The following day went much the same. They woke up, ate, packed, and then set out, only to stop when Viria became too tired. Unlike yesterday, however, the elf fell asleep the moment she lay down. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Selerim’s knee. He sat cross-legged with his back to her, stirring the fire.

“Is it morning already?” Viria asked, sitting up as she rubbed her eyes.

“No. It’s still nighttime.” Selerim turned to face her. “Go back to sleep if you’re tired.”

“Stop telling me to go to sleep.” Some of her frustration found its way into her tone. Though it stemmed from a place of care, his overt concern bordered on coddling. Viria sighed. “Is it too late now?” Even if she was frustrated, there was no one else to blame– she was the one who’d fallen asleep.

Selerim considered for a moment. “Why do you want to learn so badly? You’re a mage.” There was a measure of anger in that last word. “I saw what you did to the bladetail.”

Viria reached for her uncle’s sword before responding. The smooth wood was comforting. “My magic is…” she struggled to find the right word “... incomplete.” She grasped blindly at the air, and a luminescent blue thread shimmered to life. “I can move and shape it.”

The thread coiled around her arm. “But not much else. Magic– real magic, like summoning wind and throwing fire just… stays out of reach.” She closed her hand into a fist, and the glowing thread winked out. “Even controlling it like this is hard. Anything bigger, and I have to focus.” Viria laughed. It was a bitter, bleak sound. “Maybe I wouldn’t have been exiled if I was more useful.”

Selerim gestured to the elderwood sword in her hands. “What about your uncle? He was a mage, too.”

Viria shook her head. “He didn’t consider himself a mage. He never completed his Sigil.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He always joked that he picked up a sword because he failed at being a mage. I think… it was his way of telling me it was okay.” She paused. “Maybe that’s why. I’m also a failed mage– I might as well follow his path.”

Selerim looked at her in silence. “Alright,” he finally said, much to Viria’s surprise.

“We can start tonight?”

He nodded, then leaned over to tap her bracelet. “Take one of these off first.”

Viria followed his direction, then rose to follow the hollow as he stood. The bitter cold swept over her as they stepped out of the small shelter. The ground was solid between her feet, but the snow still reached her ankle. She followed Selerim just a few steps away; close enough that the fire still cast its light over them.

“Did your uncle ever teach you anything?” He asked.

“He taught me the basics.”

“Show me.”

Viria obliged, letting the weapon’s sheath fall to the snow as she pulled it free. Her fingers were numb, but she held it the way Vane taught her; aloft with her arms outstretched. She flinched as Selerim’s hand covered her own.

“Your grip is too tight.” His skin was warm despite the cold. “Holding it too tightly hinders your control.” He tugged lightly on her fingers. “Only hold it as tight as you need to. Can you swing it?”

Viria did so, taking care to keep the blade as far away from Selerim as possible. She stumbled slightly as the sword’s tip weighed down.

Selerim caught her shoulder. “Use your wrists more. And hold it a bit higher.” His fingers closed around her upper arm, adjusting her posture. “If your motion is too wide, you’ll lose your balance.” He stepped away. “Again.”

Viria swung downwards again. Her balance wavered for an instant, but she didn’t stumble like before. Selerim’s hand found her shoulder again. “I told you. Keep your actions small.” She swung again. This time, her balance stayed steady.

“Good.” Selerim stepped away and drew his own sword. “That makes this easier.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to teach you swordplay.”

Viria felt the protest form on her lips, but Selerim continued before she could speak it.

“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he said. “I can’t. I’m not a swordsman. I can teach you the basics, but not much else.”

“So what?” Viria asked, somewhat bitterly. “You’re just going to leave it at that?”

Selerim shook his head. “I said I’d teach you how to fight,” he said calmly. “Striking is just one part of what you need. Did he show you how to block?”

Viria nodded and raised the sword as Vane taught her; with both hands raised and its blade held vertically. Like before, Selerim adjusted her posture slightly.

“Too high again.”

He stepped back again. “I’m going to strike,” he said.

“What?” Before Viria could fully process his words, the hollow struck. Time slowed as his sword arced down, gleaming in the firelight. Vane’s sword was torn free as the two weapons collided, landing in the snow a few paces away.

“You need to be ready at a moment’s notice,” Selerim said softly. He retrieved Viria’s fallen weapon and handed it to her handle-first. “Hold it up again.”

