The World of Evalend

Around a life giving star named Samsora spiraled twelve magnificent planets in orbit through the neverendingness of space in many multidimensional patterns.

Evalend was the name of the fifth planet, and around her circled three great moons; Luthane, Dante and Ava.

Evalend breached the furthest points of consciousness of all creation with the many experiences it birthed and destroyed during her span of existence.

This story, Feathers in Flames, begins on the great continent of Therom; moreover to the nation of Valadene, in a province known as Dellfelldell; which spans the tooth of the great lion-shaped continent.

Even the darkest clutches Dehelys could hear the echo of the Phaeonix’s melodic chime the moment it was decided that it shall return to Evalend.

The Flareszwords zwish through the etherial aether as they collide before me

Almost like curtains drawing open but with explosions of fire.

They sizzle and sazzle as they push apart.

I, Azaziel, have watched, sung and woven plenty of the miracles around you; just as you have done for me. 

  For ages and eons I wondered out into the scope of the Evermentia, to find the exact prices moment where this happening could unkey.

RIVALS

Chrysleon Kion was born on the 11th day of Lexander; the eighth of the Evalend’s biggest aximoon’s cycle of the solar year of 2400 within the 6th Aodd (although in Evlendish it would be spoken in full as follow: Ledunto Lexander Bytraomarc, Sylver.)

  He was but a mere infant when a hooded stranger put him gently in a gap fit for babes from the outer walls of the Galserta Godfordt during the quiet hours of the night; left with nothing but a letter containing his namesake and the date of his birth.

 Chrysleon was claimed shortly afterwards on the other side by a student whose name was Nina Mquntire Prince; a Hecatier of the 6th level of the Godfordt at that time.

  The babe wailed in her hands as she held him before her awkwardly; her brows creased the ever more as her misty grey eyes examined him; she softened with each step she took, holding him ever closer as they made way to the predomatory of Galserta.  The baby Chrysleon seized his anguished cries when she held him close to her.

   The Predomatory of Galserta was a facility dedicated to the upbringing of abandoned Dellfelldellian babies who were lucky enough to have found their way to the Godfordt.  Nina felt a strange sense of guilt overcome her the closer they drew to the building, and when Chrysleon began to wail as she handed him over to a specialised matron and she turned to make her way to her housing-tower, she could not help but notice that the short moments she had spent with the child had awoken a bond inside her. 

  Unable to push the babe from her mind, she found herself returning to the facility the very next day and it became as tradition to her for the remaining five years Chrys would grow in the predomatory of Galserta.

   He grew into a somewhat quiet and seemingly grumpy toddler whose face seemed deprived of joy and unable to muster anything close to a smile.  Yet she drew ever closer to him as he integrated into his childhood; knowing well that the boy had nobody to turn to and understanding how hard it could be to fend for oneself within the phases of life within a Godfordt, especially when there were no parents to return home to over the course of integration periods. Nina took Chrysleon under her wing and treated him as she would a younger sibling.

  She called him Chrys; it stuck, and became his preferred name. A tad smaller than the majority of the other boys his age at that time; Nina saw to it that his blonde hair was cut neatly at all times, even if no stars of appreciation reflected from beyond the fluorescence of his green eyes.

  From a young-age it was discovered that Chrys did not enjoy the company of others; when approached by other children his age, he would often leave them feeling hurt by the silence he maintained.  It was so that he never knew how to extend beyond his own thoughts, and being in the direct company of others left him feeling uneasy and unable to find the answers to the questions and he certainly had no will to speak any of his own words beyond that.  

  The other children learned early to not approach him; behind his back they called him the Lone-Wolf.

   The walls around his aura drew impenetrable as the years went by as he ever duller within his loneliness; his mind a vast empty cave of memories unworthy of visiting, the one thing Chrys truly knew was that he had been at Galserta for as long as he could remember; not once setting as much as a foot further than the boundaries of the Ored Woods that circled most of the coastal Godfordt.

