The sacred training grounds were this open expanse, surrounded by a grove of ancient trees. In the center, the earth was worn smooth by the passage of many feet, a testament to countless hours of rigorous training. It remained so, though no Aspirant had graced it in many, many years.
Hunter could see why this place had been chosen. Or rather, he could feel it; the air itself was swimming with a quiet energy. It didn’t take him more than a few seconds to place its locus. He’d have to be blind to miss it. Right in the middle of the sacred grounds there was a totem pole carved out of ancient wood. He broke off from the rest of the group and went to take a closer look.
The pole reached skyward for over forty feet, carved from what looked like a single, ancient cedar tree trunk. At the base, powerful animal figures were etched into the wood with meticulous detail. A bear, a boar, an elk, an owl, an eagle. Interwoven with them were human figures, too, their faces serene and dignified. The carvings and patterns went on like that all the way to the top, as far as Hunter could tell. The wood itself bore the marks of time and weather, its surface polished smooth by the elements and the reverent touch of many hands. Moss and lichen clung to the crevices, adding to its ancient, venerable appearance. He reached out and placed his palm on the pole, and he immediately felt its power tug at his core.
“Yes,” he willed. The connection he still had to the Ancient Glyphic Hollow, the underground cave back in Mir’s domain in the Weald, unfastened itself as a new connection formed. His essence was now tied here.
That was a first. The other Places of Power he had anchored himself to so far had given him one-time blessings of Aether or Inspiration. This made more sense, considering. He now just had to see what exactly “accelerated rate” meant. He was actually starting to get excited with this whole Aspirant thing.
“Alright, gather up,” Elder Wroth shouted. “Let us get started, yes?”
They gathered up, the four of them; Hunter, Inago, Yuma and Tayen. Fawkes stayed a few feet behind and watched, Fyodor and the ravens by her side.
“Come here, stand in line, yes?” Wroth began. “Listen up. I do not know you. If half of what Vanchik said about you in his little speech is true, then you are the best the Hawk Nation has to offer, and I commend you for that. But that,” he pointed in the general direction of the village, “was back there. Out here, things are different. Out here, in these sacred grounds, we separate the strong from the weak, the brave from the cowards.”
Inago, Tayen and Yuma listened to the man with dead serious expressions. It made sense. To them, he was a legend. Hunter tried his damnedest to be solemn too, but seeing Fawkes’s poignantly unimpressed look didn't help. He found himself wishing Wroth wasn’t about to pull a Full Metal Jacket drill sergeant routine. He wasn’t too keen on having to explain to the seven-foot old warrior why he couldn’t stop giggling.
“You see this land?” Wroth went on, his good-humored facade evaporating by the second. “This is where legends are made. Every inch of this ground has been soaked with the sweat, blood, and tears of those who came before you. As far as Aspirants go, you are not special. You are not entitled. You are the lowest of the low, and it is my job and privilege to make sure you either rise to greatness or fall to nothing. You will train harder than you've ever trained before. You will push past your limits, then push some more. Every sunrise marks another day you must prove yourself worthy. Every sunset marks another chance to reflect on your failures and vow to do better. Understood?”
Hunter wasn’t certain how he was supposed to reply, so he didn’t. None of the others did, either. Good. Wroth studied the four Ascendants one by one, then took a few big, ponderous steps towards them.
“You will learn to respect this land and the spirits of the warriors who trained here before you,” he said, talking to all of them but looking straight at Hunter. “Their strength, their endurance, their courage—these are your benchmarks. You will respect the elders, for we hold the knowledge and wisdom that you lack. You will respect each other, for in battle, your lives will depend on the person beside you.”
He moved on to Yuma, who was puffing his chest so much Hunter could swear his spine was about to break, then went on.
“Out here, there is no place for arrogance. Out here, you’re nobody, save for who you’ve proven to be. You will learn discipline, precision, and the value of every breath you take.”
His gaze shifted to Tayen, you stood as still and impassive as a statue.
“If you can't handle it, if you think for one second that you don't have to give your absolute best, then pack up and leave now. If you aspire to follow the Path of the White Cloud, there is no room for mediocrity.”
Finally, Elder Wroth looked at Inago.
“The path to becoming a warrior of the White Cloud is long and grueling. But if you survive this training, if you earn your place among the ancestors, then and only then will you understand the honor and responsibility that comes with it. Show me what you've got, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll become someone worth remembering.”
