Gabriel focused on his movements, but the nagging thoughts at the back of his mind made it hard to concentrate. His injury, the matches he had lost, and the uncertainty of his future all weighed heavily on him. Each of these thoughts crept into his mind like shadows, distracting him from the task at hand. The tension in his muscles mirrored the tension in his thoughts, and as his body moved through the forms, his mind drifted.

“Move with your whole body,” Tunklard instructed.

Gabriel bent his knee, lowered one side of his body, tucked his shoulder into his chin, and tried to pivot smoothly to the opposite side. “I’m trying, but it feels so… clunky,” Gabriel replied, frustration evident in his voice.

“Watch how I do it.”

Gabriel watched his aged teacher move through the forms with unnerving precision and speed, belying his appearance. There was something almost otherworldly in the way Tunklard moved, as if the years had sharpened rather than dulled his abilities. Gabriel hadn’t thought Tunklard’s knees could be so flexible. It was like watching a dance, his footwork immaculate, his posture serene. Gabriel couldn’t imagine how sword forms would incorporate into this later. Honestly, he didn’t think it was possible.

“See? If these old bones can do it, you definitely can.”

Gabriel glanced at his arm, still in its sling, sliding it in front of his body. “I can’t exactly move normally now, can I?”

Tunklard waved a dismissive hand at Gabriel’s dislocated shoulder. “That little thing? You’re tougher than that.”

It had been half a moon cycle since his injury. The infirmary had patched him up and advised against stressing his body for a full moon cycle. He had already forfeited one match and would give up at least another three more before possibly stepping into the arena again. He had been warned not to use his sword arm for a further two moon cycles, lest it never heal properly.

The smell of medicinal herbs still clung to his clothes, a reminder of the infirmary’s strict instructions. Every movement brought a dull ache, a reminder of how fragile his body had become. Tunklard had been teaching him movements that would strengthen him, though each jostle brought pain. He made a conscious effort to be more fluid in his motions to avoid aggravating his injury.

“You can’t sulk, Orion.”

His teacher had made it a habit to call him by his new name, to prevent any unnecessary complications, as he put it.

“You have another arm. Learn to use it.”

Gabriel nodded at his master’s words as he repeated the exercise. Each movement felt like a battle against his own body, the pain a constant adversary. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed on. The stretching of his tendons hiding the sweat dripping from his nose.

‘The academy will teach you to fight with a sword. I’ll teach you to make your body your weapon.’

Gabriel had doubted his master’s words when he first heard them on his last free day. After witnessing the old man’s display, he no longer had any doubts.

Laughter echoed from above, a sound that felt out of place in the secluded courtyard. It broke Gabriel’s concentration, pulling his thoughts away from the exercise. Gabriel looked up, squinting against the sun, and made out Princess Adrielle and another girl of her age on the balcony. He stared at them, halting his exercise. The princess’s laughter only grew louder. They were practicing in an unused courtyard within the castle, with stone walls on one side and a private garden of tall hedges on the other.

The solitude of the courtyard had been a comfort to Gabriel—a place where he could struggle without judgment. But now, with the princess’s gaze upon him, he felt exposed, as if every flaw was laid bare for her amusement. Before the princess arrived, they had been alone, and he had preferred it that way, not wanting any watchful eyes on him.

“Orion! Focus!”

Gabriel tore his eyes away from the princess and tried to concentrate.

“Copy my movements.”

Gabriel lowered himself, placing one foot in front of the other as he lifted his front foot off the ground, crouching low.

“What do you feel now?” Tunklard asked.

“A tension in my quads, like they’re about to buckle.”

“No, what do you feel here?” Tunklard pointed to his head.

“I’m angry,” Gabriel admitted, glancing up to find the princess and her friend still whispering to each other as they looked down at him.

“Why are you allowing yourself to be distracted?”

“It’s not my fault—she’s laughing at me.”

“She is Princess Adrielle. So what if she laughs at you?”

“She’s mocking me! How can I not be distracted?”

“You have forgotten one of the earliest lessons I ever taught you,” Tunklard admonished. “Your face must always be a mask. You may no longer be a prince, but don’t forget your princely lessons. Power comes not from strength of arms; one man can only do so much. To do what you want to do, to be what you want to be, you must be more. Your face is a mask—don’t forget this lesson again.”