She obliged.

“When you block a strike, your arms need to have some give. Especially if the attacker is stronger than you.” He raised his weapon and pressed its flat to Viria’s. “When they make contact–” he pushed against her– “take a step back.” Selerim stepped back. “Again.”

This time, Viria was ready for it. She took a half-step back just as Selerim swung. This time, she kept her grip, but her foot slid back.

“Better,” Selerim said as he pulled her back up. “But that’s what happens if your timing is off. Let it push you back. Don’t fight it.”

Viria nodded and raised her sword again. Selerim waited a heartbeat before swinging again. This time, she relied more on touch than sight; as soon as she felt the crushing force collide with her weapon, she took a step back. Her fingers and arms trembled, but her grip remained firm and her stance steady.

Selerim nodded approvingly. “Good.” He took a step back.

Viria blinked. “Is that it?”

The hollow shook his head. “We’ll spar.”

A thrill ran through Viria as she looked down at Vane’s sword. “Is that safe?” She asked. Even if the blade was wood, its edge was as sharp as any metal. If either of them made a mistake…

He nodded.

“... Alright.” Viria lowered her sword.

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As Selerim did the same, a change washed over him. Nothing visible– his stance, his breathing, and his weapon all remained steady. It was more subtle than that. It was in the way he held himself; like something had shifted into place. His lavender eyes reflected whatever change had come over him. They were flat. Not cold, but devoid of all else.

Viria shivered. She’d seen it before– multiple times– but being faced with it was another matter entirely.

“Ready?” Selerim’s voice was low and emotionless.

Viria took a breath. “Ready.”

image [https://i.imgur.com/T7fdvjj.png]

The snow kicked up as Selerim dashed forward. He swung down, careful to control his strength. Too hard, and her bones would break. Too soft, and the elf would learn nothing.

Viria brought her weapon up just in time, taking a step back to ease the strike’s weight. Her fundamentals were solid; her stance was steady, and her vision was good. She was weak– terribly so– but made up for a lack of strength with reactions and sight.

Whirling around, Selerim struck again. This time, as the elf blocked, her weapon partially slipped out of her fingers, angling to the side. “Too loose.” He stepped away, giving Viria time to readjust her grip. Once she did so, he struck again. He felt her arms tremble, but her grip remained firm.

As they continued, Selerim’s mind settled into a pattern. Strike. Step. Strike. Step. Though the elf never struck back, there was a familiarity to their clashing weapons that eased his mind. It felt good to swing and block, to train with another person, instead of mindlessly slaying Reavers. But he knew it wouldn’t last long.

He could see Viria’s strength wane every time their blades met. “Stop.” Regret bubbled up as Selerim lowered his sword, but there was nothing else to be done. She was still injured– and they still had to travel tomorrow.

Viria nodded, then half-collapsed into the snow, propping herself up on the wooden sword.

Selerim hitched his sword to his waist and stepped over to support her. Her skin was slick with sweat; before long, the cold would settle back in. “Careful,” he said gently. “I’ll help you back to the fire.” The elf nodded wordlessly.

The fire was running low; the only warmth it offered came from a handful of dying embers. “Give me a moment.” Selerim set Viria down on her bedding and grabbed a piece of firewood from the nearby stack, tossing it on the fire. He stirred it haphazardly, and within a few seconds, the roaring flame returned to life.

Viria awkwardly held her hands out towards the fire. “I thought you said you weren’t a swordsman.” Her voice was sullen.

“I’m not.” Selerim tossed another block of firewood onto the bonfire. “Hunters choose a weapon after they finish their apprenticeship. But our mentors teach us how to use other weapons before that.”

The elf sat up with some difficulty. “How long do your apprenticeships last?”

Selerim blinked, somewhat taken aback by her clear curiosity. “Three years,” he answered slowly.

“You learn all of that in three years?”

“We train almost all day, every day.”

“Oh.” Viria bit her lip. “That sounds rough.”

Selerim laughed. “It’s not so bad,” he said as memories of his time with Corvus resurfaced. “We spend a lot of time learning, too.”

“About what?”

“Everything. Our mentors teach us whatever our parents don’t.”

“So you’re close with your mentors?” Viria’s expression turned stricken as soon as the words left her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean…”

Selerim shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “But yes. Our mentors are sort of like a third parent. Corvus taught me to fight, how to survive… everything I know, really.”

