Arthur had prayed that Intro to Magical Theory would never end. It wasn’t because of any deep and passionate love for the magical arts, although he did find the subject interesting, it was because of what was written next on his schedule: Personal Combat - South Yard. Unfortunately, either Ahania wasn’t listening, or she didn’t care, because Tarynn’s class wrapped up precisely on time.

The freshman class stayed loosely grouped together as they left their first class. Free movement seemed to encourage mingling more than rows of seats, because Arthur saw the small groups that had coalesced in Magical Theory dissolve as they walked. Cameron was talking to Theodore, looking stiff and nervous next to his casual flow. In that moment, it was difficult for Arthur to believe that she was the same girl he’d seen unflinchingly face down half the class the night before. The windy girl, who was apparently called Stephen now, was trying to chat up the demon and Ada at the same time. Neither seemed thrilled about it, and Arthur decided to stay away from that.

He, Kanatase, and Erica stayed on the fringes of the group for the moment. Arthur considered talking to one of them, but couldn’t quite bring himself to. Kanatase seemed to like him well enough, but he was looking pensive and serious. He couldn’t get a read on Erica, and acknowledged privately that his decision not to strike up a conversation with her was based on nerves rather than anything logical. She wasn’t unfriendly, and he’d have to get to know everyone eventually, but his feet and mouth rebelled at the thought, so he kept his eyes forward.

Arthur didn’t know what ‘South Yard’ was referring to, and he doubted anyone else did either. The group was definitely walking south, but most of the campus could be reasonably described as a yard, and there were scant few markings. Anything that would delay the start of the next class, though, he welcomed with open arms. Arthur’s cheeks burned as he recalled his first foray into combat just the previous morning. If Tarynn had seen that, he thought, she would have revoked his invitation on the spot. His uncoordinated brawl with two civilians was bad enough, but at least he’d come out on top. To then get beaten and humiliated by street cops, though, was a bridge too far. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Ahania herself had descended from the heavens and revoked his blessing after that.

Despite the unhelpful directions, the students found what they were looking for easily enough. A middle-aged human woman in workman’s clothes was standing on the open grass, arms folded. Several boxes and sacks were strewn around her, their contents a mystery. As the freshmen neared, the woman let her arms drop.

“Welcome. Is this all of you?” She met the scattered nods from the students with one of her own. “Good. Eight’s a good number.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Professor Wheeler. I will oversee your instruction in personal combat, whatever form that may take. Some of you may lead peaceful lives once you graduate, and I respect that. All of you, however, will leave this University with the capacity to prevent others from harming you. If you do not see the value in that, you soon will.”

Arthur’s mind was in turmoil. He was embarrassed about his fight, yes, that was natural, but the fear and discomfort he felt as he stood in front of Professor Wheeler was unaccountable. He should have been excited about the chance to better himself, to improve his capabilities, stop it from happening again. Instead, the pit in his stomach continued to widen as she delivered her speech.

“Over two hundred students have passed through my course in the thirteen years since this school opened its doors. Less than ten have died violently. Considering the dangerous habits of most of our graduates, that number is almost miraculously low. But it is not a miracle! It is the result of training, of vigilance, and of competence. You will be trained, and train yourselves in turn. I will teach you vigilance, and you will learn competence by dint of experience.”

The class stood around the woman in a loose semicircle, and most listened with rapt attention. The demon looked indifferent, as she often seemed to, and Arthur had no idea how he looked from the outside.

“A hundred years ago, most of you would have made your living by travelling the world, selling your swords and your skills. That remains an option, though it is both less popular and less profitable these days. In this new world, some see self-defense as an eccentric hobby, unlikely to be useful to an upstanding member of society. They are wrong! Laskaris, how did your father’s mother die?”

The prince seemed taken aback, though he replied quickly. “She was stabbed, Professor.”

“That’s right. Cynthia Laskaris died a fool, because she relied on others for her protection. No bodyguard is incorruptible. You, girl. How does the legend of Tico the Shadow end?” She was looking at Ada. Arthur searched his memory, but couldn’t remember hearing a story about anyone by that name. Perhaps it was a regional thing.

The small girl’s eye twitched in annoyance. “While escaping Kell Manor, he was shot in the leg. He’s assumed to have died of his wounds soon after.”