Gabriel felt the weight of Tunklard’s words. The lessons from his past life as a prince were meant to protect him, to keep him from crumbling under pressure. But here, in this new life, they felt like an anchor to his past.

“I won’t,” Gabriel replied firmly, nodding. For a moment, the old man’s presence was enough to soothe the turmoil inside him.

Gabriel turned back to the princess and gave her a dignified bow, his face forcing a carefree smile. The princess said one last thing to her friend, turned her back, and walked away. Allowing the courtyard returned to its former stillness. The brief distraction had unsettled Gabriel, but Tunklard’s voice, steady and unwavering, pulled him back into the moment.

“Now, back to the exercise!” Tunklard commanded.

Gabriel followed the motions, feeling his muscles cramp. Every movement became a struggle, his body betraying him, but he pushed through the discomfort. He needed this training—needed to feel some semblance of control.

Tunklard coughed aloud. “What do you know about magic?”

Gabriel lost his balance, his feet slipping out from under him during his squat. The question was so unexpected that he couldn’t mask the incredulity on his face.

“It’s wrong,” he answered simply, trying—and inevitably failing—to cover his shock.

Tunklard was silent for a moment, looking up at the sky as he whispered. “The world will have you believe that magic is wrong, that it is inherently evil. But why?”

“It’s unnatural,” Gabriel said, hoping against all odds that Tunklard would make him feel better about his own magic.

“What is unnatural? Is it not a power bestowed on some humans?”

“It’s a power that corrupts.”

“You’re not wrong, but tell me, is forged steel turned into a weapon unnatural? Are we meant to kill others?”

“It has always been.”

“Does that mean all that has been and will be is right?” Tunklard asked, not giving him enough time to answer. “Did the first human have a sword in their hand ready to kill? Magic may seem unnatural, but so are many other things in this world. There is wrongness, but you can also use it for good.”

“I’ve seen the damage it inflicts; how can that be anything other than wrong?” Gabriel said.

Tunklard measured him for a moment. “How long have you had your powers?”

Gabriel stood abruptly, his head swiveling from side to side as he blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

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“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again.” Tunklard stepped closer, touching Gabriel’s shoulder as the young man tried to pull away. “I’m never leaving you again.”

Gabriel released a belated sigh. “How did you know?”

Tunklard laughed softly, a sound that lifted a weight Gabriel hadn’t realized he was carrying. “I saw your reaction when you spotted the cufflink, and how defensive you’ve been just now. You were always more curious about the supernatural.”

“I’m not defensive. I do think it’s unnatural,” Gabriel said, feeling the necklace beneath his shirt. The cool metal of the necklace was a constant reminder of the power he carried, a weight that seemed to press on his chest.

“Magic destroys. For one thing to be created, something else must be destroyed. It is unnatural. It feels wrong, but it can be used for good.”

Gabriel nodded, feeling some justification for his use of his power. “Is that why the warrior monks use it?”

Tunklard let out a rueful chuckle. “You’ve learned quite a bit, haven’t you?”

“I know you used to be one of them.”

“It’s true, but I won’t speak of it.”

“Tunklard, I deserve to know.”

“No. It has nothing to do with you. I will teach you what I know, but I won’t speak of it.” Tunklard’s tone was final, leaving no room for argument. It was a tone Gabriel knew all too well—the tone of a man who had lived through more than he was willing to share.

“Tell me at least how the monks use their powers.”

“Each warrior monk takes power from the metal, knowing they will be damned for using it. It takes from each of them, and what is taken is never the same. Some become sickly, some lose their strength of mind, others their emotions. But they take only the smallest amounts of power. They each channel earth. All the monks do. But to avoid corrupting themselves, they link when manifesting power.”

Gabriel’s mind raced with the implications of what Tunklard was saying. The monks, revered for their discipline and righteousness, were walking a fine line between creation and destruction—it was a paradox that Gabriel struggled to reconcile.

“Magic destroys the world around us. If I or the other monks use our powers, it blackens the blades of grass we stand on. The broken lands were destroyed by magic.”

