“Why’d you wake me so early…”

“He called for you.”

“What?”

“The clan head.”

With that, Osias shot up, almost hitting Myra who was leaning over to push him awake. Yawning, he stepped out of the bed and rubbed his face to chase away the lingering remnants of slumber. He ran a hand through his short hair, brushing it back.

“Watch your head you brute!” Myra said as she staggered back.

“Sorry, sorry…”

Osias looked out the window, finding the sun had yet to break.

‘Early…’

“Myra, did you get any sleep? Did they make you work once you returned?” He asked curiously.

Wiping his eyes once more, he focused on the dark bags beneath her eyes… She wouldn’t have gotten much sleep if she had to continue helping the feast.

But Myra shook her head as she helped him clean his room.

“I went straight to find Henrik, and he told me to rest and make sure you got up earlier to meet the clan head before he got busy.”

“I see,” Osias said, draping a loose plain tunic over himself.

‘Maybe she was brooding over the audience with Aeron…’

“Ready?” She asked him, straightening out his clothes.

He nodded and followed Myra as she guided him to what she called the fortress’s council hall. It was where Aeron frequented most, bringing together the many Second Ordeals, Henrik, The Grand Elder, messengers from the inlands, and anyone of importance. Audiences held there range from slight to dire importance.

She led him through the grand hall where the clansmen feasted last night, and they passed through a corridor towards the heart of the fortress. Then a flight of stairs that Osias found cumbersome, eventually coming upon an already open entrance where they found Aeron seated.

“Osias, Myra. Come in.” He called out. Osias guessed that the Third Ordeal had long known of their approach.

“Greetings, clan head,” Osias said, earning a curt nod from Aeron.

“Clan head.” Myra addressed, following him.

The room was vast, with high, vaulted ceilings that gave it a cavernous feel, the stone walls lined with banners of the Grimm Clan, dark and heavy with age. Maps, both looking complete and incomplete decorated the council hall. Messy measurements and landmarks lay strewn in the numbers, along with parchments with odd sketchings and markings littered Osias’s sight.

At the far end of the hall, a massive stone table dominated the room, its surface scarred with the marks of what Osias assumed was many a heated debate and bickering. The table was surrounded by heavy, ornately carved chairs, each bearing the clan's crest. Aeron sat at the head, his presence commanding even when seated.

“Take a seat anywhere. Though I don’t think it’ll be long.” Aeron said from across the room.

They obliged and took a seat in one of the hardy chairs… though Osias did wonder why didn’t Myra stay outside.

He met Aeron’s face across the table from him.

In the time Osias has remained within the confines of the fortress he has yet to see Aeron other than the day he awoke. And yet Aeron’s solemn face remained as ever, and this time he was donning thick rugged armor. It looked to be more uniform as a set than the odd mismatched pieces he saw the Second Ordeals like Henrik and Mance wore.

But more than the armor… the air felt heavy. Thick and dense it was difficult to breathe. It wasn’t as such before, so Osias could only assume the aura that radiates off beings of the Third Ordeal can be controlled to an extent. If it wasn’t, then it wouldn’t be so negligible when he first met Aeron and the Grand Elder.

“So, what of your plans, Osias?” Aeron said gently.

‘Right to it then.’ Osias thought, but he didn’t mind. Straightforwardly, he wanted to throw in as much of the truth as possible, because he truly did want to stay with the clan.

So Osias took a deep inhale of breath, before replying:

“I wish to be trained as a Path Finder. Fight, eat, sleep, and train under Clan Grimm. I don’t want to leave for the inland cities and waste away as I know nothing.”

A pleased smile rose on the ends of Aerons mouth before he responded:

“You’re welcome to, Osias. You’ll be of Clan Grimm, not in name, but in loyalty.”

Osias closed his mouth before he talked any further and narrowed his eyes in surprise.

“That’s it—”

“I will not have you swear an oath, wed, nor be inducted in a silly manner. You’ve proven as such with your stay. Thank Myra and the others on your way out.”

‘What is this?’ Osias thought… his mind raced throwing away and together different possibilities of how the audience would go, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He even prepared to persuade Aeron to accept him.

Dumbstruck, he responded:

“Thank you, clanhead.”

“Go on, boy.”

It felt like a… formality rather than him imploring the clan head to accept him into the clan as he thought. The audience was no more than a minute, and the way to and fro was many times longer.

He and Myra gave a slight bow as they got to their feet, and Osias threw and serious look at Myra, before turning around to leave the oddly brief audience.

‘She's… she’s smiling. This girl!’

Unbeknownst to either of them, as they left for the flight of stairs to lead below the tower, Aeron had a faint smile of amusement plastered on his usual solemn face.

—

“What happened Osias, why’re you sweating?” Myra said with an odd way of lengthening certain sounds.