  Between the ages of four and six, Chrys was educated in mathematics, literacy, and the common tongue of Evalend; Evlendish. These basic foundations were usually installed early within the structures of the predomatory. It was so for tactical advancement to be of more importance as the youth ascended through the academical ranks and the mastrial tiers.

   In his seventh year Chrys was registered under the Galserta Academia: which inducted larger spectrums of Evalend education within the minds of the young, whilst initiating their trainings in the form of assignments and tests designed to find and awaken the hidden talents dormant within their genexes. 

   Knowledge regarding the expansion within the circuits of consciousness were also finetuned to during these years; Chrys here learned how his body could be used as an instrument to attune to the finer and greater forces within and beyond itself. 

  This was done by the means of instilling the foundations of chakra control; mediated under strict yet simple disciplines; it was but the root workings from which the lenders of Evalend could formulate, manipulate and transform the energies and elements around them.

  Surrounded by children in all shapes and sizes and scrawny as he was, the only benefit remained that he disappeared easily within the large crowds of Dellfelldellian kids. 

  However, as previously stated, Chrys never fared well in team settings.  Notably ignoring his peers frequently and responding to the instructions and questions of the medioces, who mediated the lessons, with little to no eye contact and a quiet voice.

  A voice that would learn to roar, doubt not.

  For upon a fateful morning when a young Chrys had just slightly overslept and was forced to rush to his first class of that academical day he abruptly crashed face first into the floor.  He groaned as he turned to see that the cause of the accident had been purposely orchestrated by the means of an older delinquent, who had stuck out his foot from around a corner and was now standing with two others behind him.  Snickering maliciously with almost hungry glares upon their faces.

  Chrys’s eyes widened in confusion; gasping when one of them launched a hard kick into his ribs, knocking out all wind as his mind fogged in response to the sudden trauma.  They ran off laughing to themselves and the young boy clutched at his pain as tears welled up his eyes.

  It took Chrys a minute to get back to his feet; dumbfounded by the experience, he found himself at a loss of what to do.  Up until that moment he had only carried a small awareness of the horror stories whispered amongst the other children who grew up beside him; of older kids who entertained themselves by turning the orphaned and abandoned children of Galserta into victims. 

  He did his best to go about carrying on with his day as normal, yet many different fears concocted and curdled in the pits of his stomach.  Knowing not what it meant to speak out, or to whom he could turn, for in spite of how Nina considered him close to her, he barely considered their relationship in the same likeness. 

  Sadly, as if the parts of him that could not push against his fears seemed to boil over and manifest; Chrys emerged out of a bathroom stall when unpredictably to be thrown to his side.  Aghast, he fought and struggled the best he could but was suddenly contained in a very small space and submerged in utter darkness.  Confusion and panic overwhelmed every inch of him as the familiar sniggering of the same older lend tiers from earlier echoed around him.

   Minutes became a brick wall against the young boy’s struggles when he was lifted in the air and thrown into something even more solid than his fears.  He gasped as the air escaped out his stomach, light revealed and he rushed out of his containment; which turned out to be nothing more than a large sack of sorts.

  It was the another’s agonizing groan that made him look up; and he found that the object he had impacted was another young boy; no older than himself.

  This was but the first time Chrysleon Kion collided with Syluscion Helsoyn. 

  Sylus folded his long jet-black hair out of his face to reveal cold grey eyes that flickered hints of bright yellow which narrowed between pain and anger as they glimpsed their surroundings and landed back on Chrys.

  They were surrounded by six older boys who all began to cheer.  “War! War! War!”

  "What the...,” said Sylus; Chrys could not identify him amongst the other parentless lendtiers from the predomatory and there was little time to ponder further when they both came to the same realization; their captors were edging them on to fight one another. It became ever more apparent as a betting game unworthy of mention ensued between them.

  “You’ll do it!” said one.  “Or we’ll do it for you!” yelled another.  “Show us who’s the strongest!”

