Kerrigan
The sun had barely risen, bathing the academy grounds in a gentle golden light as Kerrigan and Isah made their way to the training yard. They had been meeting at six in the morning for the past few days, giving them a solid three hours to practice before their classes began and leaving them some time to wash up.
They reached the training yard, and they both put on the training armor they had been carrying with them. The leather pad wasn't much, but it prevented bruises from forming on their chests and stomachs. It was also good practice for wearing more than just their own clothes.
Isah tied her black hair into a ponytail and they started their warm-up routine, stretching out their bodies and loosening their muscles.
“Ready to begin?” she asked.
Kerrigan nodded. He was still lacking in skill, but thanks to Isah's rigorous drills, his body felt less stiff and awkward, and his footwork had improved vastly.
They started with basic sword swings, going through each one slowly and carefully. In the beginning, Isah had demonstrated first and then had Kerrigan replicate the movement. It hadn’t been easy for him at first, but now they were moving together smoothly.
Next, they moved on to footwork drills. Kerrigan had developed a habit of keeping his heels slightly lifted. He had found it helped him to push off the ground with more ease and that he could change his stance more quickly. They practiced various steps, combining them as they moved: advancing, retreating, passing, and a new one Isah had recently introduced, the triangle step.
“Good work, your flow has really improved,” Isah said, stopping to take a small break before they moved on to practicing strikes and blocks against each other. She took a sip from her water bottle.
Kerrigan wiped sweat from his brow and smiled. “I have been lucky with my teacher.”
“I am flattered but, give yourself some credit. You have been putting in a lot of work, and it's starting to show.” Isah put the water bottle down and picked up her wooden sword. “Let’s try something new, shall we?”
She demonstrated a feinting move, aiming for one side of Kerrigan’s body but quickly darted to the right. Kerrigan was quick to adapt and blocked her attack.
“Well, well, well, if it isn't Kerrigan trying to play warrior,” a mocking voice said from behind them.
They had been too focused on sparring to notice Darrow and his group of minions approaching.
Isah rolled her eyes at Darrow’s comment. “What do you want, Darrow?”
“We just wanted to see how the prophesied one was doing with his training.”
Kerrigan clenched his jaw. “I'm holding up well,” he replied.
“Is that so? Well, then I'm sure you wouldn't mind having a friendly spar against me?” Darrow proposed with an arrogant smirk.
Isah shot Darrow a disapproving look. “Stop being ridiculous, Darrow.”
Kerrigan tightened his grip on his wooden sword. Darrow was from one of the wealthier families of Solcran. He had most likely grown up with a sword in his hand. It would be an unfair match, and Kerrigan had a feeling Darrow would not hold back.
“Come on, I don't see why not,” Darrow said. “Unless you're afraid of course.”
Kerrigan knew it was all to rouse him, to get him angry so he would accept the challenge. But yet, something was flickering inside him, urging him to step forward and abandon his sense.
Isah must have noticed the burning look in Kerrigan’s eyes because she stepped in front of him. “Go bother someone else with your inflated ego. We aren't interested.”
“Protecting him now, are we?” Darrow’s smirk faltered, replaced by a scowl. “Fine, we will leave. But mark my words, we will have our duel soon.”
Kerrigan and Isah watched as Darrow and his group sauntered away, the threat hanging in the air. A heavy silence settled over them, and Kerrigan felt a surge of frustration. He was still unable to defend himself, still lacking in strength and skill.
Isah turned to Kerrigan, looking at him with concern. “Are you alright?”
“I'm fine,” he murmured, looking away from her. He didn't want her to look at him that way.
She took a step away from him, giving him space. “You know you don't have to prove anything to him, Kerrigan. You will get stronger as long as you consistently practice.”
“I know,” he replied. He knew it was childish of him to direct his irritation at Isah, when she was the only one helping him out. He just hated feeling this way – powerless, inadequate. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself. Nothing would ever improve if he kept wallowing in self-pity.
“Let's continue sparring, and don't go easy on me.”
Isah smiled. “I would never hold back on you.”
