Wind slipped through a minute gap in the closed window. Though the opening was merely a small fracture between the glass and stone, the resulting whistle of the wind echoed loud and clear. It seemed even the smallest of imperfections could amplify the silence. The faintest of fractures could be the most pronounced. And surrounded by the four walls of his new room, what started as a lingering feeling of emptiness had expanded into a profound void.
For many moon cycles, he had labored to secure his place at the academy. Yet now that he was here, the joy and satisfaction he anticipated remained elusive. He had believed that achieving this goal would ease the ache within, the fracture within his soul.
But Gabriel understood now. Purpose, only that could mend the chasm he felt. Without it he was nothing, with it, he wasn’t so broken. I still have a lot to do.
After his duel with the Grandmaster, Gabriel trailed behind Master Soltis. Every stride the elder took showcased his experience as a seasoned warrior, evident in the deliberate nature of his steps. However, a slight limp occasionally interrupted his otherwise fluid gait. Upon receiving the academy's standard uniform, coupled with a stern lecture on upholding its honor, Soltis ushered him towards the baths. Gabriel relished the warm embrace of the water, washing away the grime of his recent skirmishes. While Soltis displayed impatience for the duration of his bath, Gabriel remained undeterred, savoring this fleeting sanctuary.
Now, Gabriel sat propped against his bedframe, the firm mattress pressing against him. He idly traced the iron buttons that lined the sleeves of his dark navy coat uniform. Around him, three more beds occupied the room. Two bore messy sheets and covers, tangled in chaotic heaps, while the third was neatly made but evidently slept in. His gaze then shifted to the stone walls, reminiscent of the very stone that fortified the city. This would be his haven for the next seven years. Various cherished items dotted the room, infusing it with a sense of personal history and warmth, a stark contrast to its otherwise austere appearance. Among them were letters, pieces of jewelry, an assortment of blades, and a collection of well-thumbed books.
The sight stirred memories of the last book he'd immersed himself in. A pang of longing struck him. Delving into his satchel, he retrieved two items: his mother's throwing knife and Tunklard’s book.
He weighed the knife in his hand, admiring its familiar heft, then spun it effortlessly between his fingers. Running a digit along its edge, a tiny bead of blood welled up from a fresh nick on his index finger. Gabriel smirked. "Still sharp," his voice barely audible against the whisper of the wind.
Setting the knife gently on the bedside table, he took a moment with Tunklard's book, pressing the aged leather cover against his forehead. As if hoping the very touch could transfer the book's wisdom directly to his mind. With a sense of reverence not felt since Accamania, he opened the book, fingers brushing over the well-worn pages. After absorbing a few passages, Gabriel paused, reading and re-reading a particular section with intent focus.
‘To take, you must always give. In every exchange there must be a balance. Whether it's joy, trust, or even knowledge, for what we receive, we must also contribute. To take joy from this existence, you must give a part of yourself to the world and open yourself to the sadness etched in the dirt beneath. To truly understand, one must both teach and learn. In order to relish the beauty of a sunrise, one must first endure the darkness of night. To seize unlawfully is to surrender to unforeseen consequences. To earn love you must first give it. And in the gravest act of taking a life, we inevitably sacrifice a part of ourselves that can never be recovered.’
Gabriel gently shut the book, setting it beside the knife. Its profound truths reminded him why he had hesitated to reopen its pages. The weight of its words was undeniable, and they resonated deeply, echoing the cost of his own choices. I’ll never be who I once was.
He closed his eyes, letting memories transport him to the familiar Eastern Courtyard of the Accamanian Palace. He sought solace in the serenity he once found there, yearning for that calm. The soft sound of water trickling from Victra’s fountain that played in his ears, coupled with the reassuring warmth of the sun—a heat that wasn’t just physical. Lost in this tranquil reverie, he longed for the moment Jessinta had awakened him in that very courtyard, the day when everything irrevocably shifted.
His trance was shattered by voices outside the door. Gabriel sat up straighter, attention darting to the entrance.
“Stinking balls, that shit eater, Velor, is strong,” one voice grumbled.
“We’ll be stronger than him soon enough,” another said.