  Syluscion Helsoyn knew instantly why he must had been targeted and outed by the bullies – for he bore the name of Hellson; an accursed title of mockery for the descendants of the brandished bloodt, of which this tale will explore in deeper depths as the pages turn.

  He watched fear wash over the peculiar eyes of Chrys Kion, forced to become his opponent in this moment as the older bullies erupted in taunts around them.  It seemed he would have no choice but to fight, as Chrys attempted a pitiful escape only to be thrust to the ground by the wall of the despicable bullies.

  Sylus’s stomach dropped even further the more he noticed Chrys’s weaknesses boiling to the surface as he began to sob and shake. Sylus had to shake himself back to the moment as he decided that whatever needed to happen, would have to happen quickly. 

  Without another thought he darted at Chrys and kicked him hard across the stomach.  Their bullies cheered and booed in their amusement as Sylus faced them with narrowed eyes – hoping that their sick game would now be over.

  Chrys tackled him out of nowhere and they both crashed to the ground.  What unfolded next was a scene I find too sad to put into words.

  What was left were two beaten boys; black and blue with blood all over the edges, laying in the dirt, slightly facing one another, and staring into each other with swollen eyes; the pain inflicted upon one another somehow secondary.  The bullies whom had forced them into this state had dispersed when the boys could no longer continue.

  It was Sylus who spoke first after a long while.

  "You..." he spat a little blood. "You're not as weak as I thought you were ...."

  Chrys did not know how to recognize a compliment, nevertheless half of one; but regarded it nonetheless.  “You’re… not so bad yourself,” he muttered; looking away as he said it.

 They both made their way to their feet; doing their best not to stumble before the other.

  "Let's... annihilate those assholes!” Sylus said; not looking at Chrys.

  Chrys examined the bruises on his knuckles as he brushed his stained-uniform aimlessly.  He supressed his sigh as he made way back to his dormitory without as much as another word.  Sylus 

  Without as much as a word they made their way back to their boarding facility.

  "I'll meet you here after classes tomorrow," Sylus said unexpectedly as they reached the entrance.  "We'll go train in the Ored Woods."

  He dashed away before Chrys could protest.  He had not expected Sylus's offer, which had sounded more of a command, and was almost sure he would not follow through with it.  Nevertheless, he made his way to the furthest bathroom cubicle and cried at his misfortune.

   He only left and returned to his dormitory long after he was sure the other twenty odd boys, he shared the space with would be asleep.

Sylus hated everything about Galserta; but it was mandatory for all youth branded with the   Hellson name to be assigned to a Godfordt; “To be indoctrinated in the Will of the Good Fight and supervised thoroughly under the scrutiny of the so-called Laws of the Lyght,” as his father had explained to him from his perspective.

  The morning after his first encounter with Chrys, he kicked out of the bottom of his bunk bed in the corner of the dormitory he shared with some twenty-odd boys, who seemed to want to have to do as little with him as he did with them.

  The boarding facilities of Galserta were far beyond Sylus’s comfort zones; although his father had attempted to mentally prepare him for what was to come; it seemed the horrors his vile older siblings had told him were not as short of the truth as he had hoped. 

  Sylus expected that all the lendtiers and medioces he had come across in his short while within the Galserta Predomatory were aware of his brandished bloodt; for as it was mentioned, he was doomed to the namesake:  Sylus Hellson.

  The only reasoning that motivated him out of the dormitory was the expectation of seeing the other boy from the previous day.  Distancing himself from the hordes of others that swarmed in all directions.

  Chrys, on the other hand, was surprised to find Nina seemingly waiting for him upon his exit of the boarding facility. 

  He knew not when he met her, or how he had come to know her; she had just simply always been there.

  “What upon Evalend!"  she exclaimed upon seeing him; for although the pains from his interaction with Sylus lingered heavily; he had not considered the bruises eminent on his young face.

