7th de Reiês, 1203, Redtide, the western coast of Coratão

“Whaddya think, Taní?”

A cold needle pierced Taní’s tender flesh, coaxing a thin hiss instead of words. Three years of tireless training, and he’d yet to adjust to the cruel fiend. Pretty pathetic, all things considered. Then again, there was just something awful about an instrument designed to pierce you. A nick from a blade was one thing, but a syringe? It was like a bloodthirsty lurker in the guise of a miniature spear.

“Think about what?” Taní asked, wincing.

Danza—his Juneacão master—looked up at him. His wrinkled skin was damp from the ungodly marathon of riding. “About your wish.”

“I dunno. Guess it’s something.”

“So, you don’t care?”

“I do, it’s just not much.”

Taní’s dull essence filled the syringe. No twinkling scales yet. When would he Awaken?

“Every Wish is worth something,” Danza said, “even if you think it simple. I had a friend—bit of a brooder, really. Claimed he never had one. But sometimes, I like to think that he just forgot. That what he had was leagues greater than what he’d ever want.”

The chalky phial shimmered with his blood, leaving Taní lightheaded. He leaned forward, heart quickening as the ground beneath him shifted. Through sheer force of will, he righted himself. “I guess…”

“Taní.”

Danza removed the wicked needle without warning, eliciting a slight squeak from Taní. The Juneacão’s aged hands worked fast, swiftly applying a cotton ball to his throbbing arm, and once Taní held it, reached into his Blood-Loader for a bandage.

He thumbed the adhesive over the punctured area, admired his work, then secured it for good measure with a sweep of his calloused palm. “You’ve ever heard of Cari Cari?”

Taní responded without delay. “You mean the prince-saving Juneacão?”

Danza gave his arm an affirmative squeeze. “The very same. Poor girl championed the weak, nearly losing her head at the Tourney of Godsfield nigh a century ago. And how does she follow that? By questing with the sickly prince she’d risked her life for. Y’know why?”

“Cuz he was a prince.”

“It’s not just that.”

Taní cocked his head. “Wait, really?”

Danza grinned, his royal gradient eyes crinkling with amusement. The top half violet, the bottom, gold. “If all we did was fight for king and country, then where would that get us?”

“Rich, just like the Tyrians.”

“I s’pose that’s true, but I need you to think a little harder. C’mon. Think just like them. The Juneacão of old.”

Taní drew his arm away, rubbing the strip to make sure it was on right. What a stupid question. Everyone knew why a Juneacão fought. Safeguarding a kingdom and its people…what higher calling could there be? The warriors of old were no different. Even the Sesão—conquerors they were—desired a lasting peace for their people.

Just because Tygenna hand-selected their stock didn’t mean they required some complex reason.

The distant crash of the ocean drew Taní’s attention to the evening countryside. He searched for an answer in the gloom, half-expecting the wisdom of his previous Iterations to spring to mind. All he heard, however, was the nearby surf.

Just like always.

They were somewhere along Firsthold. Not too close to Godsfield, but some ways off from Histell. If he had to guess, they were near Hierrsé Academy. The foremost institute of Juneacão instruction in Coratão. Probably anywhere, really.

Taní shifted in his makeshift seat. They couldn’t afford portable chairs like those of the Juries—the sworn fellowships of egotistical brothers and sisters branded Juneacão—and sitting on a horse for hours at a time had a way of leaving him sore. Thinking about it now, just how comfortable was a fallen log in some open field compared to a rough leather saddle?

A raspy cough broke his string of thoughts, drawing him to its source: Danza. Right…he still had to come up with something…

He weighed his options before turning to the one stopgap that kept a question going: Another question.

“Is it because it makes us happy?” he asked.

Danza let out a thoughtful hmm. “I s’pose fighting’s fun to some Juneacão.”

“You mean most, right? Cuz I think it’s pretty fun.”

“I did, too, when I was your age.”

Taní eyed Danza skeptically as the man returned his supplies to the Blood-Loader on his hip. Unlike that of the nobilities, his pouch was humble. A sturdy, fifteen phial leather case with the king’s brand painted upon its brown flap.

“But you always fight at tourneys,” Taní said.

Danza waved. “Just for the vines.”

“What changed?”

“I learned.”

A damp zephyr swept through the hill-strewn nightscape, carrying with it the lingering scent of a Sun’s Peak storm. Trees didn’t like growing this far west. Fields and flowers, sure, but it was nothing like those enchanted moonlit strolls through the woodlands of eastern Coratão. The only upside was the number of hyacinths here. Especially the pink ones.

Danza slowly stood to his full height, thumbing the newly drawn phial all the while. He had a habit of clinging to blood. Cradling the thing like it was some sort of priceless gem.