“Correct. One of the greatest thieves in history, and an underpaid guard ended his life with a simple crossbow. Neither of those people led violent lives! One wielded diplomacy and political power better than any ruler before or since, and the other could steal an egg from under a nesting hawk and walk away whistling. But they didn’t diversify, weren’t prepared for the situations where those skills would mean nothing. You - all of you - can become important people. The kind of people about whom stories are written, or should be. You wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t true. The world is not safe for important people, though. Your existence puts targets on your backs, and many of you will probably add more through your own choices. Thus, Personal Combat.”

Arthur’s attention was drawn by Cameron breaking into sudden applause, though she blushed and stopped when nobody joined her. Quickly, an unexpected voice cut in.

“So, that’s great. I’m with you on all of that. I’d rather not die like a chump. But, you might have noticed that there’s some diversity in this class. For example, I’m a regular human, those two are paragons, and she’s a demon powerful enough to want to scrap with a paragon. How in the hells do you plan on teachin’ us all to fight at the same time?”

Ada’s question was the longest thing Arthur had heard her say up to that point. The girl had been quiet for most of Magical Theory, and he had had no other occasion to talk with her. He was surprised to hear a slight Regosi accent slip in as her emotions rose.

Professor Wheeler gave a minute shrug. “It’s a fair question, I suppose. On a theoretical level, a lot of concepts apply universally. You’re all bipeds in the rough area of two meters tall, and have two hands that can grip objects. That makes you more similar than several classes I’ve taught successfully. Some of you are stronger than others, sure. That changes things, and I’ll work with each of you to figure out how. But, while I don’t recommend you ever go picking fights with paragons…perhaps a demonstration is in order.”

She turned and locked eyes with Cameron. “Trainee Baird! Report on your level of combat experience.”

“Yes, Professor Wheeler, ma’am. Fourteen years of hand to hand training, Oshanti. Twelve years of Urizite short sword training. Twelve years of Silver Hand formation drills, infrequently. Six years of firearms training, infrequently. I have never killed a sapient being, nor feared for my life in combat, ma’am.”

Arthur stared in awe as his fellow paragon rattled off her skills without a moment’s hesitation. There was no hint of pride on her face in the beginning, or shame at the end, just statements of fact. He knew for a fact that she was less than a year older than him, which meant she’d been fighting since before Arthur could read. The Professor looked satisfied.

“That’ll do. We’re going to have a practice bout. Empty hands, to submission or incapacitation. You may use the Light to enhance yourself as much as you like, though I ask that you refrain from projecting it. If you believe in your best judgement that you are about to maim or kill me, trust your instincts and avoid doing so, though the prospect is unlikely. Do you understand?”

Cameron nodded sharply, and the rest of the freshman class took several steps back, clearing a large space around the two.

There was no signal Arthur could perceive to mark the beginning of the fight, but Cameron and the Professor sprang into action simultaneously. He wished he could control the enhancements to his body, give himself the better perception and reflexes he’d momentarily experienced yesterday, because he could hardly follow most of the action.

Cameron was dramatically faster than her opponent, more than youth alone could account for, fists and elbows blurring into smudges in his vision. Wheeler wasn’t slow by any means, but she was clearly just a human, and Arthur could follow most of her movements. Her efficiency of motion was absolutely unbelievable, though. He was sure that most of the nuances were lost on him, but he could see her step to the side of a punch before it was thrown, use the same motion to position her knee for a quick jab at Cameron’s thigh, then push off of the hand Cameron used to block the knee, giving herself room to start the next sequence. Every strike Wheeler made was blocked, Cameron’s reaction time and strength more than up to the task, while all of the paragon’s blows were avoided by Wheeler’s superior positioning and inhuman predictions.

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After what felt like minutes, but had almost certainly been less than half of one, Arthur was becoming increasingly sure that Cameron would win. He’d assumed otherwise, at first, because of the Professor’s obvious confidence, but the pace of the fight was clearly Cameron’s to decide, and her blocking and deflection of attacks was visibly easier for her to execute than Wheeler’s dodges, which left the older woman constantly a hair’s breadth from defeat.