  He narrowed his eyes as the glare behind her small circular spectacles concentrated, noticing a slight difference from her usual appearance.  She was however, not in Galserta uniform, as Chrys had been accustomed to seeing her.  She was in fact in a navy skirt and a black blazer which carried the Galserta emblem; three golden swords forming a star in a blue crest.

   At his confusion, Nina sighed; “My train arrived last night; I have accepted an offer to mediate Combative Practicality from the Masters.  So, remember to call me Medioce Prince from henceforth."

  Chrys nodded apathetically; she too had grown accustomed to not hearing him speak much.  On past occasions, he had accepted treats and clothing from her with mild interest and no display of gratitude.  It was one of the many ways she made attempts to fill the gaps she perceived in the young boy’s life.

  "I suppose you're not going to tell me what happened," she sighed, for she had already accepted that she would not be able to protect him from everything.  She accurately suspected the likes of bullies; who were unfortunately as frequent in Galserta as they were anywhere else.  She had spent many hours wondering about the combative talents of the young Chrys.  These considerations ultimately played a huge part in her decision to accept the offers of the masters of the Galserta Mastria; so, she could keep a closer eye on him and continue to play an active role.

  Supressing another sigh, she gave the young boy a curt nod.  "I have something for you in my office," she said.  "Come with me; I'll hand you a letter for your late comings."

   Chrys followed her in silence and looked up at the Galserta fort; the largest of the many buildings constructed across the Godfordt; white in its colour and centred in the middle of tall buildings containing the facilities that trained the tier-levelled grades of lenders between the ages of ten and twenty-two.   His eyes widened in surprise when she led him up a few steps and through the entrance; into the main hall; the likes of which he had never experienced the interior before; finely decorated and themed with light blues and whites with gold in between.  They walked down a few passageways before she unlocked the door to her office.

  It was still empty at that time, only containing a desk with few boxes scattered about.  Medioce Prince made her way over to the desk and picked a wrapped package up from it; she brought it to Chrys and nodded for him to hold out his hands before unwrapping it before him to reveal an old, rusty bronze hilted, foot-long iron bladed sword.  She took it by this hilt and held it out to him.  He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously; she blinked in return.  “Take it,” she instructed.

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  He’s brow raised in suspicion yet nevertheless his hand wrapped around the hilt as her fingers let go and he gasped as the weight of the weapon had him topple forwards.

   Medioce Prince stood back to examine the redness spreading from the strain in the creases of the young boy’s face as he looked up at her in frustration and confusion.  He pushed against himself in order to maintain the weight of the sword in his hands.  This brought a smile to her face; the folds of her mouth betraying her seriousness.

  She determined it a match.

  "A gift to you; I have had it authorised by the masters themselves.  I want you to always pick it up and hone whichever skill had caused you to drop it."

  Chrys looked at her in disbelief; could she be serious?  He jumped to his feet at once; the sword heavy in his grasp.  He had never received such a gift before.  This was beyond him.  He did not know what to say.

  "Kids are usually gifted their prime weapons or instruments as they complete their Predomatory cycles.  Although your initial weapon tests will only begin at the start of the second term, I had a hunch that perhaps you might like to begin training with this sword in the interim.”

  His eyes widened at the Medioce, before looking down at the blurry reflection of himself in the steel of the sword.  His sword.

  Chrys nodded furiously; He could not wait to start training with it.

  "What are you going to name it?" she asked curiously.  His mind hit blank.

  "The... Princeton?"  He spoke.  Medioce Prince's eyes twinkled in delight at this moment. He looked down the moment he felt her emotion.

  "All right well there you go; use your free time to train," Medioce Prince handed him a sheath and he put it delicately inside the leather covering.  Going behind her desk, she jotted something down on a small piece of parchment; which she folded and handed to Chrys.

  "Go stash the sword in your weapon locker and get to your classes," she said.  He took the note and looked back at her with wide eyes; it was on the tip of his tongue:  "I believe the correct term you are looking for is thank you?"

