Coal woke up. He sat up groggily, blinking and wiping the sleep dust from his eyes, trying to remember where he was. As his eyes cleared he took in the dingy alley, the cobbles beneath him and the wooden walls of buildings to either side, the old cracked water barrel. He’d had a crazy dream of being out here, of being…
Coals hands shot to his chest, feeling for the wound. His tan shirt was damp and sticky, stained rusty brown. He moved to his knees to stand, belatedly remembering that he’d injured his right knee last night, though he felt no pain now. He stood a bit drunkenly but with little effort. Swaying on his feet he just goggled, still feeling his chest for any sign of a wound. There was something there, a ridge in the center of his bony chest, but he couldn’t feel any pain. In fact he felt remarkably clear headed, almost better than he could ever remember feeling. He wasn’t cold either, he felt pleasantly warm, almost toasty.
But… I died didn’t I? Coal looked around the alley as if the answer to this mystery would be written on the walls. And then, unbelievably, that was exactly what happened. As he turned and faced the wall of his own small home, words began to write themselves out in front of him in bold red ink.
Congratulations! You have absorbed the link, Dragons Heart blood!
You have unlocked the Dragon skill tree
The words disappeared and were replaced by a blank box outlined in red. A small red line grew in a squiggle from the bottom of this box about an inch or so and stopped. Another box appeared above this squiggle and filled with the words Dragon Heart. Coal lent forward to get a better look and the dragon heart box expanded and filled in with text.
Dragon Heart - Trunk ability- Your heart is filled with the undying flames of a dragon
This can’t actually be happening right, Coal thought as he stared at the words, it’s not possible. In a daze Coal moved out of the alley and to his door. It was very early morning, the suns light just peeking over the roofs of the houses, the street in that hazy blue dimness that’s rarely seen by civilized folk. Coal shoved his way inside and walked in to the tiny home he once shared with his mother.
Still dazed and confused he moved over to the area he used as his bedroom, just a corner with a sloped roof, a torn bit of canvas hanging from the ceiling to provide privacy. He dropped to his knees by the wooden pallet that served as his bed, reached underneath and withdrew a large iron bound wooden trunk. Compared to every other time, the chest came out easily. No straining in his arms like his muscles were going to tear from the effort. No scary hitch in his chest like his lungs were going to give out . It felt easy. Smooth.
Coal swung the chest around and sat in front of it so he was facing the room. He noticed Charlie was sitting to his left and staring up at him with avid curiosity. For a stone puppy he was creepily silent, Coal almost never heard him coming. Coal turned back to the chest and flicked up the chunky iron latch. He strained to lift the lid but again it moved easily, so easy that he tried too hard and ended up flipping it up and over with a clatter.
Coal reached in and started removing things from the chest, laying them to his right in neat grids. His heavy notebook, filled with copied segments from the books the priest had leant him over the years. His research, he thought of it. Even though he’d never expected to actually be able to use it. His bag of holding came out next. Much too valuable to be taken on his herb gatherings, it was a magic bag. Capable of carrying a large amount of items whilst considerably reducing their weight. Even though it was the cheapest version of such a thing it would still be worth a considerable amount and was probably the most expensive thing he owned. The only thing stored inside at the moment was his mothers necklace. The one thing he had left to remember her by. Last he removed the sword. Wrapped in an oil cloth to protect it from the elements even inside the heavy chest. Coal unrolled this and stood, holding the sword in front of him resting on his palms. It was a simple iron straight sword in a brown leather sheath. One handed hilt wrapped in the same brown leather, guard and pommel scarred and unadorned. It had once belonged to his mothers father, his grandfather who he had never met.
Coal thought of the words he'd seen before and just like that they appeared in front of him, as if by magic. There was the box with it's little red sprout, the words written above it. Dragon Heart. The words that changed everything.