“Hm?” She hummed teasingly.

“Oh? Were you worried about being rejected by the clan head — Your clan head now?”

“To think our respected Clan Grimm is taking in frightening mountain brigands!”

Suddenly from behind, Myra ran ahead and stopped him to bring a hand to his face.

“Are you sick, Osias? Your face is flushed… I think you’re unwell to begin your training!”

In the next moment, he betrayed his vexed silence as he swatted her hand gently and asked:

“Is this why you look tired? What did you do last night for so long?”

Myra remained silent, even bringing a small finger to her pursed lips. But right before she turned to run away, Osias grabbed and lifted her with both hands.

Her legs were swinging wildly, perhaps a little embarrassed at how easy it was for him to do so — especially when it was she who cared for him when he was weak and even before that when he was unconscious.

“Osias! Let me down!” She yelped between laughs.

“We’ll head back and I’ll throw you off Aeron’s tower.” He dismissed.

“I give! Osias! I give!” She said through her howls.

Setting her down, he continued to walk as she calmed herself and stopped giggling.

“I went straight for the clan head last night. I told him of your plans — and I’m sorry about that, telling him before you were ready. I didn’t ask you if I could, but I did it anyway.” She then admitted pensively.

But Osias waved it off before she continued.

“Then the clan head asked me to bring as many people I know for their opinions on accepting you into the clan.” She smiled before recounting, “Henrik, the three old hags you asked to have mercy on me for skipping work, that bald baker, and the other maids. But I think Henrik alone was enough.”

She paused and grabbed his hand tightly from the side.

“Welcome to Clan Grimm, Osias.” She said earnestly and quietly.

Osias paused before he tightened his clasp and he forced himself to break through his reservedness and uttered in almost a whisper:

“Thank you… Myra.”

“What was that?” She jeered.

“Quiet.” He snapped back.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

…The way back was done faster, probably because of his slightly hastened pace, but it didn’t matter.

As they reached the hall leading to his room, Myra turned towards the corridor that led to the maid's quarters.

“Osias, I’ll see you off here. You’re going straight to Mance aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“I’ll see you outside then.” She smiled.

With that, they left to their duties. He immediately headed for the courtyard for Mance and those who trained under him — both the Path Finders and Path Finders in training. It was still early morning, so he’d make it to Mance before they all began.

‘I have one pressing thing to ask. How do I undergo an Ordeal.’ He thought, scratching his head.

Osias assumed that it was common knowledge, but Kiran didn’t mention a thing on the Ordeals other than he shouldn’t foolishly trade… momentary power for a weak foundation or Path. That the Ordeals were treacherous and not to be belittled.

Aside from those vague experiences, Kiran was planning on teaching him more before their ill-fated departure.

…Osias cut past the entrance to the medical quarters and found himself in the courtyard, where the morning air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of dew-soaked earth.

He continued on until he reached the training field. It was a large, open expanse, surrounded by tall wooden palisades and filled with various training implements—weathered wooden dummies, weapon racks bristling with spears, swords, and axes, and patches of churned earth where clansmen sparred and tested their mettle. Except that he’ll join them instead watch from afar the palisades.

‘There he is… did he just wake the clansmen?’

Mance, the Second Ordeal Path Finder, was already there, overseeing the clansmen storming out of the barracks, already outside barking out discipline mainly to the Path Finders in training — Ordinaries like himself. Mance donned the same dark mismatched armor Osias had always seen him wear across the distance. A thick black beard, a weathered face, and stoney grey eyes, all grew more prominent as Osias approached from his side.

Before Osias could speak, Mance turned to him, a knowing look in his eyes.

‘Senses of a Second Ordeal…’

“Osias, boy.” Mance greeted, his voice steady. “The clan head has already told me of yourself. Tell me, how long has those hands held steel?”

Osias raised an eyebrow at the sudden question before responding truthfully, lies would take him nowhere.

“Months. A year at most if you include pitiful handling on my own.”

“Teacher?”

Osias nodded, “My brother.”

Mance brought a rugged hand to his beard, eyeing Osias from head to toe.

“You look like a mountain brigand. A big laggard one.” Mance scoffed.

Osias restrained his face from twitching at the comment he heard from many.

“I’ve been told that.” He uttered out.

“The clan head told me that you were a likely from nameless mountain, not knowing of anything. Living from raids and plundering the like. A fearsome people who knew nothing of the world outside until it all came down with the Tailed Brothers' arrival.” Mance continued.

Osias agreed, it was the truth after all, despite how misleading it was.

Mance huffed in response, before adding:

“You fight for the clan now. I have no say in the clan head’s wishes. Wait here, when the others arrive in droves, I’ll have you spar with them and I’ll watch. Do not hold back, it’ll be a waste — we have healers.”

