Gabriel trailed the procession of his peers, his feet sinking slightly into the sun-warmed sand until he sat down in a square position. Despite his attempt to emulate the statuesque posture of the other boys, whose spines were ramrod straight as if magnetized by some invisible force, a yawn betrayed his fatigue. The night had been a fitful symphony of nightmares, each one more jarring.
"I'm sparring with you first," declared Lakan, his presence at Gabriel's side suddenly prominent. Gabriel couldn't suppress a smile, a real one. Many had expressed doubts about his ability to compete with the other first years, but Gabriel thrived on proving naysayers wrong. There was an exhilarating purity in the clash of blades, to the thrill of testing his mettle, of losing himself to the rhythm and dance of a blade in motion. It was the clarity found in the heat of combat that he yearned for.
Master Soltis's voice, authoritative and resonant, cut through the murmur of the gathering. “You know the drill. Make a group of four and alternate sparring partners.”
Gabriel dusted his hands, ridding them of the sand's tenacious cling before his fingers curled around the familiar wooden hilt. Its texture, grooves worn by countless hours of practice, provided an anchor in the tumultuous sea of his anticipation. Lakan mirrored his stance, the shared understanding between them unsaid but palpable as they circled, swords at the ready. Then, almost in synchronization, they lifted their swords and struck.
The fight began with the crisp sound of wood striking wood. Lakan's moves were swift and forceful, his larger frame belying the speed with which he matched Gabriel's pace. The shock of each collision raced up Gabriel's arms, a tingling reminder of his opponent's power. He was the ocean incarnate, his attacks the relentless surges that sought to erode Gabriel's defenses.
Dodging a vicious sweep, Gabriel felt the whoosh of displaced air graze his ear. He countered with a feint; a deceptive maneuver designed to elicit a misstep. Lakan's response was a parry so robust it forced Gabriel back, the earth unsteady beneath his boots.
The sparring continued and Gabriel refused to yield. The strain on his muscles were impacting him, he started to slow and tire. His endurance was unable to cope with the tenacity of Lakan’s hits. Knowing that if nothing changed, he would surely lose. Gabriel attempted to use Lakan's momentum against him, strategically sweeping his opponents leg which Lakan nimbly avoided. Following up, Gabriel lunged with his sword extended, aiming for the boy’s midriff. But Lakan twisted, avoiding the hit by the smallest of margins. Gabriel had overextended himself and his balance betrayed him, unable to return to his defensive position. The incoming strike from Lakan was inevitable. He knew it would strike. It was a lesson delivered in the form of wood against rib, but he was powerless to stop the sword from battering into his ribs.
Gabriel dropped to the ground, clutching his side with one hand whilst his other palm held firmly to the hilt. The sharp sting from the impact traveled through his body, making him momentarily forget his surroundings. The sandy ground became a comforting sensation as he took a moment to catch his breath. Gabriel mentally kicked himself. It had been an obvious move, yet he'd left himself exposed. With his side still throbbing, Gabriel offered a wry smile. "Good fight."
Lakan's acknowledgment was a nod, devoid of arrogance, his grin a mirror of camaraderie rather than triumph. "You too."
Gabriel reflected on Lakan's potential, seeing in him the makings of a formidable warrior. There was an inevitability in Lakan's growth, a promise of becoming an unstoppable force on the battlefield. This realization stoked a fire within Gabriel, igniting a resolve to not just match Lakan's prowess, but to surpass it. In Lakan, he found both a benchmark and an inspiration, fueling his own ambition to excel and become a warrior of unparalleled skill.
Gabriel shifted his focus as he squared off against Jonan. The match began with Jonan's flair. He danced around Gabriel, his feet barely touching the ground, a grin playing on his lips as if he were engaged in a lighthearted game rather than a sparring match. He moved erratically yet purposefully. He was a gust of wind, impossible to catch and ever-changing in direction. Gabriel was barely able to stop the strikes. All his attention was on defense. Jonan was a master of deception. He darted in as if to strike, then pivoted in the last moment, his wooden sword whooshing past Gabriel, the air it displaced teasing his senses.