As the door creaked open, three young men stood there, eyes widening in apparent surprise. The most imposing among them took a step forward. “You're the new recruit everyone's talking about, aren't you?” His voice, deep and resonant, hinted at an experience that belied his age.
He dwarfed his companions, standing with an air of authority and arrogance that Gabriel had seldom seen in someone of their age. His hair, as dark as midnight, contrasted sharply against the paleness of his skin that was more likely to be seen amongst an Accamanian.
With an effortless grin, Gabriel replied, “That's me.”
“So, you'll be sharing quarters with us?”
“It seems so.”
“I’m Lakan, son of Great Bear,” said the arrogant one. Looking up at him Gabriel could understand where his father’s name came from.
The others introduced themselves in succession. “Ryn, son of Fox, son of Hilt.” He was the leanest amongst them, sharp features and had eyes the color of wheat. They roamed over Gabriel, assessing and calculating.
“And I’m Jonan, son of Jester.”
Gabriel raised his brows, intrigued by the unique name.
“It’s not because he has a sense of humor,” Jonan added beneath his wispy growing moustache.
Still confused by the name, Gabriel rose gracefully, “Orion, son of none.” He followed with a theatrical bow, a playful smirk playing on his lips.
“So, it’s true, you’re not the son of a named warrior?” Lakan asked.
“It is.”
They regarded him, their eyes devoid of scorn, filled instead with an unexpected respect. “There is only one other student in our year that isn’t the son or grandson of a named warrior,” Lakan said.
“And he’s just as big as this idiot,” Jonan snickered, gesturing toward Lakan.
Gabriel looked toward the towering boy. “What do they feed you?”
“They make them big in Andali, something about their women sleeping with trolls. Its why they all look so dumb,” Jonan said with a laugh.
Lakan grabbed Jonan around the neck and held him in a headlock. Gabriel stood there unsure what to make of them all. Whilst still having Jonan firmly in his grip, he asked, “So what’s your story then?”
Gabriel obliged and recounted his fabricated tale of him being a merchant’s son. The boys all looked curious whilst he spoke but did not interrupt, even Jonan after being released by Lakan seemed rapturously attentive.
Lakan rubbed his already stubbled chin. “Who was your father?”
Gabriel distractedly fiddled with his uniform sleeve, summoning a pained expression that wasn’t feigned. “It’s a topic I’d rather avoid.”
“The past is the past and it’s your own,” Ryn sagely said as he sat down on his pristine bedsheets.
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The others exchanged amused glances. “Ash’s balls, Ryn. Who even talks like that?” Jonan said.
Gabriel shared a laugh with the others, the room echoing with their mirth, save for Ryn. Facing Jonan, he quipped, “I have a way with words unlike you, madman.” A subtle smile touched Ryn's angular features. Though their jesting seemed intense, it was the kind forged in the deep bonds of camaraderie.
“So, how did you make it in the academy?” Lakan asked.
Gabriel went into his story of joining the army, how the commander vouched for him, but he didn’t talk about the battle and the losses of life. Speaking those truths would only make him relive the pain.
Gabriel saw Ryn leaning on the edge of his bed. “What it like? Being a soldier.”
He was silent for a moment, contemplating what he should say. “It’s a hard life, you see things that you hope you’ll never see again, then see something even worse later. But you are side by side with your fellow soldiers through out, you aren’t alone, it becomes, like a family almost.”
Ryn’s eyes became glossy and wide, seemingly enamored by the idea of a soldier’s life. “Did you see battle?”
Gabriel let out an exhale and spoke softly, “I did.”
He could see Ryn was fighting against himself not to ask more questions, a chorus of emotions flickered across his face. Curiosity, desire, then empathy. He asked no further questions.
Wanting to change the subject, Gabriel asked, “What should I anticipate here at the Academy?”
Lakan took the lead, “We start out days with sparring, then have our classes. Then we do more combat training, fighting in groups and learning forms and tactics. Then we end the day with endurance and strength training.” The boys all seemed to wince as Lakan uttered the last session of the day. Gabriel had mistaken Lakan’s demeanor, he was the leader of this group, it wasn’t arrogance he had seen, but a confidence that came in surety of oneself.