Obliging Mance, Osias stood by his side and watched as the clansmen waded through the haze of the morning. At times Mance would berate the slow folk, all of them Ordinaries, with enough force to make him grimace at the yells.

Eventually, they all filed out into the courtyard and began some light drills. But with Osias close enough to watch clearly, he inspected how they moved, how he thinks they moved their essence, and how those of Clan Grimm fought.

They all fought with a style that was… defensive. Patient and grounded. Being closer to them did not change his initial opinions on how they fought. They fought as they picked apart their opponents, yet all of them had their own individual differences under the overarching style.

Again, this was the first time Osias had studied or even been exposed to Path Finders outside the Red Sky.

They all used different weapons, but there was a shared preference for polearms though.

This studying continued for a few minutes before Mance barked at them to stop and gather.

‘Putting me on the spot now…’ Osias thought. It was a little awkward, but it had to be done. It made sense, this was the first they had someone join the training in the time Clan Grimm arrived at this outward fortress and the first that someone had been allowed into the clan in this fortress as well. It was a new sight for many of them it seemed.

More than a hundred clansmen, a mix of women and men, Path Finders and Ordinaries gathered before Mance and Osias.

Out of the corner of Osias’s eye, he sensed the keen gazes of those who manned the tops of the wall in the distance, along with some of the workers who he recognized outside in the courtyard who was making runs in the morning.

‘Are my cheeks flushed?’ He wondered worriedly.

“You all seen him. Talked with him at times. For those who haven’t, this one is called Osias. He’ll will join us, as a Path Finder in training. Treat him well.” Mance said curtly.

Osias scanned the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces he had talked to in the past weeks and many others he hadn’t talked with.

Someone, a First Ordeal, asked loudly:

“Is our clan welcoming of… brigands?”

Osias’s mind reared back at that and brought a hand to scratch his head… The question was followed with a few laughs.

Ah, well, it was to be expected though. Some of the clansmen had crossed paths with stray forces before. Clearing bandits and brigands on their lands and the like. It was fine if some hadn’t accepted him.

“Enough. The clan head has welcomed him.” Mance dismissed before adding, “We’ll begin sparring, Orkos, you’ll take the honors. Everyone else, get on with sparring.”

Then, a figure from the rear of the dispersing crowd broke past to the front to address Mance. He was taller than most. He donned another set of dark bleak steel armor that covered what should be a lean and built body. His face looked kind and welcoming, with lazy brown curls for hair and eyes of liquid gold.

‘First Ordeal?’ Osias quickly surmised.

“Ah, teacher, why me?” The man named Orkos coyly said.

“I won’t hear it.” Mance said before turning to talk with him, “Osias boy, it’ll be too late before our forgers and makers can equip you with some armor, so you’ll make do without. Take up a weapon, your choice.”

Mance pointed to the spare weapons that lined a rack of polished wood near the barrack’s entrance where they all slept. Although it seemed almost everyone possessed a personal weapon, some still took from the rack.

Osias obliged and ran for the rack, but through some odd glances behind him, he noticed Orkos stripping himself of his armor.

‘Ho… Mance isn’t so unbearing after all.’ Osias grinned to himself, pleased with what he was seeing.

One would expect that Osias would find himself facing another Ordinary, but perhaps Mance wanted him to be beaten down and disciplined. Osias didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. He was here to be taught, and being battered was how he was used to learning anyway.

…Quickly reaching the weapons rack, he scanned from side to side to find a fitting weapon. And from the far right end of it, his eyes found a dark and weathered single-edged great sword. It was large and hefty, but with his grown figure, it was fitting.

‘In a way, it looks like my old short sword, but much larger.’

His hands grasped the thick hilt tightly and brought it up. The leather wrapping was frayed slightly and worn down, turned to a dark almost black hue as it aged. He swung it as he distinguished its weight and balance and nodded.

It was well made. From Ordinary materials as well, not scavenged or conjured by the powers of the Paths — a true blue Ordinary weapon from the smiths.

It felt right in his hands as well, and despite its looks, it was light and almost weightless in his hands.

With a beaming grin, he headed back towards where Orkus waited for him, with Mance overlooking the others close by.

However, Osias threw a curious look at the… barren chest of Orkus, wearing nothing but his loose rough-hewn trousers fastened by a thin sash.

‘Am I going to follow this…?’

Orkus called out to him:

“Ah, I didn’t want to strip down like this, apologies… Osias. Mance told me to. You too, take that tunic off.”

Osias nodded, undressing himself.

‘This is a little… odd.’ He thought. It was unexpected, but theirs nothing he could do if it was what Mance wanted.

Leaving his loose tunic aside, he came before fighting distance of Orkus, great sword in hand.

But then he heard a mocking whisper leave Orkus’s mouth.