* * *
The rest of the day had passed uneventfully enough. Kerrigan had sat through a long lecture on the nation’s history before moving onto his last class of the day; Battle brief. The class focused on learning how to analyze various battlefield scenarios. It also helped them develop a thorough understanding of terrain, accurately identifying enemy positions, and other important factors essential for gaining an advantage in a battle.
Much to his surprise, Kerrigan found himself fully engaged in the class. Professor Alinav, a woman in her early fifties, posed various scenarios and challenged the students on how to handle them. He enjoyed how it forced him to view one scenario from several angles. Though Kerrigan doubted he would ever get to use any of it in his lifetime.
As he was making his way down the hallway, ready to head home, a door opened to his left, and Professor Heirshel stepped out. Kerrigan quickly stopped and managed to avoid collision, but his notebook fell to the floor in the process.
“Ah, Kerrigan. Just in time. Are you ready for your extra lessons?” he said, looking at him as he picked the book back up from the floor and handed it to Kerrigan.
Kerrigan felt a knot form in his stomach as he accepted the notebook. How could he have forgotten? He had been so occupied sparring with Isah to prepare for the upcoming duels that it had been pushed far back into his mind. Frantically, Kerrigan tried to think of a valid excuse for why he couldn't attend the extra lesson today, but nothing believable came to mind.
There was no backing out now. “Yes, Sir,” he forced himself to reply.
“Good. Let us move to my office then,” Professor Heirshel said, walking down the hallway.
Kerrigan let out a heavy sigh and followed.
After they had been walking for a couple of minutes in silence, they reached the second floor where Professor Heirshel stopped in front of a door. He pressed his palm onto the smooth surface and a faint line lit up, revealing a symbol Kerrigan didn't recognize, but he assumed it was some sort of security rune. A click resounded through the quiet hallway as the door unlocked and Heirshel held it open, gesturing for Kerrigan to enter. He nodded in gratitude before stepping into the room. It was a square, decently sized office with bookshelves lining the walls and a large window covering the far end, letting in natural light. Heirshel moved around the oak desk situated in the center of the room and took a seat, motioning for Kerrigan to sit opposite him.
Kerrigan sank into the comfortable chair, a sense of unease gnawing at his insides. He wasn't sure what to expect of the hour they would be together.
Professor Heirshel leaned back in his seat; fingers laced together as he observed Kerrigan with a penetrating stare that seemed to look right through him. "Kerrigan," he began, his voice cutting through the tense silence, "do you understand why I've called you for additional lessons?"
"Yes, Sir," Kerrigan replied, shifting slightly in his seat. "I struggle to control my Gift."
"And can you explain why? Your Gift is a part of you; it grows as you do. Why have you neglected your training?" The words hung heavily in the air as Kerrigan swallowed hard.
"I never had any intention of joining the Academy, Sir," he confessed.
Professor Heirshel's eyebrow arched upwards in surprise. "That is quite unexpected to hear. I had assumed you would want to follow in your father's footsteps."
"I have no desire to become a Guardian.”
"I see…" Heirshel responded. “Regardless of your future plans, mastering control over your Gift is essential. Especially considering its uniqueness – possessing the Ignis Gift distinguishes you from others.” His gaze shifted towards Kerrigan’s scar.
Kerrigan remained silent. And after not responding, Herschel continued, “Prophecies are fickle. Too many place their faith in these ethereal whispers that have yet to be carved into reality's stone. The future is like a river—constantly changing its course, never stagnant. Don't let fear of what may or may not come hinder your growth."
That was easier said than done, Kerrigan thought. His whole life people had avoided him because of the prophecy, treating him like a monster. It is not just because of the prophecy people avoid you though, is it? The thought made Kerrigan grit his teeth, reminded of the true reason he had neglected his Gift, and why he had wished for it to disappear. His father's image appeared in his mind.
"But I sense there is more than just the prophecy bothering you," Professor Heirshel said, his words echoing Kerrigan's internal debate.