The mention of the broken lands sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine. He had heard the tales, of course, but to know that sorcery was the cause—that was an entirely different matter. The broken lands, that was where the Empire once stood, before Valandor was segmented into four kingdoms. Gabriel thought a natural event had happened; he didn’t realize there was a connection with magic.

The air seemed to grow colder as Tunklard spoke, his voice tinged with a sorrow that Gabriel had rarely heard before. “The monks are trained to respect the earth they tread. They use the power of Ash and balance it by spreading Victra’s gift. They preach of Victra, they care for the earth, planting seeds so trees can sprout to balance the destruction they sow. When they destroy, they create.”

Tunklard’s belief was unwavering, and despite Gabriel’s doubts, he found himself wanting to believe, too. It was easier to think that the monks could wield such power responsibly, that destruction could lead to good.

Rather than question the integrity and hypocrisy of the priests, Gabriel wanted to find out more. “What do you mean by channeling earth?”

“Magic manifests in many ways. Each practitioner uses the elements—fire, earth, lightning, water, or air.”

“Can one have a unique power, or more than one?”

“There are rare exceptions. Witches have a stranger magic that we don’t fully understand. But no, you can usually only manifest one type.”

Gabriel felt a pang of concern. The word ‘witch’ hung in the air, heavy with implication. Am I a witch? How can I have powers that don’t use the elements? The stories he had heard about witches were filled with fear and suspicion, and the idea that he could be one of them terrified him.

“Why does power manifest differently for different people?” Gabriel asked.

Tunklard placed a hand on his chin. “It’s theorized that those compatible with magic are born that way. But the way it manifests reflects their personality and training. Magic is as much a part of you as your thoughts or your emotions—it shapes itself to fit who you are, who you’ve become.”

Gabriel was lost absorbing this new knowledge, but his curiosity was not sated. “Why do priests call magic unholy?”

“Not all do… But regardless, it is because not even the wisest amongst us truly understand it, and we are wise to fear what we don’t understand. We dress it up and call it unholy in the hopes that none dare try to understand it further.”

“What will they do if they find out I can use the power?” Gabriel asked.

“Pray they don’t,” Tunklard replied grimly. “If they do, you’ll be assassinated, whether you’re a king or a peasant. The priests will come for you.”

Gabriel nodded, expecting this answer. The weight of Tunklard’s words settled on him like a cold cloak. He knew the threat was real, but for the first time after all his hardships, he didn’t feel alone. The world may have turned his back on him, but Tunklard hadn’t.

Tunklard placed his aged hand on Gabriel’s good shoulder, a reassuring weight. “I won’t let them find out. I know how they operate, and I know how we can hide this.”

“So, am I to stop using these powers?” Gabriel hated how uncertain he sounded. He wasn’t sure he could let it go. It had become a part of him, a dark secret that whispered in the back of his mind, promising strength, but at what cost?

“No. You will need it in the years to come for what you want to achieve.”

“Will you help me master it?”

Tunklard’s hesitation was palpable, a fleeting shadow that crossed his face. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from the man who had always seemed so certain, so unshakable. Gabriel watched, feeling the weight of his master’s internal struggle, a struggle that mirrored his own.

Finally, Tunklard clenched his fist and took a long breath. “I’ll teach you.”

“Thank you, Tunk. I felt lost without you.”

The sentiment seemed to unbalance the older man. Tunklard’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the stern facade cracked, revealing the deep care he had for his pupil.

“How do you summon the power?” Tunklard asked.

“I think about my darkest days, when I felt the most sorrow. I fuel it with anger.”

Tunklard fell silent, his eyes downcast as his expression shifted solemnly.

“You mentioned before that anyone who uses their power loses something. What am I losing?” Gabriel asked quietly.

“Only you can answer that,” Tunklard replied, his tone grave. “Look deep within yourself. You already know the answer.”

Gabriel nodded and fell silent, turning inward to contemplate his master’s words. He was afraid to admit it, but he was losing a part of himself—the part that held onto his humanity. The anger, the power, it all felt too good, too necessary. But with each use, he felt something slip away, something that he couldn’t quite name but knew was vital. He had blamed the circumstances of his life for his growing anger, but each time he used his power, he felt it chipping away at his resolve to stay good. He remembered how he butchered the two men who killed his mother. He couldn’t have killed them in such a vicious way without his power. It turned him into a berserker, driving him to inflict pain.