Not long after he’d had the thought, Wheeler found her moment. Cameron had thrown a straight-armed punch, her fist whistling through the air a centimeter to the left of the Professor’s head. Professor Wheeler stepped forward, as she had a dozen times before, her right fist swinging at Cameron’s face from the side, only for Cameron’s remaining hand to get in the way. Instead of backing off like usual though, Wheeler continued leaning into the block, throwing her weight at the paragon’s superior strength. There was a sickening crack that Arthur would later realize was the Professor’s forearm splintering as Cameron’s open hand held firm, but Wheeler had another arm. Her left hand shot up from its low position, covering the now much smaller distance between their bodies in an instant. Cameron couldn’t get her first hand back in time to do anything about it, and tried at the last moment to twist away, leaning back, but it was too late. The heel of Professor Wheeler’s palm struck the underside of Cameron’s chin with a meaty smack, and the paragon’s attempt at a controlled backward fall turned into a collapse.

“Yield!” Cameron’s voice rang out, breaking Arthur out of his trance. The Personal Combat instructor halted immediately, standing up straight as Cameron struggled to her feet. Professor Wheeler’s right arm hung limply at her side, evidently broken. If it was causing her any pain, there was no evidence of that on the woman’s face.

She addressed Cameron first. “Well fought.” Raising her voice, she cast her eyes around at the watching students. “Were we to fight twice more, it is possible - likely, even - that Trainee Baird would win both. In life, however, it is often only the first time that counts. Please, though, note my earlier advice: do not pick fights with beings who exist on a different scale of power than you. I am among the most skilled human fighters alive, and it cost me an arm to win against a teenaged paragon, fresh to her powers. Realistic assessment of your capabilities is a critical survival skill.”

Several people clapped this time, and Arthur joined in. He wasn’t sure if he was applauding Cameron for the attempt or Wheeler for the victory, wasn’t sure if it mattered. The display had shown him just how long the path ahead was, how much he had to do to catch up. He didn’t have time to reflect on how that was integrating with his earlier feelings, because the Professor was addressing the class again.

“Some of our classes will be primarily theoretical. Some will be focused on sparring and drills. I encourage you all to practice on your own time, as we don’t have enough scheduled time to ensure adequate training during class alone. Today, I just want to get the measure of each of you, so I can start working on personalized plans.”

She gestured to the bags and crates around her. “The Headmistress has provided us with a diverse array of weapons, enchanted for safety. Immediately upon sensing the touch of warm skin, they will freeze in place. This stop is instant and can be extremely painful for the wielder if the change in momentum was dramatic, so I advise you to slow your blows before impact just as you would with mundane training weapons. Come, pick up arms. Take whatever feels most comfortable for now, we’ll experiment later.”

Arthur rummaged through the assortment of weapons, along with everyone except Cameron. He didn’t know what he was looking for, and hoped something would jump out at him. He hefted a sword, similar in style to Cameron’s, and quickly put it back. It had felt awkward, and anyway, using the same kind of weapon would put the two paragons in even starker and more direct contrast.

A pair of knives fit snugly in his hands, but when he thought about it, they were the opposite of what he wanted. Knives were concealed and deadly, a tool for winning a fight rather than preventing one. He could wear them openly, but that would sacrifice a major advantage, and not gain much in intimidation. Arthur put them down and kept looking.

A large staff drew his eye. He bent down to pick it up, and was astonished at its weight. The ends were capped with iron, and its length was nearly the same as his height. Aware that he was the last to still be making a choice, he settled on the staff. He’d played soldier with tree branches as a boy, like all children, so some young part of his heart was satisfied at holding the mother of all sticks.

“Line up!”

As the freshman class moved to obey, Arthur took the time to check out what others had selected. Kanatase held a long, woven piece of leather and a bag. A sling and stones, Arthur realized after a moment. The knife on the elf’s belt remained in its usual place. Theodore held a long, thin sword, its end to the ground. He looked comfortable with the weapon, though Arthur hadn’t yet seen the prince appear less than serene. Erica had chosen a spear, as had the demon, though hers was much longer and heavier than Erica’s. Stephen was holding a scimitar by the blade, turning it over curiously and running her hand along its curve. Arthur didn’t see any weapon in Ada’s hands. Perhaps she was keeping it in her clothes? It would have to be small, knives, maybe, though the pair he had thought about still lay where he’d left it.

“Because of the particulars of the enchantments, weapons training is the safest kind of practice that you will engage in for this class. When I have judged that you won’t accidentally kill each other, we will move on to unarmed combat. That is likely to be weeks away, from the looks of you. In the meantime, you will spar in unstructured pairs, and I will move or correct you as necessary. Now, partner up.”

Arthur wasn’t sure who his best match would be. From the outside, the obvious choice would be Cameron, but he might actually prefer death over seeing her realize so quickly how disappointing he was. It would seem like bullying if he tried to match up with one of his physically weaker classmates, though, which put him in a bind. Thankfully, his dilemma was resolved when Theo called out to him.