Kerrigan paused, his lips parting slightly as he wrestled with the idea of revealing more. His gaze flickered towards the professor. It was the first time Kerrigan could really observe the man sitting in front of him. In the classroom he had seemed cold and hard, but the man’s eyes were warm and genial. Something about it made him feel more at ease. Besides, even if Kerrigan didn't particularly like it, Heirshel was still sacrificing his own time to offer his assistance.
"No, Sir," he finally responded after a moment. He hesitated once more before adding, "it's also because of...the incident." The last words were spoken softly, almost reluctantly, as if they were dragged out from a place he preferred to keep hidden. Whenever the topic of his father arose, it was often accompanied by bitterness and contempt in people's voices. They would question how his mother could still see him as her son, or how she could bear to look at the face of the man who took her husband's life every day. There were also those who mourned the loss of a Guardian, losing one of the most revered warriors was a heavy blow to our military force.
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"Your father was not only an exceptional Guardian, but also a dear friend," Professor Heirshel revealed, catching Kerrigan off guard. He had never guessed that his own professor had known his father personally, and not only that, but Kerrigan also couldn’t detect any hints of resentment or blame in his tone. On the contrary, there was an unmistakable warmth to his voice that suggested a deep-seated respect for his late father.
“I was extremely sorry to hear about his passing,” he continued, and his eyes seemed to darken. "Kerrigan, Ignis is indeed a formidable Gift. But do you genuinely think a child as young as seven could unleash such immense power?"
Kerrigan's eyes widened. “What—”
A sharp knock echoed through the room, stopping their conversation. Professor Heirshel’s expression hardened ever so slightly. Was it an annoyance that Kerrigan had seen a flicker of?
“Enter,” Heirshel called out.
The office door creaked open, revealing a woman in uniform. Her chest was heaving, as if she had been running. The patch on it showed one chevron with an arc. A First Lieutenant. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on Kerrigan, then quickly shifted her gaze onto Heirshel.
“Apologies for the interruption, Professor,” the woman said, slightly breathlessly. “I bring word from the Council. It's urgent.”
Heirshel’s demeanor grew somber. “Proceed,” he instructed her.
The woman stepped forward and Kerrigan noticed she clutched a sealed scroll in her hand. She glanced at him again before addressing Heirshel. “With all due respect, Sir, I cannot disclose it with him here.”
“I understand,” Heirshel said, turning to Kerrigan. “It seems our meeting has been cut short. But next week, expect to start channeling your Gift.”
Kerrigan nodded, feeling a mix of relief but also apprehension. Rising from his seat, he walked past the woman and exited the office. He began tracing the route back, and then navigating his way out of the Academy. Kerrigan couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that something was off. But perhaps he was overthinking it, after all, Heirshel had said his father had been a friend. Perhaps he simply wanted Kerrigan to not feel guilty. Just like his mother wished.
Exiting the grand gates of Aurelius Academy, the sky had turned from its bright blue to an orange hue. It had already gotten quite late, but the sun would still be up for a few more hours. Kerrigan turned right and walked down the pavement. A horseless carriage floated by him, hovering just a few inches above the road by the power of shimmering blue crystals. It was most likely on its way to pick up or drop someone off from a noble family. The carriages were extremely expensive and a sign of status, so Kerrigan had never been in one himself. But in this district of Solcran such displays of wealth were commonplace.
Had his father still been alive, he would be getting picked up by one of them as well. Quickly, Kerrigan pushed the intrusive thought away. To his annoyance, ever since he had started at the Academy, memories and thoughts about him had started pestering him again. And now, even Professor Heirshel had brought his father up. And Kerrigan wasn't sure if he wanted to use the opportunity to learn more or try to bury the memory of him even deeper than before. He hated to admit it, but Heirshel had sparked a curiosity in him. But did he really want to reopen that wound? It was exhausting to think about so to distract himself, Kerrigan turned his attention to the people bustling around him.
Most were wearing opulent attire; long coats dyed in shades of blue and silver—the city's colors—reflecting the same crystal that powered their prosperity. Without these crystals, Solcran wouldn't be the thriving trade hub it was known for in their country Cestrenia. Here art and craftsmanship were practiced, and their military’s might ensured peace and stability for all these activities to thrive.