He took a good look at each of them again, studying them, picking them apart, searching for weakness.
“Elder Fawkes, is there anything you’d like to add?”
“I will speak when it is my turn to speak, Elder Wroth,” Fawkes said, studying the Aspirants herself. “Thank you.”
“Good. Well, let us see what we’re working with. Strip down to your smallclothes, all of you.”
That caught Hunter unprepared. He’d never been one for modesty, not exactly. But he hadn’t spent his teens in locker rooms joking around buck-naked with the school jocks, either. Plus, It couldn’t be more than 50 degrees, even in the sun.
The other three didn’t seem to have such reservations. They immediately took off their tunics, shirts, and trousers and stood in what looked like loincloths. Tayen also wore a chest band around her torso, too, though whether it was for modesty or support, Hunter couldn’t tell. He took off his clothes too, revealing his Elderpyre equivalent of boxer briefs.
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All three of the Brennai Aspirants were strong and lithe, with Yuma being the strongest-looking, Tayen the lithest, and Inago somewhere in between. Hunter was neither. He wasn’t pudgy and he had a bit of musculature, but that was as far as it went. Moreover, compared to their sun-kissed skin, his own looked as pale as a fish’s belly. Wroth took a look at him and frowned, his lips hardening into a disapproving line. Fawkes watched the scene unfold, her expression unreadable. Hunter felt the urge to crack wise, but instead he opted to shut up.
“You there!” he barked. “Hunter, was it? What’s your trade, son?”
“Ugh…”
“Scribe,” Fawkes interjected. “He’s spent his life behind a desk. Looks like it, too, no?”
Hunter made a mental note to throttle her.
“Mmm,” Wroth growled. “And what business does a scribe have in these training grounds? Look, son, I’ll tell you this once. Drop out. There is no shame in it.”
Yuma turned his head just enough to give Hunter the once-over and a condescending look. Hunter felt his ears burn. Was Elderpyre a social horror simulator, too?
“Do you want to drop out, Hunter?” asked Fawkes.
“No,” said Hunter.
“Do you think you have what it takes to train along the other Aspirants, then?” asked Wroth.
“Yes, Elder. I do.”
The large man let out a sigh.
“Don’t say I did not warn you. Well then, start running around the grounds. Work up a sweat.”
Yuma bolted before Wroth had finished his sentence. Inago and Tayen followed. Not believing his ears, Hunter started running too. Was this the fabled Aspirant training we had signed up for? Running laps? Up until a few years ago, he used to cut gym class to avoid exactly this kind of crap.
Well…
He’d just said he wanted in.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
The training grounds were roughly the same size as a soccer field, which means that it only took Hunter a few minutes to get winded and slow down, and the other three to lap him. Yuma, glistening in sweat but still running like a racehorse, didn’t miss the chance to give Hunter a sneering look as he passed by.
Inago, on the other hand, was far friendlier.
“Keep it up, sai!” he told him between breaths as he passed. “You are doing great!”
Hunter wasn’t proud of that, but Inago’s friendliness stung him worse than Yuma’s scorn. A system message popped up in his HUD.
“You’re… damn… right!” he said to himself, spraying spittle with each word, then redoubled his effort. Running didn’t become any easier, but now he felt as if he might last longer before he exhausted himself.
Soon, he got another notification.
He didn’t know whether to get excited about learning a new skill, or to lose heart because his Athletics was just at a measly 1. In any case, he pushed on.
The other three didn’t look like they were going to give up anytime soon. Wroth and Fawkes were sitting by the totem pole, absorbed in some conversation. Fyodor came to him and ran by his side for a lap or three, then went to sleep at Fawkes’s feet. Biggs and Wedge were watching from a nearby tree, baffled at the spectacle.
Almost an hour and a half later when Hunter finally stumbled. Wheezing, he fell to his hands and knees and vomited. Not that there was much to vomit. He was parched. In the back of his mind, he heard the ravens ask if he was alright, and whether he needed them to do something. He dismissed them with the telepathic equivalent of a grunt and stayed on the ground for a long minute, trying to catch his breath.
The other Aspirants ran past him. Inago stopped to make sure he was well, which made Hunter want to scream at his wide, friendly face.
He had just barfed from exhaustion.
