over," said the combat teacher. He couldn't remember her name. Desmond had always been bad with names, but this was starting to get ridiculous. He was sure, more or less, that her name began with a. But that was as far as it went.

He signaled.

The member of the infirmary entered the ring. He knelt down beside his opponent, whose name also escaped him, and said something soothing to him as he grabbed his broken arm gently.

Seconds later, he was as good as new.

Broken arms, legs and ribs were not uncommon in this class.

In fact, if some unfortunate accident happened, there were students who suffered worse injuries than that. The kind that needed immediate medical attention, or else the student's life would be in danger.

Therefore, there always had to be a member of the infirmary present, ready to act. The teacher also stepped down from the platform from which she was watching the fights, even though her job was done.

The reason he didn't see it coming. It caught him completely by surprise.

"Desmond, stay here after class. I want to talk to you."

He didn't know the reason, but he couldn't do anything but nod. The reason itself wasn't too important, although doubtless she had some good reason he supposed, the important thing was that the teacher had given him an order.

Desmond was a soldier. He couldn't ignore her orders and questioning them wasn't ideal either, when one could simply obey.

Desmond returned to the stands. To where his team was sitting, not thinking about what he had said. Just ready to continue watching the fights.

The class had only just begun and Desmond hated that, especially since the fight he had won had tasted just as bad or worse to him than a defeat would have.

It was over too quickly. Too easily.

And now he had to be sitting here, watching, saying and doing nothing, adrenaline flowing through his veins.

Clamoring for the chance to tear another opponent apart.

It was incredibly frustrating and he wished the teacher, whatever her name was, would always make him come out for the last fight if she made him come out to the ring in the first place.

So he wouldn't have to go through this.

But he was being overly dramatic, he supposed. It was a chance to talk to his teammates.

Not about anything compromising because anyone could and would be listening, but about something, anything, to kill some time. Better than nothing.

In fact, it was something very important to him. Having conversations about literally nothing.

But yeah, he was frustrated. It was frustrating.

He took a deep breath.

"What did she say to you? "Christina asked, looking at him in a peculiar way. She wasn't exactly an open book, that girl, so he had to watch out for little signals like that. For what it was worth... "Because she told you something, didn't she?"

"That I should stay here to talk to me after class."

"And why?" Amy asked.

One was sitting on her left, one on her right. That was how they usually sat.

Desmond shrugged.

"Nothing comes to mind. So I'm pretty sure it won't be to tell me off for something. But nothing else.

"I see. Well, I don't think you have to worry, one way or the other," Amy said.

"Hey, Christina. You, uh... Well, you know, what do you think?

That was the most subtle way he could think of to ask her if she could tell him something more concrete, based on the teacher's feelings.

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That is, to simply ask the question and hope that Christina would pick up on what he really meant, checking the teacher's heart if she hadn't already done so.

He couldn't ask her directly because Amy still believed that Christina needed to use her magic directly on someone for the feelings to transfer. That it wasn't a passive ability and impossible to turn off.

He saw no problem with Amy knowing, but Christina had made him promise not to tell her, so he would keep his word.

As her friend, it was his responsibility.

He didn't mind breaking his word, in fact, that concept was absolutely insignificant to him.

But, as far as the two of them were concerned, it was different.

Everything was completely different.

If he broke his word because it suited him, or because he thought it was the best thing to do, whether he was right or wrong, sooner or later the girls would stop trusting him. And that would be very depressing.

"Well, I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete. "He hadn't expected that answer. Did she mean it, that nothing concrete, or was she just saying it to hide the fact that she knew without a doubt?

"What do you think is the reason?

"Well, you see..."

"You're too intense," said the teacher, whose name, by the way, was Annabelle.

Desmond blinked exaggeratedly, trying to make sense of what she had just told him. But in the end he threw in the towel and chose to be direct.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean by that. What's the problem?"