Ryn chimed in, “This routine persists for six days, with the seventh day reserved for rest, at least for the first year.”
“And the academic subjects?” Gabriel asked.
Jonan snorted, “All the boring shit.”
Ryn rolled his eyes, “It's mundane only to minds as dull as yours. We have a rotating schedule, delving into History, Geography, Military Tactics, Politics, Philosophy, and the Arts.”
Jonan turned to Gabriel, shaking his head with a smirk. Spreading his hands out before him, palms up, he said, “See, the fun is only when we’re fighting.”
Whilst there was a lull in the conversation Gabriel seized the moment and asked the question he had been dreading. “Did you hear about the upheaval in Accamania by the way?"
Gabriel had waited for the right moment to ask this question; he didn’t want to raise suspicion. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He was desperate to find out what had happened to his family. It was eating him up from the inside.
"The revolt?” Ryna asked.
“We heard some chatter on our journey south.” Gabriel answered falsely.
Ryn harrumphed, “I heard that the King was usurped, served him, right. He had blood on his hands."
Lakan chimed in with a bitter tone, "Power-hungry fiends. Always stabbing each other in the back for the throne."
Ryn, with a pensive look, said, "It's easy to judge from a distance. Every land has its stories, and not all of them reach us in their true form."
Jonan, glancing around the room, added, "Never trust an Accamanian."
Gabriel swallowed hard, struggling to keep his face impassive. If they ever discovered his identity, he'd be dead. He kept his face placid as he asked, "Who’s ruling now?"
"Probably some other arrogant noble," Jonan replied dismissively. "Give it a decade and he’ll be stabbed in the back too." The others all nodded along.
Gabriel's mind raced as he kept silent, his heart heavy. Hopefully, it won't take a decade.
They continued to converse for a little while, with Gabriel trying his hardest to act like nothing was amiss. Lakan eventually rose from his bed, announcing, "Alright, time for dinner."
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Heeding Atlas's counsel, Gabriel recognized the need to nourish his body to build his strength. He filled his plate with spiced meats, flat dark bread, and ember roasted Rootlings, a brown colored vegetable that took the shape of a small tree, that tasted more sweet than bitter unique only to Balatia. The dining hall echoed with youthful chatter and camaraderie. Shadows played on the walls, cast by flaming torches. Each student donned the academy's uniform. The knee length dark navy coat had wide rounded collars shortened sleeves that revealed the baggy cream-colored linen shirt underneath. The coat was paired with gray trousers that billowed at the thighs, tapering snugly towards the ankles tucking into black leather boots that rose just past the ankle.
Gabriel and his roommates secured a place at the long table meant to seat the entirety of the fifty first year students.
“This is Orion,” Lakan gestured toward Gabriel.
Several students close by introduced themselves with a nod or a handshake.
"I saw your duel earlier," the boy beside Gabriel remarked. "The name's Elias."
“Then you saw the Grandmaster give me a good beating.”
Lakan flashed a comforting smile, “There’s no shame in it. He’s the best.”
A collective eye-roll from those around the table caught Gabriel's attention, his eyebrow lifting in silent inquiry. Lakan smiled, “Oh, you didn’t know?” He subtly puffed his chest and slightly tilted his head. "The Grandmaster is my father."
Gabriel's eyes darted between Lakan and the Grandmaster at the front of the hall with the other masters. “No wonder why you’re so damn big.”
Laughter erupted amongst the group. As it began to wane, Elias turned to Gabriel, curiosity evident in his eyes. “Is it true what the commander said?”
Gabriel didn’t know specifically what Elias was referring to, but he could guess. “Yes.”
Elias let out an appreciative whistle and reclined in his seat. Ryn's gaze bore into Gabriel, as if trying to decipher the words. “What did the commander say?”
Gabriel paused, the weight of the past pressing down on him. But before he could find the words, Elias interjected, “The commander said he saved the lives of many soldiers against the Paresh. Even earned himself a title from the battalion — Little Wolf, they call him.”