  He slapped himself mentally and blinked sheepishly.

  "T- thanks!" he said; she nodded with a smile and gestured for him to leave. 

  He stashed his sword in a weapon locker right outside of his dormitory some moments later before he went about the academical day with extra flare in his heart; disregarding all the events that had unfolded the day before.

Sylus stood with folded arms as countless Galsertians went about returning to their homing stations as Samsora began to descend beyond the Therom sky; keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the boy who had shared in the horrific experience of the yster with him.  He spotted Chrys before Chrys noticed him and when Chrys did, he slowed down at the sight of Sylus. 

  Sylus was sporting a swollen-blue eye, but guilt did not beseech Chrys.  He remembered the seriousness in Sylus’s tone when he had suggested they get revenge of their bullies and saw the same tensity reflect beyond his electric eyes currently.

  "What took you so long?" Sylus groaned.  "Never-mind.  Let's go."

  He walked off into another direction and Chrys sighed.  He had no intention of going; having hoped that he could spend the rest of the afternoon embracing his sword.  Nevertheless, he found he followed Sylus almost mechanically.

  The Ored Woods surrounded most parts of the Godfordt, separating it from the coastal regions with tall trees of leaves that glistened orange in the light of Samsora.

  "These trees are enchanted to regenerate to their last furthest growth point, no matter how much damage is done to them," Sylus said. 

  Chrys had already known this bit of information and sighed inwardly. "Where exactly are we going and why?" He asked after a while.

  "To go train by the Unbed section of the woods,” Sylus stopped and turned to Chrys with a frown "So we can get strong and get our revenge on those guys that made me beat you up.  I thought I made myself clear within the yster?"

  There was something in Sylus's tone that Chrys could not withstand in the slightest.  He narrowed his eyes at Sylus; and then turned around and walked away.

  "Hey!" Sylus called afterwards; huffing in disappointment when Chrys did not turn back to him.  He looked on as Chrys eventually disappeared amongst the shadows of the wood; biting back on emotion as he felt the connection between them dim. 

  He shook it off as he realised his nervousness upon going deeper into the woods all by himself, yet stubborn as he was, he decided that overcoming his anxiety in regards to going deeper into the Ored as the first challenge he would set against himself in order to obtain strength.

  Chrys, however, attempted to push all of it from his consciences as he decided to rather spend the night examining the sword that Medioce Prince had gifted him. 

  A rustling of sorts came from behind him but when he turned something collided hard with his face; thudding him into unconsciousness.

                  Chrys awoke to the crashing of rain upon him. His head throbbing; blinded by panic as he scurried to his feet only to slip.  Thunder roared over the noise of laughing bullies of which he could not make out just how many of them there had to be this time around.  He’s throat released an anguished cry as he was pushed from one to the other when at last one of the bullies grabbed him by the shirt and flung him over the railings of what appeared to be one of the tall housing towers. 

  Chrys screamed into night as he felt the ever-stretching distance between him and the grounds far below; bullets of rain and slashes of wind whipping him across the face.  They were going to kill him; he was sure of it.

  Whoever held him by the hem did not drop him however; as they hooked him to a sharp edge of a stone gargoyle’s iron weapon.   Chrys’s shouts drained out against the storm around him.  He knew he was so high up that if he were to fall then he would surely die.

  He’s screaming faded into loud wails of sheer depression; and he cried and cried for what seemed hours on end.

  The sobs came to end as the rain began to soften; and his shivers from the vicious blowing winds came to a halt as all sensations numbed ever more with every pulsation of his heart as it caught ablaze.

  With no more tears left to cry; the fires inside him dried his pity into oblivion and with that vanquished all fear and sense of sadness.

  Igniting within him; burning his every last emotion he held within them; transforming them into feelings and thoughts that he knew little about at that time.  All sense of victimisation sparking into hatred.