"Yeah." Annabelle scratched the back of her head. "I figured you'd say that."

Yes, of course he would. Because it didn't make sense. She'd blurted that out to him suddenly, without explanation, how was he supposed to guess what she was thinking as if it was obvious?

Because it wasn't. Not at all.

But of course, Annabelle seemed to think otherwise about it. Scratching her head still as if it needed a good shampooing, or as if she pretended to find the answer by digging through it, the woman sat down in the chair across the desk in her office.

"Listen, Desmond. You're taking this too seriously. The class. Oh, and sit down."

Desmond sat down.

"With all due respect, ma'am, what's wrong with that? What should I do instead? I don't understand what the problem is. The problem, normally, would be if I were not paying attention, slacking off, not putting in the effort even though I was capable of it. No?"

Now he was more confused than before.

Desmond had never been to school until now, but his common sense told him that no teacher in his right mind would criticize a student for taking his classes too seriously or being too good.

This was mindless stupidity.

"Yeah, yeah. It's hard to explain. I'm not suited for this kind of thing, but what can I do, it's my responsibility. "And then she sighed. "What an inspiring image for teachers and students everywhere. You broke that boy's arm. Evan."

So his name was Evan. Well, it didn't matter. He was going to forget it soon enough anyway.

But not for the duration of this conversation, probably.

"Things like that happen all the time in combat class. Accidentally or not. I still don't see what the problem is."

The teacher held up a hand to stop him.

"This is not a fight or a debate. Let me finish before I go on with the questions, please."

Desmond nodded his head. On second thought, yes, he shouldn't have interrupted her.

"It's true that things like this happen all the time. But it's not the same thing."

So were they similar or not, according to her? It seemed that she herself wasn't entirely clear what she wanted to tell him. In that case, this after"school talk would prove to be quite unproductive. Nothing but a waste of time.

Desmond tried hard not to let the irritation show on his face. That would also be less than ideal.

But it probably hadn't worked out too well for him. Christina had once told him that he was the kind of person whose emotions showed on his face, like an open book.

Or someone as honest as a child. And while that comparison hadn't pleased him too much, she was right.

Desmond was that kind of person no matter how much he protested.

"The difference is... Look, you did it unceremoniously. And without looking for alternatives. You simply broke his arm, though I'm sure you could have won without doing that."

Could have. But he didn't like to take unnecessary risks.

It hadn't been a fight to the death, of course. But for a long time, years, well, not if things were going the way they were....

Anyway, in theory he was going to get through these four years safely, without any of that kind of fighting. In theory. And four years was more than enough time to breed bad habits.

Four years, however, might well not be enough time to pull those weeds up by the roots.

So he didn't want to get used to settling for what was good enough. To take risks. But he said nothing of the sort, for the teacher had ordered him to be quiet until she had finished lecturing him.

Which he hoped would resume soon.

She had paused, and maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed to go on forever, like a snake biting its own tail.

"Okay," Annabelle said at last, with something peculiar in the tone of her voice. Desmond would not endeavor to find out what it was. On a good day, he couldn't read her acquaintances nine times out of ten. With a stranger who possibly had a screw loose, he didn't stand a chance. "You have nothing to say, I get it. "

What was she talking about? Desmond stiffened reflexively.

"You told me to shut up until you were done, ma'am."

"Yes, but I did stop. I was inviting you to, you know, fill the silence."

"Is that how it works? Okay. I'll be brief. Yeah, I could have won without breaking his arm. But I don't like to take unnecessary risks."

"Like losing a fight that means nothing?"

Desmond frowned.

"I'm not a proud person, if that's what you think, ma'am. The problem would be breeding bad habits. You can't hesitate. You can't show mercy to the enemy. That can and will cost you your life out there in real combat. And combat classes are for simulating real combat, aren't they? Frankly, ma'am, I thought I was behaving like a model student. I still understand what the problem is."