He passed by tall, white pristine buildings adorned with intricate golden etchings and mansions with gardens bigger than his own home. He turned again, taking a different route that led him to one of the many markets. This one had merchants from across the nation setting up stalls, as long as they had the proper paperwork. The air was thick with the smell of food and spices, mingling with the voices of merchants trying to attract customers with their bargains.
Pausing at one stall, Kerrigan bought a few small tart pies, a treat his mother loved, before continuing on. He passed various stalls, all with eye-catching displays. One boasted accessory studded with sparkling multi-colored gems and another one displaying statues of their Divines. This market had everything and more, which is why it was his favorite one. But he didn't have time to browse through every stall, so he continued walking forward.
Leaving the bustling market behind, he veered off onto a quieter side street where the houses were smaller and closer together. Trees and other greenery grew in between them, stopping the houses from being completely cramped together.
Kerrigan continued until he arrived at a familiar house with a small garden in front. It was certainly more humble compared to the grand structures surrounding the Academy but it was kept in good condition, exuding a cottage-like charm.
Pushing open the wooden door, Kerrigan was greeted by the comforting aroma of soup wafting from the kitchen. He kicked off his shoes and walked towards the source of the smell. His mother was hunched over a pot, rhythmically stirring its contents while humming softly. Her chestnut hair was piled on top of her head, with a few wispy strands falling in front of her tired face. Dark circles were clearly visible under her eyes, evidence of the extra hours she had been putting in at work lately. He knew she sometimes woke up as early as 4 AM. Kerrigan made a decision not to give her any more reasons to worry; he didn't want to add onto her already exhausted state.
“I'm home, mother,” he said, moving into the kitchen.
"Welcome back, Kerrigan," she responded warmly, her face lighting up with a smile as she turned to him. “Oh, what have you brought?” Her eyes on the wrapped up pastries in his hands.
"I brought some of those tangy pies you like," he replied, placing them gently on the countertop.
"Oh, you shouldn't have!" she exclaimed happily.
Kerrigan smiled. "I thought we could have them after dinner. Speaking of which, it smells divine."
"Doesn't it? I'm experimenting with something new today," she said, turning her attention to the stove.
“Oh? What's in it?” he asked curiously, moving up to her to look down into the pot. As she stirred the soup, chunks of potatoes, vegetables, and chicken swirled around in the bright orange broth.
“I passed by the market earlier and to my surprise, a merchant was selling exotic spices from Drakonport,” she explained.
Kerrigan’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? They must have finally reached an agreement then.” The relationship between their country and Drakonport had been strained ever since Drakonport had accepted criminals as refugees after the war, but a few months ago peace diplomats had been sent in hope of repairing their broken relationship.
“I truly hope so,” she answered, adding more of the colored flakes into the soup. The broth turned a deep shade of red.
“Well, can't wait to try it,” Kerrigan replied eagerly. He was ravenous after today and Drakonport was renowned for its diverse cuisine. With people from various countries living together, a multitude of unique flavors and dishes emerged.
“It will be done in a few minutes. Could you find us bowls and spoons?”
“Sure,” he answered and moved around her, finding what they needed from the cupboard and placing it on their round dining table.
His mother poured generous portions of the soup into each bowl, steam rising in swirls from them. They both sat down at the table, excited to try the new dish. It carried a strange blend of aroma but in a good way.
“Blessed be this meal by the Divines; may it nourish our bodies and souls,” his mother said before picking up her spoon.
Echoing her prayer under his breath, Kerrigan followed suit.
As soon as they tasted their first spoonful’s, a burst of flavor he had never experienced before coated his tongue. Unexpected sweetness mixed together with something sour, tasting as divine as it had smelled.
He let out a contented sigh. “Mother, this was an amazing idea,” he complimented, glancing up at her.
His eyes widened in surprise. His mother’s face was flushed a deep red and she was guzzling water like she had just emerged from crossing the desert.
“It's…burning!” she spluttered between gulps.
Kerrigan couldn't hold back his laughter. He had never seen his mother this way before. She shot him a playful glare through her watery eyes.