Coal moved his right hand so he gripped the hilt and moved his left up to the simple strap, running from the top of the sheath and looping round one arm of the guard that held the sheath in place. He opened the tie and gripped the sheath. Slowly, very slowly, he drew the sword. Despite its many years in its sheath, hidden in this chest under Coals bed, the blade shone in the dull light of Coals small home. He shifted the blade back and forth, admiring it. As swords went it was nothing special, dull grey iron, chips along the blade from forgotten struggles. As coal turned it wonderingly in his hand, a beam of light from a crack in the roof hit the sword's edge and gleamed.
Still sharp. Coal had never drawn the blade before. His mum had given it to him when he was very young, 5 or 6. As he’d grown he’d taken it out of his trunk of treasures a few times, holding it in his lap. The last time had been a year or so ago, but that time he had barely been able to lift it from his trunk. Now he stood and raised the sword with one hand into an approximation of a guard position he’d stared at many times in his notebook. Right foot forward, left foot back and turned out. His right arm came up and he pointed the sword at an imaginary enemy. The sword was heavy and his arm shook with effort but still he managed it and it felt… easy. More than that, it feels good. A smile cracked Coals face, awkward and lopsided but unmistakably joyful.
Every time Coal had ever strained himself before, whenever he tried to work hard and push himself even just a little, he felt his weakness. A feeling like his body just wanted to give up. Like his muscles would all snap at once, his lungs would crack and deflate and his heart would putter to a stop. He’d drop like a puppet with its strings cut, his body just giving out all at once, pushed to the edge by the unimaginable effort it took just to stay upright. But now, holding this sword one handed, crouched and steady. He felt the weight of the sword in his hand and along his arm. The power in his back and legs as he crouched. Coal brought the sword back over his left shoulder and then swung it forward. Slowly, in an arc from left to right. Pull the blade back, step back. Step forward and thrust. Coal did this all slowly, recreating the forms from the book, sketches he’d stared at for so many hours they were practically etched on his eyes.
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He stepped back in to the first position, right foot forward, sword held diagonally in front of him. Crouched slightly, weight back on his left foot. Grinning like a fool he turned and looked down at Charlie. He still sat, watching him. His pet stared up at him with what Coal chose to think of as awed amazement, though it was probably just puzzlement at his human’s strange antics. “Did you see that boy. I did it! I swung a sword. I can swing a sword,” then everything that had happened this morning crashed into him, “I have a link. I have a link and I can swing a sword and, and… I’m not weak anymore.” Coal actually felt pretty good. Really good. He could feel his heart beating solidly in his chest, radiating warmth around his body. Unlike the usually weak patter, with its strange rhythm and those terrifying hitches, his heart beat felt strong. Powerful.
Dragon heart. It… fixed me. I’m not broken any more. I’m normal. “Ha… Ha ha aha uh ha.” Coal broke into a delighted laugh. Then he was giggling uncontrollable, weird sobs mixed in. At the relief. The incredible, life altering, amazed glee. He stumbled over and sat on his cot, careless of the sword in his hand, giggling and weeping and hiccupping but unable to stop any of it. A whale burst out of his throat and then he was crying uncontrollably. Coal buried his face in his hands and wept. And then he slept.
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Coal came back to himself a while later, curled in the fetal position, hands clasped to his chest. He pulled his body from its clenched, defensive posture and flopped onto his back. He felt good. Lighter. He remembered the sword he’d been holding and lent up on one elbow to peek over the bed. It lay on the floor beside him, glowing in the bright golden light that was leaking into his shoddy wooden hut. The sun must be high in the sky, it was hot and muggy. He’d slept for only a couple of hours. Coal sat up and slung his legs off the bed, careful to avoid stepping on his sword. He stretched gloriously, raising his arms above his head and giving a massive, jaw cracking yawn.
He stood easily, bouncing on his toes. A feeling like static electricity dancing across his skin. Coal crouched and snatched up his sword. Wiping the dust from the floor off the blade with an edge of his tatty shirt, Coal walked over to the center of the room. He dropped back into the guard position. Time to get to work.
He didn't notice it and there was no one there to see it but as he moved into his first strike and swung his sword, Coal was smiling.