"Yeah, yeah." And she sighed again. She leaned forward, arms on the table. "You're... You're wild, Desmond."

What?

"In my classes, there are more kids like you. Who have suffered the ravages of war in their own flesh. Of course they have. But none as savage as you. I'm not sure what you've been through, but I understand what you're like, I do, I sympathize and I pity you. "

"I don't need anyone's sympathy. Ma'am."

Annabelle looked into his eyes. She nodded her head.

She thought he'd say "yeah, yeah" again, but no.

"But that has nothing to do with how I feel. Desmond, remember the fight? Remember how Evan looked at you?

"I... I don't understand what..."

"There was fear in his eyes. You had him scared, like you were going to kill him for real. That's what I meant about you being too intense. That and... when you did it, you were smiling. "

"No!"

Desmond shouted that impulsively, but the teacher didn't get angry. On the contrary, Anabelle's expression softened even more.

It made him feel uncomfortable, no, more than that, like he had ants under his skin, but it crossed his mind that she was looking at him like a mother would.

"You did. I was close enough to see it. And if you want you can ask any of your classmates. They'll tell you the same thing. "

Desmond didn't know what to say. So he said nothing.

It seemed the safest option.

"You like to feel powerful and in control. It's not hard to imagine that's because you've always lacked control in your life. But you need... you need to be less intense, for and because of others. "

Desmond thought about it.

"Why didn't you tell me this before? "

"Because I thought you'd get better. Because I thought it was the natural thing to do after the attack, and then all that business with the imposter.... But you didn't. You carried on the same, as if nothing had changed. You didn't relax one bit. So now I have no choice but to tell you this. "

"I... "I... I didn't notice. I didn't notice that I was smiling, or that the boy was afraid of me. "

There was silence. For a long time.

"I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, neither do I, frankly. It's not a job for me, but rather for the psychologist. Or is she a therapist? Both? Uh, I wouldn't know where to start, but yes where not to start. Okay? "

That might be just as useful as where to start. Depending.

Desmond nodded.

"Even if you think it's a good idea, don't go apologizing to the kid. "

Another thing that seemed to make no sense to him, that was even contradictory. But hey, she' d ended up being right about him...and his intensity, even if he didn't want to admit it.

So he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, this time.

"Because, no matter how sincere you sound, it will give him the impression that you're making fun of him. "

"Okay. That makes sense. So, ma'am... Can I go? That's it? "

"Yeah. "

Desmond stood up.

"Well, goodbye and... thank you. I didn't like it, but you told me what I needed to hear. "

He turned, started to walk. As he was about to put his hand on the door handle, Annabelle stopped him by raising her voice.

"There... one more thing. I wanted to ask you something, even though it's insensitive. May I? "

In spite of himself, Desmond turned around to look at her.

"Okay." If she was out of line, he could simply refuse to answer. That would at least be allowed. Not like ignoring a teacher's direct request. Whatever she said, that would have complicated things for him in the future.

"How did it feel? To die and... come back to life? "

It was indeed an insensitive question. He frowned.

"I'm sorry," Annabelle rushed to say, as if a teacher had to apologize to a random student. "It was a bad idea. But it's just that everyone's been talking about you ever since. And I... I can't get it out of my head either. "

Silence fell. Desmond took a deep breath.

Should he tell her the truth or lie?

No. If the woman wanted the answer so badly, then the proper thing to do was to tell her the truth. What she did with it later was none of his business.

"I was moving too fast to realize what was happening to me. And in the meantime, I felt absolutely nothing. Some time later, I "woke up" as if nothing had happened. That's all. If there is something after death, then I didn't reach it. "

"I see..." Her expression twisted, she lowered her head. "Thank you, Desmond. You're free to go. "

"You were right after all." That was the first thing he said to Christina as soon as he returned to the team's room.

The girl nodded as if that had never been in question.

Desmond crawled over to his bed and plopped down on it, arms and legs outstretched.