Ryn leaned forward, his grip on his cup tightening. “Truly? you didn’t tell us that.”
Gabriel exhaled slowly. “It’s not that important. It’s not like I’m a named warrior.”
A distant look clouded Ryn's eyes, much like it had when Gabriel spoke of his time in the army. “The honor... the glory.”
Gabriel's response was immediate, his voice laden with emotion. “There wasn’t any.” He closed his eyes, besieged by the haunting memories: scenes of lifeless villagers, the haunting cries of the bereaved, the cacophony of clashing steel. He recalled the acrid tang of blood and decay that filled his nostrils. “No tales, no songs of valor can mask the truth. There's no glory on those fields. Only death.”
Elias's hand struck the table with force, his face flushing with indignation. “That's blasphemy, the priests teach that there is no greater honor than in battle!”
Ryn, snapping back to the moment, gently placed a restraining hand on Elias's shoulder. While Elias's fiery demeanor cooled a bit, a tense atmosphere persisted. Those surrounding them had mixed reactions. Some seemed to ponder Gabriel's perspective, while others, like Elias, bristled in disagreement. Gabriel understood he had unintentionally ignited feelings he hadn’t meant to. His intention was to forge bonds, not widen chasms. Especially not over deeply held convictions, no matter his personal views on the clergy or Elias's impassioned beliefs.
“You’re right, it’s just…when you see it. When you see your friends die. The pain doesn’t fade. I’m sorry for speaking rashly.”
The group considered his words carefully. Elias, mollified by the apology, relaxed slightly, while others nodded, silently recognizing the sentiment. Yet, Ryn's intense stare suggested he saw beyond Gabriel's outward expression.
Cutting through the weighty atmosphere, Jonan let out a jovial laugh. “Well this is nice, we’ve all gotten to know each other.” The group’s laughter followed, even Elias with his chuckle, offering a momentary escape from the tension. But not all joined in. Gabriel's gaze settled on a boy whose distinct sneer stood out amidst the shared amusement.
“You don’t deserve the name the soldiers gave you,” a red-haired boy spat, each word dripping with venom. “It’s to be expected. You weren’t taught any better. Your family holds no noble blood. It’s a shame that you were let in here in first place.” His head was held high looking down on Gabriel past his own bulbous nose.
Another boy, his frame nearly equal to Lakan's, cut in, “Blood has nothing to do with it, if it did, we’d all be Eldorians.” There were some nods to this statement. Gabriel deduced that this boy was the one his roommates had mentioned earlier, the one not descended from a named warrior's bloodline.
Gabriel turned his gaze to the sneering youth. “And who might you be?”
“Velor,” he replied with a smirk. “Son of Blackwater’s Bane, son of Actus the Gruff.”
A shiver coursed through Gabriel. Velor's father was the infamous warlord behind the Blackwater massacre in the Accamanian province a decade ago. He mercilessly slaughtered a thousand Accamanian soldiers, offering no quarter, no chance for surrender. They were ruthlessly executed. What am I doing among the sons of my kingdom’s enemies? Doubt and regret crept into Gabriel’s mind.
Gabriel knew this boy, He had never met him, but he understood who he was. He’s Rufus, he’s just wearing a different face. I ruined him, just as I’ll ruin you.
“Well, Velor the unnamed, your Pa’s achievements and his Pa’s are not your own. And judging by what I see now, you'll remain nameless, lost in their shadows. With someone as irritating as you, it wouldn't surprise me if our own soldiers decide to plunge a blade in your back.”
Velor's laughter held an icy edge, foretelling of a lurking malevolence. “Perhaps you'll be the first to feel that blade's sting.”
But Gabriel was no stranger to confronting threats. I’ve dealt with worse. He locked eyes with Velor, countering him with a defiant smirk. Although, some tried to divert the conversation, the residual tension from their exchange lingered throughout the rest of the dinner.
As they departed, Jonan slung an arm around Gabriel's shoulder, jesting, “I thought I had a knack for making friends, but you, my friend, are on a whole different level.”
Their shared laughter was a balm to his soul. At least the ones I'm bunking with don't seem all that bad.