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So Coal worked his forms. He could remember the first three forms perfectly. These had taken up the first page of the swordsman's manual and Coal had stared at these more than any others. Guard, slash, stab. So he focused on these, one after another, over and over. Stab, guard, Stab, slash. Mixing up the order randomly, moving from guard to stab, from stab to slash. Learning how to transition from one stance to another, then doing it over and over again. Endlessly, driving the positions in to his muscles.
As well as the pictures of the forms the book had contained written instruction, advice on how to train yourself to the sword. He didn’t have it memorized or anything, other than staring at the pictures and daydreaming Coal had never really studied the book, not like he had the books on monsters and beasts. That was information he could use, even if just as a warning of what not to do, but the sword manual would have been too much hope even for him. Too much like torture, knowing what he couldn’t have.
But he remembered the opening of the book talking about repetition. Doing a form over and over until it became as natural as breathing. It talked about how when you walked you did it without thinking, you’d been doing it so long that you just thought of moving and your legs took you there. It talked about how that should be the same with the sword. You just thought of fighting and your sword attacked.
So Coal worked his forms. He stopped once to fetch a pitcher of water from the barrel and after that to drink in guzzles as he caught his breath but other than that he just trained. All the rest of that day he stood and swung his sword. When his right hand grew too weary to raise the blade to guard position he switched to his left and started all over again. Guard slash stab. Over and over. A thousand times. Two thousand. Back to his right hand. Guard slash stab. Again and again.
At some point after the sun fell Charlie arrived, silent as ever from wherever he hid from the sun during the day. His friend sat and watched him as he sparred invisible enemies. Eventually Coal stopped and let the sword slowly lower until its point touched the ground. He stood panting and dripping sweat. His muscles ached and those in his arms quivered and quaked with fatigue but he felt… glorious. Effort of any kind usually just exhausted him but now he felt stretched, expanded. Like his effort was building him up instead of ripping him apart. Like his muscles were pushing at their seams, trying to grow and fortify. Like he was getting stronger. He was already addicted to the feeling.
Coal retrieved the sheath and slid the sword into it. Laying it reverently on his bed he moved to the kitchen and started supper, loading up Charlie's bowl and pouring water into the pot, adding the grains to make his simple porridge.
He crouched and placed Charlie's bowl down. When the stone puppy came over to guzzle up the offering, Coal scritched him behind the ears and crouched there, grinning. His mind was whirling with possibilities. All the things he’d dreamed of, the plans and adventures he knew he’d never have. He could do any of it now. He was normal. Just a normal guy with no weakness in his blood and a strong heart. No… more than that. He was linked. He had power, real, honest to God magic. Like a Hunter.
It was all he’d ever dreamed of. Coal supposed most kids did. Being a Hunter. Going on adventures and defeating the evil monsters with your magic powers. Finding hidden treasure and rescuing beautiful damsels. Huh, guess there’s that too. I could.. You know. Be with someone now. Coal blushed.
He’d never even been able to consider girls before. He’d noticed them sure but even from a very young age Coal knew he couldn’t. A man was supposed to care for a woman, protect her and provide for her, that’s what his mum had said. She’d often spoken of girls, about the beautiful woman Coal would someday marry, as if that was possible. She was like that, Coal's mother. Always talking off amazing, fantastical things as if they were everyday occurrences. Talking about the great life Coal would lead when he was a man grown. When she had been around it had been easier to believe along with her.
Still, even then, Coal had known he could never marry, he wasn’t capable of protecting anyone. He got out of breath just getting out of bed. Unlike his daydreams about being a Hunter he’d never even imagined kissing a girl. Like the swordsman's manual it was too impossible, too painful.
But now… Coal shook his head violently, shaking away the thought. Focus Coal, you have more important things to think about than girls. He bustled about the room, starting a fire and setting the porridge to boil. Lighting the lamps and retrieving his sheathed sword. Settling into his favorite chair by the fire, cradling his sword in his arms and allowing himself not just to dream but to plan, to actually make step by step plans of action for what he was going to do.