“How did you come by your power?” Tunklard asked.

Gabriel recounted his meetings with the witch, nervous but trusting Tunklard more than anyone else in the world. Each word felt like a confession, a secret unburdened, but also a step deeper into a world he barely understood. He watched Tunklard’s face closely, searching for any sign of judgment or doubt.

Tunklard’s gaze grew pensive. “This is odd. It’s rare for witches to involve themselves. They hide themselves from the world of men, where they are persecuted and hunted by the Church.”

“Why are they hunted?”

“Even we monks fear what we don’t understand,” Tunklard replied, and Gabriel blinked, realizing that his master still considered himself part of the Church. The realization hit Gabriel hard. Tunklard, the man who had taught him so much, was still aligned with an institution that might one day seek to destroy him. It was a bitter pill to swallow. But Gabriel shook his head, dispelling the thought, Tunklard was on his side.

“She said something to me,” Gabriel continued, “like a prophecy. Some of it has already come true.”

“Do not speak of this to anyone, not even to me,” Tunklard warned, his voice firm. “Fate is not to be played with. Even the knowledge of such things can influence us, turning falsehoods into truths simply by believing in them.”

Tunklard stood up, as if shaking off a shiver. The movement was sudden, almost abrupt, as if the conversation had touched on something too dark, too dangerous, to dwell on for long. “These are omens of dark times to come. Be wary and stay on your guard.”

“What should I do when I see her next?”

“Talk with her, but don’t tell her I know of her. And remember, not everything she says can be trusted. A falsehood is more easily believed when it’s layered in truths.”

Tunklard’s teachings were never to be dismissed, but this was different. This was about survival, about navigating a path fraught with dangers he could barely comprehend. He would have to be cautious, more cautious than ever before.

“How does your power manifest?” Tunklard asked, steering the conversation back on track.

Gabriel looked down as he spoke. The shame of his power, coupled with the uncertainty of its origins, made it hard to speak openly about it. “I’m not exactly sure, but time seems to warp. I feel faster, stronger.”

“What do you mean by time warping?” Tunklard edged closer.

Gabriel’s hands trembled slightly. He fidgeted with his fingers to calm himself. “Time seems to slow down. My vision turns to shades of red, and I feel like I’m moving through shadows. Everything slows down. Everything except for me.”

Tunklard’s eyes scanned their surroundings as the silence stretched between them. “Can you show me?” Tunklard asked in a low voice.

Gabriel drew upon his fears and anger, balling them up inside until he felt like he might explode from the pain within. The familiar sensation of power welled up inside him, a dark, swirling force that blurred the edges of his vision and heightened his senses. The world around him seemed to slow, the colors deepening into shades of red as if the very air had thickened with blood.

He had learned to control it better, to wield it without losing himself completely, but it still felt like walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of something dangerous and powerful. He saw Tunklard’s slow blinks as the power surged through him. Gabriel picked up a discarded sword and began practicing his movements, deliberately holding back his speed.

Even whilst limiting himself, each swing of the sword cut through the thickened air with precision, the blade seeming to carve through shadows themselves. He could see Tunklard’s eyes straining to follow his movements, his pupil roving in slow motion. Gabriel used his power to slide behind his standing tutor, extending the blade until it was an inch from the back of Tunklard’s neck, and then he released the power. Although the effect was no longer as jarring, the release was always accompanied by a sense of loss, as if he was letting go of something vital each time he returned to normalcy.

“Gabriel,” he whispered, momentarily forgetting to use his new name. “This is…” He looked at the sky and closed his eyes for a moment. “This is remarkable. Never tell anyone of this power.”

Gabriel's nerves frayed as he looked upon his teacher. Tunklard’s voice was hoarse as he spoke. “Your power is rare. Incredibly rare. There have only been a few mentions of it in our written history. It may not cause widespread devastation, but it is immensely strong. There have only been a few mentions of it in our written history. I know of only one who held this power.”

Tunklard let out a long breath. “It was your ancestor. The first ruler of Accamania. King Accamanus.”

The name hung in the air like a specter, evoking a sense of dread and destiny that Gabriel couldn’t shake. King Accamanus—a name from history, now tied to him in ways he couldn’t yet comprehend.