“Mother, are you alright?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
His mother emerged from the empty glass. “I can handle it just fine, thank you very much. It's just that…this is unexpectedly hot,” she answered.
"Really?" Kerrigan dipped his spoon back into the bowl and scooped up another mouthful, savoring the taste before swallowing it down.
“The heat creeps up on you. Just give it a moment!”
They sat in silence for several seconds as Kerrigan waited for the supposed kick. But nothing happened. No fiery sensation, no sudden rush of heat on his tongue or throat. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he watched his mom roll her eyes in resignation.
"It seems your Gift is skewing the game," she grumbled good-naturedly.
“I wouldn't mind giving it up,” Kerrigan spoke in a low voice.
His mothers expression softened. “How are your classes going?”
Kerrigan took another spoonful before replying. “It’s going fine.”
“As fine as I'm handling this soup, you say?” she nudged him.
The corner of his mouth tugged slightly upward, and then he let out a sigh. There truly was no hiding from her. “On Monday, we have duels lined up, and I'm not sure I'm ready. And if that wasn't enough, I also have extra Aspectology lessons now.”
“Extra lessons? You haven't mentioned that before.”
“I didn't want to worry you, I'm sorry,” he replied, stirring his soup with the spoon.
“It's alright.” His mother smiled. “It's natural to feel overwhelmed, and you know you can always talk to me.”
“Yeah… It's just, I can't seem to get control of my Gift.”
“Did I ever tell you that your father also struggled with his Gift?” she asked, her gaze drifting off into the past.
Kerrigan tensed at the mention of his father and looked away. He really had hoped to not think more about him for today. But from the few memories he had and what he had learned later on, he couldn't imagine his father not being in control.
“He spent years practicing and learning how to control his Gift without letting it consume him,” she continued.
Kerrigan looked up at her in surprise.
“But he was determined. He practiced every day until he found a way to harness his powers.”
“I never would have guessed,” Kerrigan admitted.
“He hid it well,” she chuckled, then her voice turned serious as she continued, “I wish I could offer more than just advice, Kerrigan. But without the Gift, all I can do is offer words of wisdom. Remember that everyone is unique and has their own way of mastering it; you just need to discover yours.”
Kerrigan mustered a weak smile. "Thanks, mother, I'll figure it out," he said, trying to sound confident. But deep down he wasn't sure if he really believed it himself.
"I'm certain if he were here now, he'd have more insightful advice for you," she added, laying her hand on his arm.
Kerrigan's smile faded instantly. He knew she had meant it as a comfort, but it was the last drop needed and guilt flooded over him. "But he isn't."
His mother looked at him in surprise and confusion. "Kerrigan, don’t tell me you still—"
"That I'm still painfully aware that his death was my doing?"
"Kerrigan, it wasn't your fault! You have to stop blaming yourself."
"How can I not, mom? He died in that fire, the one I caused." his voice cracked. "If only it hadn't been for my Gift…"
"Kerrigan, that is not your burden to carry," she insisted. "You need to understand—"
“Understand what?” Kerrigan said exasperated. “Why does everyone want to talk to me about father today?”
His mom furrowed her brows. “Someone else has talked about Aedion with you?”
“Yes, apparently my professor in Aspectology knew him as his friend. Do you know anything about that?”
“What was his name?
“Heirshel is his last name, I'm unsure of his first name.”
A look of shock flickered over her face, and Kerrigan felt her hand squeezing his arm slightly. “Kerrigan, listen to me, it's important that you need to know–”
"Mother, I'm really sorry, but I don't want to talk about this any longer. I need some air." Kerrigan gently removed her hand from his arm and stood up.
“Please, sit down, I don't want you to leave with those thoughts plaguing you," she said with a sorrowful expression. “We have to talk about this.”
But he couldn't bear the thought of another excuse, another attempt to shift the blame away from him. He didn't need another explanation bringing up how he had only been seven years old at the time. "Thanks for the soup," was all he said, avoiding her gaze as he walked out, ashamed that he had already broken his promise of not making her worry.