Ren was getting good at prioritizing what was important. The fear and pain that followed his exchange with Rhami threatened to drown him, but he wrestled it down and locked it away with all of the other things that wanted to swallow him. Instead, he focused on training.

He felt like a new man. The hellish training that Melfina had put him through showed its true worth.

It was his first day back and he was at the middle of the pack on the first run. Much better than lagging a hundred paces behind. He practiced the nameless breathing technique during strength training. It burned like the cleansing fires of Ashok.

Ren grunted and sweat and hissed through his breathing technique, barely staying conscious as he heaved the log onto his shoulder and took one quivering step after another across the training field. He made it to the other end and back and collapsed. His first lap!

The pushups burned more too, but he was able to do more than before.

The lunges and squats and leaps and rope climbs and pullups were much the same. And when he made it back to the log he managed two more laps of log carries.

Progress.

A part of him screamed when it was time to run to weapons drill after no rest. But he pushed it down. There was a unique thrill to reveling in capability after feeling so weak and powerless for so long. A hunger in him. For more. For power. It was enough that the pain almost became a pleasure.

He would be strong. He would change his fate. He would save his family. In his mind, Copper River Avenue was bedecked in celebratory silks, lined with cheering crowds celebrating the return of their hero. Was it childish to imagine all those who had spat upon him and cast him down worshiping and groveling? Maybe.

Maybe that was going too far. But after all he’d been through, hadn’t he earned it?

His feet carried him into the weapon training field. He was near the front of the group and made it in time to see the end of the Asbar training drill.

Out of their mail, they were even more terrifying.

A man with a hawk embroidered into his training robes kicked off in a spray of sand, twisting like an arrow through the air, a dull training scimitar spiraling before him, snaking the guard of his opponent, and pulling back just before it ravaged the man’s neck. The Hawk-man landed upon his opponent’s chest like a bird of prey, kicking off, sending the man flying backward into the sand.

No. Ren was no hero. Not yet. But if he could become like this man, maybe he would be some day.

A woman with raven black hair, streaked with fiery red, helped the fallen man up, gesturing and pointing instructively. Melfina. She was training the Asbar?

But he wasn’t to learn more. The warriors packed up and left the training grounds.

“Line up recruits.” Ren reflexively flinched at the voice of the weapons drill sergeant.

He stalked in front of the line.

“Stand up straight! Born in a dog pit, were you?”

The recruit in question arched backwards, clearly unsure how to get any straighter than he already was. A tap from the sergeant was enough to send him flailing to the ground.

“This week,” said the drill sergeant, “we are going to get serious. Every day you’ll have a new training partner to break you out of your bad habits. The trials are in three weeks. No slacking unless you enlisted for the express purpose of cleaning latrines or dying on the front lines along with your comrades who won’t have a chance if the shield beside them isn’t solid.”

He made it to Ren.

“You’re back. Recruit Sorry, wasn’t it?” Muffled chortles broke out around them, only to be cut off by a glare from the sergeant. “How about you give your fellow recruits a showing of what you learned during your time away?”

Ren held his head high, wishing he could control the outbreak of crimson upon his cheeks, and made his way to the weapons racks to select a wooden sword.

It was rough in his hand, and heavier than the sticks he’d been using to practice with. Melfina had refused to teach him any real martial arts. He wasn’t ‘ready’ apparently. But the hilt settled into his grip. It somehow felt right. Like it knew what it was for in a way the sticks hadn’t.

The sergeant’s eyes rested on Rumal for a moment, considering. Flaming shit. Ren wasn’t ready for that. Not with everyone watching.

“No, I think I’ll test you myself, Recruit. You missed a week of training. Let's see if you can catch up.”

Ren sank into his stance and raised his weapon. His feet rooted, he could feel power from his base. It wasn’t so different from the earth stance.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Breathe.

The sergeant's posture was relaxed, but the first blow came with surprising force. Before his time with Melfina and the badgers it would have been enough for him to drop his weapon.

But not now.

Each blow whistled at him with precision and steady cadence. First each of his guards was tested in sequence, then the attacks became more varied. Ren managed. A warm glow of confidence building even as the attacks increased in tempo.

A lightning fast thrust snaked past his guard, tapping him on between the eyes just hard enough to knock him off balance, careening to the sand.

There were fewer snickers as he regained his feet than he’d expected.

“Not terrible.” The sergeant set his weapon in the guard position. “Now you attack. First the nine basic strikes then mix it up.”

His first attack was unsure, focused more on form than force, and bounced off the sergeant’s implacable guard.

It was like hitting a stone wall. His weapon didn’t even give a hair.