He was far from well.
Too spent to even talk, he just nodded a few times and gave Inago a thumbs-up, which for all he knew could be a rude gesture in Brennai culture.
Fawkes came to check up on him, too, followed by Fyodor, who started licking his sweaty face.
“Ew… stop!” Hunter rasped between still-labored breaths.
“Small sips,” Fawkes told him, handing him a tin water canteen and a rag. “Wipe the blood off your nose, too.”
He’d been bleeding from the strain, he realized. He still hadn’t recovered from the strain his last in-game death had put to his system.
“Think you need to get to your side of things for a while?” Fawkes asked, trying - and failing - not to sound concerned.
No, Hunter thought. He didn’t want to, if only out of pure stubbornness. He was already showing weakness. On the other hand, he really should. If the strain to his nerves was bad enough to give him a nosebleed and a pounding headache over here, he couldn’t be much better on his side of things.
“I won’t be long,” he managed to say, and logged out then and there, still on his knees.
***
The first thing Alex did when he woke up in his bed was bring his fingers to his nose.
Blood.
Fuck.
Not a lot of it, but still blood.
He got up, washed up, plugged his nostrils with toilet paper. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Jump right back in the game? Take some time off to cool down?
The prudent, mature, self-aware choice would be to drop out of the whole Aspirant thing Fawkes had gotten him into, if not stop logging in Elderpyre for a while altogether.
But that would cost him Fawkes.
Fawkes…
There was this thought that had been buzzing in his head like an angry bee for a while now. He’d been avoiding to acknowledge it for fear of getting in another row with her.
What the hell had she been thinking, signing him up for Brennai special forces bootcamp?
His thoughts spiraled, each one angrier than the last. How could she put him in this position?
He could have said no, granted - but could he, really? She’d just get disappointed and fuck off in the sunset on her own, lonesome cowboy style.
If that wasn’t emotional blackmail, he didn’t know what the hell it was.
No, she couldn’t be doing it on purpose - could she? She was hurting. She was grieving. Still, that didn’t give her the right to-
Another wave of blood gushed from his nostrils, soaking the toilet paper plugs. He took them off, then pinched the soft, fleshy part of his nose, hoping to compress the vessels shut.
And then it hit him.
It wasn’t physical exertion that wreaked enough havoc on his nerves to give him nosebleeds. It was emotional distress. He tried to think back to all the times he’d had it happen to him. It had happened twice as he was arguing with Fawkes, and once during the fight with that owlbeast - during which he was just as startled and stressed as physically hurt. And even now, it wasn’t the exhaustion that did him in - it was the embarrassment and frustration of not being able to keep up with the others.
Okay, that was good.
That was a breakthrough.
That was something he could use.
He could already feel the cogs starting to whir in his head, problem-solving.
***
When he popped back in Elderpyre, the other Aspirants were still running laps around the training grounds. Fyodor rushed to greet him, tongue wagging, and the ravens bombarded him with a host of mental inquiries about his health. Fawkes was back with Elder Wroth near the totem pole at the center of the grounds, talking. She beckoned him to go closer.
“Feeling better, lad?” she asked.
Hunter eyed her. She looked concerned, despite trying to downplay it.
“Much.”
Wroth furrowed his bushy brow, looking troubled.
“Elder Fawkes informed me of your situation, son. I’d hate to see you get hurt, but that’s your choice. A man has to push himself. I can respect that. But them,” he pointed a meaty finger at the other Aspirants, “them, you can’t expect to slow down and wait for you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Elder.”
“You better do. If you got to drop out, go on and drop out. But you can’t expect me to give you any special treatment, Transient.”
So there it was.
“No, Elder,” said Hunter a bit more coolly than was absolutely necessary. “There will be no need for that.”
“Good,” said Wroth, and walked away.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all,” Fawkes drawled when the man was out of earshot.
Hunter said nothing. He wanted to be mad at her, deep down. Snap at her, shout at her. He knew he had every right. He just didn’t find it as easy in person.
“Next time, just ask me first, yes?” he sighed.
She frowned and looked away - as clear an apology as he was going to get.
“This was a mistake.” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Hunter looked at the far side of the training grounds, where the other Aspirants were huffing and puffing and sweating, but still at it.
“No,” he told her as he prepared to go back to running. “Now that we’re here, I want to see this through.”