“In the far north there is only Priyu and Hiyu. At the world’s middle, gods have given four seasons free reign to orchestrate nature. The year starts with autumn and the blossoming of Mos. Then comes the roughness of winter, followed by the beauty of spring. Summer is the time of storms. Some say that before, summer was the most merciful of seasons, but that to win the war of the Firantes, the Conqueror had to corrupt the skies and ride the monstrosities he created. He won, but the monster of wind and thunder had eaten everything. The monster was called an Angel. Faced with the horror of his actions, the Conqueror lost his mind. Because of his madness, he forgot to banish the creature he summoned, and that is why summer is now the time of storms.”

“What’s the war of the Firantes, Ra’fa?”

“The worst of all wars. It was before the Empire when everything was fractured in countries. The Firantes, our most terrifying enemy, who lived up north, were going to eradicate Man. To protect her children, Adienha gave a woman the power of five lives. That woman rallied all the countries under one banner and created the Empire. Helped by the strongest of the God-Touched, the Conqueror, they won the war, but not without terrible losses.”

“The Imperatrix is still alive?”

“Yes. Our Imperatrix and the Imperatrix of the war of the Firantes is one and the same. It is said she is still the most beautiful of all womankind. She’ll live for five lifespans before dying, that is the gift Adienha gave her.”

“What about the Conqueror? Adienha? What did the Firantes look like?”

“I’ll tell you all the stories Nay, but not now, Marke is waiting for you.”

A lesson from Ra’fa.

  The new teacher was wearing a long brown robe, far too large for the scrawny old man. His neglected appearance was far from a sign of incompetence though, as his knowledge and stories were gripping. Nay was sad she had missed the lesson the day before. The classroom was filled with rows of desks and benches and was not meant for only two people, and the Sage-Brother’s voice was echoing in the emptiness.

He wanted her to call him Brother Berth or Sage Berth. He had made no comment on her absence the previous day, and once having introduced himself, he just started his lesson. First, he explained to her what Sage-Brothers were, and who the goddess they served was. Then, he continued with the subject of gods, with such drive in his voice, it seemed like his sharing knowledge was procuring him immense pleasure.

After explaining everything in much detail, he finished with a summary of everything he taught her until this point: “So, Adienha, Goddess of Knowledge is the one who with Ja, also commonly referred as the Creator, birthed our world. Ja created all material things while Adienha created the soul, and as such, life. To help them with those tasks, Adienha took eight mountains and infused them with her essence. The mountains became the eight major gods: Gert; Discovery and Madness, Trayx; Death and Hells, Vanni; Justice, Canna; Birth and Rebirth, Patrex; Family and War, Dyone; Success and Euphoria, and finally Jormun; Conscience. All helped in turn with making more gods, the minor ones, so numerous they cannot be counted and listed, and together they filled the work of Ja with life.”

“I have a question.” Asked Nay.

“Those are always welcome, but you have to call me Sage.”

“Sage Berth, I have a question.” She corrected herself.

“What is it Nay?” Said the old man, pleased.

“How can the God of Death and Hells fill the world with life?”

“Well! That is a very interesting question!” He complimented her. “According to Sage Hyven, The God Trayx does not exactly fill the world with life, it brings meaning. He theorized that without death and a place to judge the living, our existence would be akin to one of a rock.”

“Death gives meaning to life?” She repeated.

“Exactly! Very good!”

The little girl was ecstatic, never before had she been complimented like that. The teaching method of her new professor was entirely opposite to Marke’s. She also felt slightly ashamed as she did not feel she deserved them, as she did not really understand what this grand Sage Hiben was talking about.

“I’m going to teach you how to write the Gods' and Goddesses' names, then I’ll teach you how to write your own.”

Nay engulfed every piece of knowledge given to her, and after two hours, Sage Berth announced the end of the lesson.

The sun had not set yet. She exited the building directly to the inside courtyard, where Marke was waiting for her.

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I learned all about the Gods, and I can write my own name!” She explained, guessing what he was inquiring about.

He gave her a grunt as a first response. “Don’t trust that nonsense too much, gods have never helped me parry a crossbow bolt.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

She was taken aback by the disparity between the Sage-Brother’s enthusiasm and the soldier’s disdain about divinity and she stopped in her tracks to think about it.

“I’ll make my own opinion!” She concluded.

Her answer made the Legio smile.

“I’m expecting nothing less!”

His face went inexpressive again.

“Today, we dance together, you use the steps you feel like using, and I’ll adapt and accompany you? Got it?”

“Yes Marke.”

“Good.” He said. He then threw a wooden sword and dagger at her, that she caught in mid-air.

With no more words spoken, they began.

She tried to graciously spin as Marke always did, but her own moves were clumsy. She was not used to the Imperatrix’s dance in a simulacrum of a duel. The ex-sergeant dodged her attacks with ease. It looked like he barely moved, not wasting any stamina at all. It was impressive, but the point of the exercise was not to show the master’s mastery but the apprentice’s.

“You can do better than that! Make me use my weapons!” He provoked her.

Little by little, her instinct and training took over, the techniques and moves she used in normal duels fused with the Imperatrix’s dance. She stopped thinking, and let her body take control.

The Legio raised his sword. He parried an attack then another. Strikes fell on the grown man like heavy rain, but he dodged and parried with brio. He unsheathed his training dagger and she used the opening in his stance to come closer. A single bead of sweat curled on Marke’s forehead.

He had stopped taunting her, smiling to the teeth.