"Amy. You think I'm too intense?"

"Well... "She murmured, a guilty expression on her face. "You're .... You're pretty sudden and violent in training. And there are times when even in the middle of a normal conversation you get... intense, yeah, I can't think of another way to put it. Like you're treating it like a fight. Don't make that face, Desmond. I don't mean that in a bad way. You're you and I like that."

She had read his thoughts like nothing through his expression.

Desmond felt envious, and it wasn't the first time he'd felt envious of either of them, nor the first time he'd done it for the same reason.

If only he could... understand, simply, as easily as they did.

Desmond was a work in progress, to say the least. And he didn't know if he would ever be able to get there. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to stop trying, of course.

"Me too," Christina said, with one of those peculiar looks she was giving him lately. "It's a part of you. A natural consequence of the life you've led so far."

Desmond clasped his hands behind his head.

"Do you think I should apologize to that boy?"

"He'll think you're making fun of him," they both said in unison. Only Christina elongated it with an extra sentence. "Rubbing his defeat in his face."

Desmond almost laughed.

"It seems that if I had ignored the teacher and stayed with you two, the conversation would have been the same. Only more pleasant."

He stared at the ceiling.

"You've both said you like that part of me, for whatever reason. But nothing about whether I can or should change it. Should I?"

"Let me answer your question with another question," Christina said, getting up from the bed, keeping her eyes on him, and moving closer to him. "You said it, can you change it? The answer is clearly on your face. So tell me, if you can't change it, why waste energy worrying about it?"

Christina shrugged.

"Focus on the things you can change."

"Like what, for example?"

"I wasn't talking about anything specific. You know, it was general. But if you want to keep talking along those lines... I think you've changed enough. You look the same, but you're not the same at all. Since that day... you've become more..."

"Human," Desmond finished.

"I wouldn't put it that way. It sounds too insulting."

"It is what it is. Yeah, I was... I haven't changed that much, but now at least... I feel more human... and connected to the world around me. It's hard to put it into words without sounding like something stupid, after all."

Desmond sat up in bed and put his hands to his head, tossing and pulling his hair. In a rather childish show of frustration.

But at least looking for the answer.

"I... When I came here, I wasn't a human being. I really wasn't. I was like a tool... a means to an end, even in my own eyes. But every day I spend with you makes me very happy. And now I dream of things I never even bothered to think about before."

"Like what?" Amy asked softly.

Desmond's cheeks lit up.

"Friends. A home. A family... Stuff like that. I know I'll most likely end up dead somewhere down the road, but I'm starting to look toward whatever there is beyond this life. Ordinary happiness."

"You're not thinking of quitting," It was funny that the question came from Christina's lips, considering she had said something similar to him not so long ago.

"I wouldn't mind." He realized, to his surprise, that it was true as he said it. That this was how he felt, how he'd probably been feeling for some time. "Leaving this behind, but I don't feel like leaving either. I will just follow you wherever you go."

There was silence.

"I'm sorry, did that sound a little repulsive?" Desmond asked, suddenly shy, shrinking in on himself.

"No, no. I feel the same way. Sort of," Amy said. "It's just that..."

"You really are too intense, sometimes," Christina said, her head buried in a book as usual.

"Yeah. That. Sincere, unabashed, like a child. And ... And are you blushing, Christina?"

"No," she denied it flatly.

Amy reached over and pulled the book down, revealing that she was indeed red as a tomato. She got even redder after that, of course.

"Okay. Okay, you win." She dropped the book and raised her hands in defeat. "But you're embarrassed too. And it doesn't work to hide it by fooling around."

Amy smiled.

"You got me."

Desmond burst out laughing, and soon all three were laughing.

Yes. Everything I wanted was here...

Everything but the most important thing. Abigail, his savior. So he couldn't be satisfied. He wanted it all, and until then he wouldn't rest.

But this... this was just fine, for the moment.

This is freedom, isn't it?