  All external elements seemed to halt completely when he finally decided:  he was to become strong; a fierce opponent to all those who dare to challenge him.  He felt the surges of his fears swirl into a different direction as he pushed against it; vowing to never allow it to bring him this far down; in spite of how high he still hung from the tower.

  “Let me go…” he said calmly into the night; to nobody and nothing in particular.  “Let… me… GO!”

  His shirt tore from the sharpness of the gargoyle’s spear; and he dropped the long stretch to the hard ground below.

  In his fall he thought of Sylus as his ankles cracked upon collision.  The darkness of his surroundings becoming one with him as he surrendered to the pain.

Chrys woke up to find Medioce Prince looking at him.  Her true emotions could not translate; for she herself knew little about the displaying of the emotions her heart pertained.  He rubbed his eyes as he noticed his surroundings; the white infirmary of the Godfordt; on a bed in a ward designated to physical injury. 

  As his memories returned to him; he was surprised to find that his last injury felt as if it was but a dream; wiggling his toes and shuffling slightly to confirm it. He looked at her in confusion and she sighed; her eyes unwavering from his.

  “Did you jump off the tower, Chrys?” she asked seriously.  His eyes caught her intensity and he forced himself to look away as he shook his head.  “What happened, Chrys?  Were you thrown?”

  He shook his head again; biting down on his tongue as the fire within him reminded him of his decisions.  Medioce Prince sighed again.  “Chrysleon – are you being bullied?  You must speak up if it so.”

  “Why am I here?” he asked quickly; turning back to meet her eyes. Her brows furrowed.

  “I noticed you never return back to your dormitory, and only found you after the storm had passed,” she looked away as the memory of the broken boy struck her again.  “It took three of our best healers to mend your broken bones; of which there were so many that you could have easily died…”  she waited for some form of emotion to flash in his energy; but his eyes remained as blank as what they had been since the moment they opened.  “Chrysleon – as a medioce of this mastria I demand you tell me of all events that transpired after the end of your academical day!”

  His eyes narrowed at her; for where could he begin?  The situation he found himself in brought nothing but confusion whenever it was considered.

  “I should get to my classes,” he said as he made a movement.

  “Half of your classes have passed already, Chrys,” said Medioce Prince.  “You are to either remain here in the infirmary or to return to your dormitory.”

  She scanned thoroughly for any hint of the insights she sought; but Chrys sighed as he nodded. 

  “I shall dress and return to the dormitory,” he said looking away from her.  “Leave me be, Medioce Prince.”

  Beyond the disappointed Nina felt in light of his coldness; she could not help but notice that the young boy seemed unafraid, and this allowed her a slight sense of peace.  She nodded more to herself as she turned to leave the ward.  Taking one last look at him before closing the door behind her. 

  Chrys’s focus gathered instantly as the fires inside him reminded him of his new sword back at his dormitory.  He decided he would rebel against her instruction, for the only thing he desired at that moment was to master the sword that she had handed him in the yster. 

  He would go to the Ored Woods by himself.

Sylus looked out for the boy called Chrys in spite of himself.  Having gotten as far as walking deep into the Ored Woods by himself during the eve of the yster; he despised Chrys for leaving him so coldly; and the feelings of rejection multiplied the more the hours dragged by. 

  When the day came to end, Sylus had to blink when he saw that Chrys was standing in the same spot he himself had the previous dial; looking straight at him as if he was waiting. 

  They said nothing when they stood before one another; the invisible fire between them seemingly blowing against each other as the exchange was not verbalized.  Sylus’s eyes moved to the sheathed sword on Chrys’s back as Chrys nodded and began to walk in the direction of the Ored Woods; Sylus realized the decision and sped to overtake him.

  Side by side and overly aware of the presence of the other, they reached the Unbed section of the Ored trees; located in the centre of the woods, the Unbed was the thickest of the enchanted trees.  Both boys looked up at the majesty of the Unbed; at least ten times as thick as the others; legends amongst other Galsertians noted well that unlike the other Ored trees, the Unbed was said to be indestructible.