Ren tried to copy the precision of his instructor with his first round of blows, shifting his hips and shoulders and the position of his feet with each strike till it felt right. Then he started adding more of his strength as he transitioned to randomized attacks. He didn’t have a hope of hitting the instructor, but maybe he could force him to take a step back.

He rained his blows down faster and harder with each stroke, trying feints and rapid shifts in speed, but nothing seemed to challenge the man. Far from forcing a retreat, Ren failed even to wipe the bored expression from his opponent’s face.

But he was more than he’d been before. By now he had a good feel for the weapon in his hand and adjusted his breathing, forcing a tight line of Qi along his arm as he came around with a diagonal slash.

The drill sergeant caught the blow on his weapon, stepping in and pushing it to the side with his own. The blocking sword scraped up the length of Ren’s, till the base of the edge was pressed into his throat.

“Half decent, recruit. But you missed something in your time away. We began proper sparring. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Shit.

Ren shook out his limbs and schooled his breathing. Quick inhales and long exhales. Combat breathing that was taught to all recruits. He couldn’t afford the focus it would take to maintain Melfina’s technique.

Eyes pressed in on him. Willing him to fail. Everyone in his group was Ardinian by blood. That he wasn’t, seemed reason enough. His poor performance up till now probably hadn’t helped either.

“Recruit Parna, why don’t you test him.”

The lithe young man that stepped up was barely taller than he was. Ren hadn’t bothered getting to know most of his fellow trainees, the whispers and jokes and rough shoulders in passing were enough to let him know how they saw him, but he recognized Parna as one of the recruits always at the front on their runs. Blocky features, uneven nose, pock scars marring his skin, eyes narrowed to ruthless slits. This was a street tough if he’d ever seen one.

Their weapons met in the middle. Hardwood on hardwood.

“Begin.”

Parna took a step back and showed his teeth. Not white, but none missing either. It couldn’t be called a smile. Not insofar as smiles were supposed to communicate warmth, friendliness, or happiness. More like a taunt had eaten a threat and shat it out on his face.

The invitation was clear.

Ren charged forward with a lunge. The boy blocked it at the last minute, taking half a step back. Maybe he wasn’t all that good.

Ren hit him with a flurry of three more strikes, all deflected, but only barely. Maybe that nasty look was just his face? Maybe he was masking fear? He still hadn’t attacked.

Maybe Ren could win this.

Then the boy stepped forward. His face hadn’t changed the whole time. Something felt off.

Parna came in with his own flurry. None of his strikes were too fast or too strong, but Ren was panting by the time he was able to catch a bind and push off for some space.

“Stop fucking around,” said the sergeant.

Okay, Ren would end this. He lunged in fast, seizing the initiative, but Parna slid past his attack, launching one of his own–much faster than he’d moved before. Ren was caught off balance, desperately parrying strikes, unable to even make space to catch a breath. Each attack was powerful and precise, almost like the drill sergeant. Had Parna been toying with him this whole-

Pain flashed on his hand then his ribs then the back of his head. One second he’d been standing, the next his weapon was gone and his head was spinning looking up and nothing but grey clouds.

Spirits, what had happened?

“Alright,” said the sergeant, “line up and begin drill. Spar when you’re warmed up. Keep your blows to the padded portions of your opponents.”

A hand extended toward Ren. It was Parna. He accepted the help up.

“I’m Ren,” he said once he was on his feet. “How’d you get so good at blade work?”

Parna chewed at his lip. “How do you know I’m not some martial legacy kid?”

“I’ve spent enough time on the streets to recognize the signs.”

Parna winced, running his fingers over his pocked face. “Fair enough.” He gazed off and spoke more to himself than to Ren. “Someday I’ll get rid of these. I just need to win.”

“Are you aiming to win the trials for the cultivation resources?”

“Isn’t everyone? Kind of a stupid question.”

Ren looked down. It was a stupid question, he supposed. But there was a difference between aiming in vain, and really believing you could do it.

“Sorry,” Parna clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s nice not to be the only street kid here. Have to put in double the work, and people still look down on me.”

Ren nodded.

“Friends?”

They shook hands. “Friends.”

He still didn’t have any pals in his dorm. They all avoided him, but thankfully they were well supervised enough that none of his bunk-mates had tried to go after him. It had been too much to hope that he wouldn’t end up alone even here. Who knew when he’d next see his pod-mates. Or if they’d pull away now that they didn’t have to get along.

Parna started walking away.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The street kid threw a yellow grin over his shoulder. “Practice.”

“Of course, very helpful, thanks,” Ren muttered to himself before heading off to find his training partner.