Then again, a Juneacão's blood was special. It cured the sickly and granted Juneacãos access to Sedd. Not that Taní claimed control over the latter. His blood failed to do the former! And this insipid, crimson phial? It was just like him.

A wannabe Juneacão with no gift to call his own.

Danza was one! Most of the kings and queens of the realm were one. Even those snooty squires who did nothing but brag all day were Juneacão! Why would Tygenna pick them over him? Yeah, he wasn’t the smartest, but he’d actually be out there instead of sitting on his hand hoping someone might come and praise him.

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“Master,” Taní said, his voice an anxious whisper.

Instead of turning to him, Danza gazed at the antediluvian trophy-of-a-corpse blanketing the sunless sky. Where Tygenna’s green glow reigned supreme. “Yes, Taní?”

“Will—” Taní glanced at the Seddless phial in Danza’s hand. “Will I ever be a real Juneacão like you?”

“You’ve always been one, my little blood drop.”

“Even if I can’t use Sedd like all the other squires?”

“You’re just an oversleeper.”

Taní suppressed a sigh. “You’ve been saying that for ages now…”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Danza said, his voice laced with the slightest bit of mirth.

That was the part that bothered Taní. If it were any less “true,” then why was he still learning the basics? Those squired to a Juneacão learned to control Sedd within the first two years of their apprenticeship, but Taní? He’d been with the man for the last three! Would nothing ever happen?

Taní paused. Thirteen. He was already thirteen. The best age to learn, so why didn’t he know anything? Swinging a sword, and poking things with a spear was fun, just…

Not what a Juneacão should’ve been doing.

At this rate, Danza would have no other choice but to return him to the fields. At least that’s what all the other stuck-up squires kept saying. Failures always returned home, whether they be rich or poor. And considering he had left that shack-of-a-house, there wasn’t much of a home to go back to.

Besides, he didn’t want to be the disappointment everyone had put their hopes on. He could see it now. “Hey everyone, I know I said I was gonna be a Juneacão, but you guys need a farmhand? Was kinda let go. Huh? Manure fielder? I guess that works.” Good blood, he’d never live that down.

Maybe if he wasn’t a Grazer, maybe if he’d encountered a Preserver instead, then he’d be a real Juneacão. Maybe he wouldn’t have wasted—

“Taní.” Danza’s voice broke through the depressive bank of thoughts like the roar of thunder.

Taní straightened, eyes wide. “Y-Yes, Master?”

“Don’t compare yourself to others.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“Only do what you can when you can, to the best of your abilities.”

“But what if—” A flash of deep-red blood caught Taní by surprise as the phial flew his way, but before he could catch it, the container bumped against his chest and spilled onto the floor. Corked, thankfully.

“A Juneacão hesitates,” Danza began, his tender gaze set on the twinkling hide above like a scalereader trying to divine the future, “but they hesitate knowing they can preserve.”

Taní reluctantly recovered his phial, a sigh filling his chest. “I already know that, Master.”

“A Juneacão hesitates, but they hesitate knowing there is more than a single path.”

“Yes, I—”

“Then why are you sitting?”

Taní inclined his head. “Because we’re resting?”

Danza met his gaze, the warmth in his eyes replaced with a stone-cold resolve that would’ve made even the heavenly scales shudder. “No, not now. As you’ve always been. You watch, and though you’ve trained yourself to the bone, you still watch. You need to do more, Taní. You need to learn that there’s more to life than wanting.”

“I…don’t understand,” Taní admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself.

“One day you will, but for now, keep training. It’ll strike you in time.”

“And then can I use Sedd?”

Danza grinned. “You might.”

Exasperated beyond belief, Taní wrestled with the all-too tempting prospect of hurling the phial at the old man. “Master, I just wanna fight like everyone else!”

“You know the best swordplay I can offer, and some of the finest jousting in the realm. What more could a boy ask for?”

“To wield Sedd!” Taní flailed his phial around.

Danza’s brow furrowed. “Sedd’s far from what makes a Juneacão a Juneacão.”

Groaning, Taní rested his chin on his free palm. “Until you know what it feels like to be a Seddless loser, then don’t ever say that again.”

Danza cocked an amused brow, but otherwise offered no retort. He made himself opposite of the warm fire pit, unburdening their horses of their saddles. Though the sweat-dripping heat of Sun’s Peak persisted in the day, the night was another story. With them past the threshold of Redtide, they’d be experiencing cooler weather in a matter of weeks.

Not that Taní’s dark hair was any help during this transitional period. It clung to the warmth long after the sun died. If only he was blonde like the Tyrians, or even an Eastern Greener. Then maybe he’d fare better under the sun.

That or burn to a crisp. A lot of them were very pasty.

“Master?” he called.

“Hm?”

“Who taught you, anyway? You know…your old master.”