As he parried a strike, he took a step forward, breaking the rhythm of her flurry. He had decided to take the initiative. She knew what he was doing. He had explained and shown it to her, many, many times. With a single step he had “taken” the Rreico. He had made the combat rhythm his own.

“Adapt and accompany my ass…” The little girl grumbled, forced to parry the dagger going straight for her throat.

“Don’t lose focus, runt!” He scolded her as usual.

The game of blades continued, and a strange mix between dance and sword techniques took place. Nay listened to the advice of her master, and she focused. She focused on her breathing. On the sounds. On this Rreico she was beginning to perceive.

Her grey eyes bothered the soldier for a fraction of a second, even though he was more than used to the colour that sparkled in his adoptive daughter’s pupils.

She jumped backwards and began a strange circular dance.

“This again? You know it doesn’t work.” He said, immediately recognising the Imperatrix’s botte. The little girl had to have continued exercising on her own, as he did not have the knowledge to help her maintain mastery of the complicated technique himself. She had never used it since that day in the Canyon of Sables, and he predicted she was going to make a mistake somewhere.

There were no mistakes.

For a single moment he lost sight of her dagger, the next it was flying straight at him. The projectile was not as fast as it could have been if it was iron or steel, and he had enough time to raise his sword in front of his face. He thought: ‘At least she aimed properly this time.’, and at the same time the dagger bounced off his weapon harmlessly.

He lowered his sword and gazed in front of him. The girl was not there anymore.

His years of experience screamed for him to look down.

A sword was closing in on his chin.

With one smooth movement, he dropped his dagger, struck the sword with his open palm to deflect it and violently shoved the girl under him with his whole body. She almost flew ten feet away. She did an acrobatic forward roll as she hit the ground and immediately stood up, giant smile on her lips.

At first Marke worried, he had not held himself back with his last attack, and he feared she could have been hurt or rendered unconscious. But his worry quickly faded as he understood what she had done. She had accompanied his shove with her whole body, projecting herself away more than he did, greatly diminishing the force of impact.

“Smart kid…” He whispered to himself.

“Aouch. I was certain I would get you with that!”

“Hmph.” Her opponent answered. “Try again.” Then, more softly he asked: “You didn’t hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m okay, can I get my sword and dagger back though?”

Her weapons were next to him, the blades had not accompanied his shove.

He picked them up and threw them at her once more. He took his own dagger back, also down on the ground.

“I said to use the Dance without the usual techniques, not your weird mixture of both!” He was not really scolding her, and she knew it as she answered smugly: “You said it yourself, the Dance on its own is useless!”

“…kids…” He said as he went back to a defensive stance.

And the dance between the daughter and her adoptive father continued.

Marke was thinking. He did not seem out of breath at all.

Even though she had almost hit him more than once. This combination of Legio technique and Dance was frightening. With more reach and stronger muscles, she would become truly dangerous. Soon, he would need to stop holding back to face her.

That was what he was thinking, but never would he have said it aloud. And he definitely would never have shared those thoughts to the exhausted little girl on the ground.

“We’re done. This will be enough for the exhibit on Saturday.”

As he announced the end of the training, someone began clapping.

It was the Sage-Brother, sitting in a dark corner of the cloister.

Nay stood back up.

“You were watching us?” She asked with surprise in her voice, her exhaustion seemingly forgotten.

The sergeant was surprised as well, he had not spotted the man until now. ‘The Sage-Brother has some hidden cards in hand, does he?’ He thought to himself.

“I was. And it was impressive. Very much so. The children of all large families will fight to get a place here. Maybe some will come from other cities! And if the Imperatrix finally gives birth to a true heir…” He let the end of his sentence fly.

“Maybe.” Marke answered. “But sometimes I ask myself if it comes from my teaching or from the girl’s innate talent.”

Nay could not hide her shock; he had never expressed doubts before.

“You’re a great master, father!” She comforted him.

“Father?” Asked Marke, bewildered.

The girl blushed. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t want…”

“No, it’s all right, you can call me that.” He cut her off, startled by unknown feelings gripping his throat.

“Oh…well. I’m going to see if Ra’fa needs my help in the kitchen…father.” Said Nay awkwardly.

She bowed in front of the Sage-Brother as gesture of goodbye and ran away.

The Sage-Brother laughed quietly.

“Is there something funny?” Marke asked aggressively.

“You know, Sergeant-General Marke, the Brutal Blade of the Imperatrix, winner of the war tournaments, last of the true Legio, moved to tears by a little girl calling him father. I find it humorous.”

“This is the last time you call me by my titles.” He said menacingly before adding: “And I’m not crying.”

“You aren’t?” Asked the robe man before standing up and leaving.

Marke swiped his cheek with the back of his hand.

“I learned that you called Marke father?”

A day had passed and, obviously, Ra’fa had heard about what had happened. Nay curled back on herself, it was the wake of morning and the cook was already shouting at her.

“It, uh, slipped…I…” She tried to explain in a stutter.

“I care as much as Jormun about that!” Interrupted the tall woman. “How dare you call this insensitive bull father before calling me mom!”

Nay had no answer to that.

“Sorry, M-O-M.” Said Ra’fa, encouraging the little girl to repeat after her.

“Erm…sorry mom?” Said Nay with the littlest of voices.

“Once more, louder.”

“Sorry mom.”

Her mother had a happy sigh.

“Much better, you can eat now.”

Nay’s confusion was absolute.