“You truly look like a mountain brigand…”

Osias noticed the eyes of Orkus tracing the tattoos on his body.

“Hey… how well experienced are you? I heard from the words of others that you’ve been trapped by that beast the forward company had chased for a dozen years. They say that the beast wandered past the border mountains and slaughtered your family of brigands. ”

Osias raised an eyebrow and he silently poised himself.

“It was seven years.” He said curtly as he narrowed his eyes, focusing on the long sword and round shield of Orkus.

“Ah, ah, sorry. You can’t trust rumors I see.” Orkus said flippantly.

‘Where is he going with this…’

But then Orkus’s tone changed for the worse.

“Mance told you not to hold back — same as I. Sorry, Osias.”

The hairs on Osias’s arms stood stiff and his senses screamed at him. The sick realization that they were much further away and isolated from the other sparring clansmen dawned on him at the same time as his instincts flared.

From Orkus’s mouth, a great line of flames erupted and burst, quickly approaching Osias. It was large enough to engulf him whole.

‘What is this!’ He yelled in his head as he quickly dashed aside, rolling against the wet grounds of the courtyard.

His leg got caught in the flames, but most dreadful was his mistake of breathing the moment the raging flames quickly shot at him.

His throat burned and his eyes felt as though they scalded.

But he pushed down the pain like he always did, and bolted towards Orkus who remained still, though he made sure to grab a handful of dirt, obscured by his wild roll.

‘Bastard. Why did Mance want me to fight this man? Anyone else would’ve died!’

“Ho, you dodged that? No… I caught you. I was about to withdraw it if you were too slow. I don’t want to kill you.” Orkus said.

“I won’t use my Ordeal Ability anymore, so come.”

‘As if I can trust mere words.’ Osias thought.

He crossed the distance quickly, digging his feet into the ground. Then as he got close, he expected another flow of fire to be expelled at him, but it never came.

Pushing down his expectations, he adjusted and met the steel of Orkus with a growl.

Essence was flowing and ignited throughout his whole body with the same intricacy and control as he did before he met the Fettered Bournewood. He continued to hone it as he recovered and this was the first he used it in battle once more.

Though… this was against a human.

Suddenly he raised an eyebrow in surprise as he traded an exchange with Orkus.

‘He’s… not that fast.’

He slashed his great sword with a single arm and the clang of steel resounded. Orkus grunted at the blow unexpectedly.

‘He fights defensively like the others. But not like Kiran’s way.’

But Osias fought with the fervor of someone who dared brave the Outer Valleys as an Ordinary. The essence of the Red Sky was heavily ingrained in him as he delivered another crushing blow to Orkus.

This time a shallow cut on Orkus’s torso appeared, and Osias had to force himself to not use Blood Reave.

‘I’m stronger physically. My essence control and blade technique are more skillful. Am I more experienced as well?’ Osias realized as a blaring metal clang resounded from the clash of swords.

Orkus’s eyebrows raised in alarm and he increased the intensity of the exchange.

Osias continued the rabid attack against the grounded style of Orkus and the Grimm Clan. He wanted to use Blood Reave badly — especially after the sly burst of flame to open the spar. It’s been… years since he felt the rapture of blood, but he held back as he settled for his sword to reach Orkus’s neck.

Orkus’s eyebrows raised in alarm and he increased the intensity of the exchange. However, the same sense of menacing danger screamed within as Osias noticed the change in the glint of Orkus’s eyes.

But Osias dashed forward, with unfounded strength that Orkus didn’t seem to expect.

He parried another strike of Orkus’s sword and he quickly threw a handful of dirt against the face of Orkus just before the sparks of a great flame in his open mouth ignited towards him.

However, he stepped to the side, throwing all his weight into his lead foot, and threw a heavy fist square onto Orkus’s jaw.

Osias knocked Orkus back with great strength and probably took some teeth out as well, but he didn’t relent. He came upon the rolling muddy body of Orkus. However, a shallow spew of fire was shot awkwardly through Orkus’s rolling head, but it was more easily evaded than before.

Osias came upon the Orkus, still on the ground gasping. Dirtied and bloodied with many cuts, Orkus brought his shield up to block the sword that was raised above Osias’s head.

“Enough, Osias!”

But his great sword was already moving, so he quickly shifted to the side, hammering against the round shield and breaking it asunder with a loud crack as it splintered to bits from its metal bracings.

His blade met the ground beside the torso of Orkus, and he turned his head towards where he heard Mance.

Heavy heaves of air sounded from both him and Orkus who was still on the ground as he awaited Mance to come closer.

Mance was silent as he briskly walked towards him, but when he was within a few steps he finally spoke.

“You even fight like a brigand too boy!” Mance suddenly howled with a burst of laughter that didn’t fit his appearance.