  Sylus and Chrys seemed to muster the same gut as they turned to one another.  Chrys sighed inwardly, but Sylus was the first to speak.

  "Say your name to me," he demanded.  Chrys was taken aback by the lack of sentiment in his tone; but he had not expected friendliness to ensue.  Rather he looked away as he said it.

  "Chrysleon... Chrys... Chrys Kion," he said.  He looked back when Sylus said nothing. Chrys sighed.  "What is your name?"

  "Sylus," he said, folding his arms almost insecurely.  "Syluscion Helsoyn; or as it is demanded: Sylus Hellson."

  Chrys's eyes widened; for he had heard of the name Hellson in one of his early classes that pertained around the recent history of Dellfelldell. 

  He was aware that it was one of the most accursed names in Evalend, due to the histroyance brought upon the world by many historical figures who bore the same name.  Sylus rolled his eyes as he observed the thoughts play out behind the glazes of Chrys’s strange eyes.

  "Whatever,” he said, his arms tightening in their fold as he looked away.  “My great ancestor, the Supreamos Szaltore Hellson, may have burnt the name in his folding, but don’t forget the legends of his powers.”

  Szaltore Hellson was said to have brought a great ordeal of darkness upon the Evalend world with the likes of the forbidden arts and acts of the Dyster; unleashing forces so wild and unjust upon the face of the planet that it nearly disintegrated the very will of the Good Fight itself.

  As Supremos of Evalend, Szaltore ruled the planet with an iron fist dedicated to the will of the Dire Cause.  The histroyance that followed his ruling would have the name Hellson become greatly feared throughout history.  After his fall, many who bore the name sought refuge and forgiveness from the forces and sides of the Good Fight.

  In exchange, the name would be branded as Hellson; to remind all who came in contact with those with the brandished bloodt flowing through their veins of the destruction their genexes were capable of.

  The title would remain with those who were blessed enough to live upon safe lands; retitling becoming possible when a high tier had been obtained; or in the event of marriage into royalty.

  Those who were proud to be branded with the name of Hellson, found a way of wearing the title proudly by a slight alteration in pronunciation; rather writing and speaking of it as Helsun; which greatly changed its definition.

  As Chrys remembered the lesson; he found he did not really care much as Sylus’s eyes flicked back at him to observe this.  Chrys sighed, for as sure as Sylus stood out in a manner which would have him appear somewhat scalier than the other children; he could not deny the likeness they currently shared.

  They both desired to become stronger for a cause unrelated to any of the nonsenses beyond themselves; having both decided that they would fight for themselves against any threat that could harm their potential at safety.

  That was all that seemed to really matter to both of them.

  “I don’t care what your name means,” Chrys said.  “Do you know how to swing a sword?”

  Sylus shook his head with a tad of shame.  “You any good?”

   Chrys froze.  He had, in fact, never swung a sword before.  He was also pretty sure he would not be any good at it right now, and was embarrassed that Sylus may soon discover this.  "Well, let's see then?"

  Chrys, in his best attempt to not show any weakness, reached into the sheath tied to his back and with great difficulty drew the sword; which quivered in both his hands as he held it out.  Sylus snickered; Chrys shot a dirty look at him.

  "Why don't you try then?"

  The smug look disappeared of Sylus's face.  It was apparent to Chrys that Sylus too had never wielded a sword.  He could not understand why Sylus then suddenly smiled.  He held out his right hand and pointed his palm to one of the many Ored trees in this open section.

  "Fyreovlam!" he gasped; and with a sizzle and a boom, a fireball burst into existence, shooting a few inches away from Sylus’s hand and into a tree; where it bruised a burn and died out.  Chrys watched in awe as the sap of the tree restored itself over the burn to the point where even the bark had returned.  He looked to Sylus in fascination; who was grinning, seemingly proud of himself.