“Arthur! How about you and I have a go?”

Arthur waved and jogged over to the open space Theo had found. The prince grinned at him.

“Seeing as it’s apparently all safe, I say we just do it. We can figure out rules later, if we want. Right now I’d rather just see what we look like naturally. Sound good?”

Arthur had no real reason to disagree, so he just nodded and gripped his new staff tighter, raising it. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

He shifted his grip, putting one hand near the back end and one in the middle, thrusting the other end of the staff at Theo. The prince sidestepped the slow strike easily, but was too far to effectively hit back at the paragon. Arthur had hoped that the Light would come easily again, but his body remained unenhanced. He re-centered his grip, watching. When Theo stepped forward and whipped his rapier at the right side of Arthur’s head, he was ready, shoving the blade away with the mass of his staff.

As the combatants stepped away from the exchange, Arthur held up a hand. “Hang on. I want to try something real fast.” Although it would have helped, he didn’t close his eyes, aware that pausing to focus in the middle of a fight was pushing the limits of realism enough. He tried to bring thoughts of growth to the front of his mind, of fertility. Images of water and dark soil and sunlight, of running through rows of corn in Allendale, heavy on the stalk. He directed those thoughts skyward, along with what he hoped would be interpreted as a polite request to Ahania.

After a moment, he refocused and looked at his opponent. Theo was standing in a patch of grass that looked like it hadn’t been cut or grazed in years, reaching almost up to his knees. There were knots of it wrapped around Theo’s ankles and lower shins, close enough to what Arthur had been going for. The prince looked down around himself, fascinated.

“Shit, that’s really cool. You can just do that?” His legs tensed, and after a small delay, he stepped forward, tearing through the botanical restrictions with some effort.

“I’ve done some similar things while meditating, yeah. It’s harder with grass, since it’s not really a crop. Edge case, as far as Ahania’s concerned. If we were fighting in a field of barley, I might have been able to strangle you with it. Assuming, you know, you didn’t just stab me while I was preparing.”

“Could you, you know?” Theo waved his free hand up and over his head.

“Maybe? If she's inclined to help, I don’t see why not. I think I’ve done it before, by accident, but the priests asked me not to mess with the weather while we traveled, and it seemed like a bad idea to try in the capital.”

“Dude.” Theo smiled broadly, seeming genuinely excited. He held his sword with the tip down, temporarily uninterested in the fight. “Some of the smartest wizards ever have tried to change the weather for literally thousands of years. The most any of us can manage is a lightning bolt here and there, or making artificial wind. You’ve been a paragon for what, six months, and you think you’ve called the rain by accident?”

“Us? Oh, never mind, the thing with the demon. I should have put that together, of course you’re a wizard. But yeah, it’s pretty neat. Not much good in a fight, though.” Arthur looked at the ground, a bit embarrassed.

Theo seemed to have forgotten they were supposed to be sparring until Arthur mentioned the word ‘fight.’ The prince immediately resumed his earlier stance, one foot planted slightly behind him and pointing out, the other straight ahead at Arthur. Arthur prepared himself, too, raising his staff from where it had rested in the crook of his elbow while he prayed.

The two boys advanced on each other slowly. Theo made the first move, stabbing at Arthur’s shoulder. The paragon swept his staff to the side, but it had been a feint. He couldn’t bring the heavy rod back quickly enough—

“Fuck!” The curse erupted from Theo as he dropped his sword and grabbed his wrist. “Ahh, hells. Should have seen that coming.”

Arthur hadn’t even felt the impact. From what his nerves were telling him, the sword had never touched him at all. When he felt around with his fingers, though, there was a small hole in his shirt, on the right side of his abdomen. Arthur leaned down and picked up the prince’s abandoned rapier, inspecting the sharp point.

That should have gone right through you, whispered a part of his mind. It would have torn up your organs, maybe killed you. All of a sudden, the fear he’d almost forgotten about washed over Arthur, cold and bitter. His powers hadn’t protected him, and his skills were laughable. Even if he improved, he thought, Cameron’s fight had just showed that there would always be someone better. Someone who could snuff him out in an instant, end the story of Arthur Kay from Allendale.

As Theo shook off the pain and laughed, clapping Arthur on the shoulder, one question reverberated through the boy’s mind. What am I doing here?