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Minutes into the sparring Jonan stumbled, his feet betraying him. Gabriel lunged, hoping to capitalize on the opening. But it was a ruse. Jonan's 'stumble' morphed into a roll, and he sprung up behind Gabriel, tapping him lightly on the back with his sword, a playful reprimand for falling for such a trick.
The sparring session continued, a blur of motion and strategy. Jonan's quick strikes were like a swarm of bees, relentless and from all directions, leaving Gabriel with a collection of welts beneath his uniform. For every ten strikes Jonan made, Gabriel could only return a few glancing blows, each one a minor victory against the whirlwind that was Jonan.
As the spar ended, Gabriel, despite the numerous welts and the exhaustion that clung to his limbs, couldn't help but admire Jonan’s skill. In Jonan’s unpredictable and agile form, he found a different kind of lesson—one that taught him the value of flexibility and the importance of expecting the unexpected in battle.
Eventually, they took a break. The other boys joined and walked toward a barrel of water. Gabriel gripped the wooden ladle with his strained hand and filled his cup to the brim. In one large gulp, his thirst was quenched. Water always tasted better after exercise. The soldiers, after the group drills, sometimes laughed that it tasted better than any wine. But in Gabriel’s estimates, everything tasted better than wine.
Gabriel filled his cup again and sat down on the sand. He was tired and exhausted, but he wasn’t wildly panting from exertion like he used to be. Gathering his wits, he wondered how he should approach his fight with Ryn. He had only seen Ryn fighting briefly with Lakan.
Before he could think of the matter further, Soltis yelled for them all to start again. Gabriel and Ryn stood across from each other, his face was impassive as if it was a sculpture made of stone. Then, with a flick of Ryn’s wrist, the fight began.
The boy was an enigma in combat. He didn’t speak whilst sparring, no friendly jests. He was utterly concentrated. His movements were deliberate and calculated. Each step, each swing of his blade, seemed to be part of some intricate strategy. He was a general of the blade. Gabriel had thought he was a strategist, but compared to Ryn he was a merely a piece on a Luminae board. Ryn wasn't particularly fast or strong, but what he had was precision and patience.
Gabriel found himself on the defensive for most of the match. Ryn's watchful gaze seemed to dissect him, studying his every move. When Gabriel thought he had found an opening, Ryn would pivot, block, or evade effortlessly. Gabriel was doing everything he could to parry the strikes, but he needed to change the game. Mimicking Jonan’s unpredictability, he feigned a strike with his sword, then followed up by throwing a punch at Ryn’s sternum. The boy wasn’t expecting it and he staggered, winded by the blow. But then something seemed to flicker within Ryn’s eyes. He attacked with vigor, quicker and stronger, precision was no longer his sole focus. Gabriel barely had time to register the shift in momentum before he was on his back, the tip of Ryn's wooden blade pointing at his throat.
Then, as if breaking out of a trance, Ryn smiled and offered a hand to Gabriel to help him up. “You landed a good blow there.”
Gabriel responded with his own encouragement.
For a grueling hour, the cycle of sparring repeated itself, the ceaseless sound of clashing sword and the occasional triumphant yell filled the space. Gabriel found himself faring better as it went on, learning of his opponents and how to fight differently against each one. Finally, the ringing of Master Soltis's bell signaled the end of the session. As the dust settled and Gabriel caught his breath, he noticed a cluster of boys around Velor, laughing and pointing toward him. But Gabriel knew it wasn’t the time for him to engage.
The boys soon started walking out of the training yard, and just as Gabriel had taken a few steps to follow, Master Soltis’s firm grip on his shoulder stopped him. Their eyes met, and the weight of Soltis's scrutiny bore into him. “Train harder.”
Gabriel nodded, “I will.”
Soltis held his gaze for a moment longer, searching for sincerity. Apparently finding it, he simply walked away.
Soon Gabriel rejoined the group. He felt a renewed sense of purpose. He knew he had ground to make up, but he was more determined than ever to rise to the challenge.