She bit her lip, clearly considering her next words. “What happens when you finish your apprenticeship?”

“It depends. Hunters are grouped together into squads…” Selerim trailed off.

“... Your friends?”

He nodded, then continued after a breath. “We’re grouped according to the role our mentors decided for us. After a while, we receive our Wyrd… but it can take a while.”

“Wyrd?”

“Nyx.” Selerim held one hand up and whistled. She descended after a long pause. He lowered her to his head. “We get a Wyrd to raise depending on our apprenticeship. Hunters receive duskwings, blacksmiths receive hellhounds, and so on.” He whistled again, and Nyx vanished. “Not everyone receives a Wyrd. And it can take a long time. I got lucky. My mother is the village breeder. I met Nyx just after she hatched.”

“Your mother is?”

“Yeah.” Selerim laughed. “She hated that Nyx and I bonded. I apprenticed early because of it.”

“I see. That sounds… difficult.”

“I didn’t mind.” He shook his head. “I knew I wanted to be a hunter like my father.”

“I see.”

Silence settled between them, broken intermittently by the fire. “What about you?” he finally asked. Viria tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Selerim thought for a moment. “I can tell you didn’t have a normal upbringing,” he said slowly. “You told me you were exiled because you tried to kill your sister. That doesn’t explain how you ended up in my village.”

The elf pulled her covers up over her shoulders, huddling under them. “I don’t know,” she said. Her voice was soft but steady, free from even a hint of deception.

“My life has been shaped by politics that I don’t understand. My father abandoned my sister and I after our mother’s death.” She took a deep, trembling breath. “Vane is– was– the only sort of parent that I ever knew. He taught me everything I know. Including what little politics and magic he could…” Viria trailed off. “And now he’s dead.”

“Why Cress?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she repeated. Just like before, there wasn’t even a hint of deceit. “My uncle and I just snuck out one night, after… after what happened with my sister.” Viria audibly swallowed. “I envied everyone in your village,” she admitted. “You were always so kind, so warm and caring with one another. But all that warmth and love is just… gone. I know you’re angry. I would be angry, too, if I lost all of that. I promised to help you– and I will.”

A thought struck Selerim. “If you’ve been exiled,” he started, “can you even return?”

Viria nodded. “There are rules. Laws. If Uncle thought that someone from home did all this, then they’ll investigate. Especially now that… now that he’s dead.” She choked on that last word.

“Alright. You should get some sleep.”

The elf nodded. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For talking to me.” Before long, Viria’s breathing steadied.

image [https://i.imgur.com/T7fdvjj.png]

When she woke the next morning, Viria’s entire body was sore. Her wrists and shoulders had it worst; her wrists were slightly swollen, and raising her hand above head level was painful. “How are you feeling?” Selerim asked.

She just groaned in response.

“Let me see.”

He crouched by Viria’s head and grabbed both of her hands, pulling her into a sitting position.

“Ah. I might have been too rough.” He sounded guilty. “Sorry. You should take tomorrow night off. Do you think you can travel?”

Viria nodded emphatically.

“Alright. The cold might help with the swelling. How are your burns?”

Viria raised a hand to her chest. There was still a dull ache, but no more. “I think they’re mostly healed.” There would no doubt be scars, though.

Selerim handed her something. “Here.” It was her uncle’s sword. “I just wanted to check the blade,” he said as she took it from him. “You should look at it.”

She pulled it partway from its sheath. Though still perfectly straight, both edges were pockmarked with dents and nicks that stood out against the matte wood. “Our weapons are harder than yours,” the hollow explained. “Ours are made to last. I don’t know how to repair mine, much less yours. It may be best to stop– I don’t want to destroy your uncle’s keepsake.”

Viria shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Selerim furrowed his brows. “If it’s already in this state, it wo–”

“That’s not what I mean,” she cut him off. “Watch.” Viria tugged at the invisible currents that surrounded them. They responded to her will, flowing down her hands and into the elderwood weapon. The still-living wood accepted them greedily, drawing essence into itself and using it to mend the damage. In less than a minute, the blade was spotless again.

“It uses essence to repair itself,” Viria said, noticing Selerim’s astonishment. “As long as there's enough, it can repair itself.”

“I see.” Selerim stood back up. “We should leave soon.”