Danza drank a deep draft of air, setting a hand on Blondie’s back. He leaned forward, paused, but ultimately shook his head. His face hidden in the dark. “He was…different. The type of person to pick up a stray on a whim and give it a home just because he felt like it. I s’pose that’s one of his more noble qualities.”

“Was he powerful?” Taní whispered.

“You’ve really got nothing else knocking around in there, do you?”

“What? No!” Taní looked away and muttered, “Maybe…”

Danza chuckled. “Well… I s’pose he was. Quite old when I squired for him, too. In his fifty’s, I believe.”

“Still younger than you.”

“Right you are, my blood drop.”

“So…?”

“So what?” Danza asked, turning around to face him.

“What did he specialize in?”

“Nothing. Man knew how to use Goem as well as he did Toem and Judgment.” The aged Juneacão stroked his salt and pepper beard. “But remember: Fighting’s not about who hits harder or faster, it’s about using your head and pressing your advantage. Just cuz you’re poor at Sedd doesn’t mean you’re hopeless. Think Fadénix. She was a…humble duelist, but she bested her foes time and again. Do you know why?”

Taní stared at the man, incredulous. “Because she had God's Fire!”

“Well, not just cuz of that.”

“I’m pretty sure it was just cuz of that…”

“It’s cuz she had heart, Taní. And she knew when to cling to hope. It was cuz she never lost sight of her goal and used whatever she had to come out on top. Like any good fighter—and whiner—does.”

“So…God’s Fire?” Taní reiterated.

“Essentially.”

Taní’s miserable groan devolved into an unhinged laugh. “C’mon, Master. At least be honest.”

“Saying it’s just cuz of God's Fire is a bit plain, though. Powerful as it is, that didn’t make her invincible,” the aged Juneacão countered.

“Yeah, but it’s the main reason she ever won.”

And with that, Danza turned to Blondie and murmured something that sounded like a buzz. The great yellow beast—for Taní knew it to be wearing the guise of a horse—whipped its tail. After a moment of much-needed silence, he spoke again.

“Master…about my Wish.”

“Yeah?” Danza said without looking back at him.

“Would it be wrong if I Wished to learn God's Fire with it?”

“Sorry, my blood drop. There’s no one around to teach it anymore.” Danza scrounged through another set of saddlebags. “But don’t worry. You’ll learn to wield Sedd long before you know it.”

"I guess…" Taní glanced at where he had drawn his blood, then back at his phial. He had yet to place it in his Loader. “Master?”

“Yeah?”

“Are—” As blasphemous as it'd be to ask, he pressed onward. “Are all Wishes good?”

Danza retrieved their camping supplies. “No.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because sometimes, we don’t know what we need.”

“Then is your Wish good?”

Danza stopped; his pensive eyes lit by the flickering flames. “Never needed one.”

He laid out their bedrolls, and satisfied with their placement, turned to the looming figure of the moon. Bright green, as always. The silvery keep was nowhere in sight, but he imagined it was sitting on the opposite end of her divine visage.

“Hey, Master.”

The Juneacão flashed him an affectionate if somewhat exasperated smile. “You really do ask a lot of questions, y’know?”

A surge of molten heat flooded Taní’s cheeks. “Oh, uh…right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you.”

Danza flicked his wrist. “Just ask, just ask.”

“A-Alright then. Uh… The Tourney at Godsfield…are you gonna take part in it?”

His Master laughed, though unlike before, it sounded brittle. “Even if I lived that long, I’d be too old to move.”

“Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“Nah. Wishes are a poor prize for hearts.”

Taní frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, now go on and rest. We got a big day ahead of us,” Danza said.

“What’re we gonna do?”

Danza lifted a finger and stirred it in the air. “You’re gonna start your first quest. Something that’ll teach you how to be a true Juneacão.”

“Really?! With Sedd and everything?”

“Yup. So, get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Taní rushed to his bedroll, and once sleep took him, he dreamt of that woman again. The one with eyes brighter than all the Desolator’s twinkling scales. He never remembered her name despite how it weighed upon his tongue, but it was ancient, and just as beautiful as she was. And when she spoke…

It was as if he were listening to the very whirring of the Firmament. Each thinning pop echoed like the charge of suppressed thunder. Their deafening notes laced with the unmistakable pluck of a renuw.

She entertained him with miracles of Sedd, her hands clenching a green stone that beat with an inaudible pulse. Its every skip followed by the delightful breeze that was her strawberry-cherry breath. And when they needed a change of pace, she broke out her gadgets. Not that he ever minded their activities.

Just being with her…it soothed the infinite ache that sundered the very core of his being. And it took the form of a dull, twitching gash. One brought about by a blade as hot as a heart, and yet…he could not help but adore his would-be murderer’s smile. For nothing so damning could ever make him yearn for a second touch.

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