  "Where did you -" he started. "They don't teach spelnamtics until our Tiers begin…."

  Sylus folded his arms insecurely.

  "Father taught me," he said looking away.  "I was enrolled at Galserta earlier this term.  You won't tell any of the Medioces, right?"

  Chrys had never told anybody anything; he shook his head, and before he could stop himself, he muttered.  “Can you teach me?" 

     Sylus smiled, and then nodded.

    "Make you a deal," he said with a smirk "You let me train with your sword and I will teach you the Fyreovlam spell.  I also know two other spells in my spelcabulary."

  Chrys thought it through and agreed with a nod.

  "And you will help me get back at those guys?"

  Chrys narrowed his eyes.  Looking at Sylus hardly.

  "You know they won't stop if we don't do something about it," Sylus prodded.  "And nobody else can do something about it but us...."

  Chrys thought back to the promise he had made himself and found little space for hesitation.  The thought of him raining fire spells down upon the boys who had bullied him reigned supreme within his mind.  He looked at Sylus, who held out his hand.

   Chrys reached his out but both boys pulled back in light of a strong kinetic shock.

It became as routine for the next three moons to train at their absolute hardest after their classes; returning right before bed time in order to avoid any premature encounters with their bullies; who had now become their targets.

  Chrys had mastered flowing with stabs and swings with the Princeton slightly before Sylus had; and it was with much of Chrys's help when Sylus too found he had comfortably broken into the old rusty sword.  The two made use of all the space within the Ored Woods; slicing many trees off of their roots, only for them to absorb into the soil in order to regenerate a complete and perfect spawn; leaving no trace of any of the training that occurred within its depths.

  On the last dial of every dantian, the 6th and final day of the week, which was largely considered a sabbatical day of rest according to how time was understood in this region, Sylus and Chrys trained their utmost hardest.

  The one tree they could never even get as far as to bruise, however, was the Unbed tree; twenty times as thick as any of the enchanted trees that surrounded it. No fire-ball spell or lash from a blade made a single dent in its frequency.  The boys often challenged themselves against its might.

   "Fyreovlam!" Chrys shouted once upon a Fhykalan day.

  The fire-ball blasted from the airs before his palms and into Sylus's direction, who swiftly swung the Princeton; slicing right through the offence; splitting the spell in two and causing it to evaporate.  Sylus chuckled almost proudly and lowered the blade.

  "We are ready," he announced.  "Now it is time for planning."

  The plan was put into action within the two days that followed afterwards; upon the set of Samsora when Chrys was spotted after making himself as visible as possible during the course of the day.  The older boy darted off upon spotting Chrys.  He assumed accurately that the bully had gone to gather his partners in crime; perhaps they had taken note of his absence whilst spending his free time laying low and training within the Ored Woods. 

  His own excitement surging as his heart began to race, he waited until a gang of them were on his trail before running in the direction of those very Woods; signalling.

   Sylus; waiting amongst the shadows of the branches between the orange’s canopies, took heed.

  Chrys heard his pursuers draw ever closer and fastened his haste; truly fearless in his plight.

  The pack of boys laughed as if playing at a game whilst they darted off after him.

  Sylus snickered at the beautiful unfolding of his plan; as he hopped from branch to branch in silent pursuit.

  When Chrys reached the Unbed section; panting, he turned around to see the three boys close in on him with wild, hungry expressions, like a pack of wild hyenas, festering over him.

  Chrys, however, narrowed his eyes, and drew his sword fiercely; holding it before him without a shiver in sight.

  Yet the boys laughed horrendously; Chrys noticed that they had not brought any weapons along with him; this made him feel slightly more confident.

  "You want to fight us?"  The boy to the left said, grinning; he pointed his palm.  Chrys panicked inwardly – just because they did not carry weapons did not mean that they were not well versed in spelnamtics – or casters of magik.  They seemed to be at least of the fourth Tier of the Mastria judging by their stature…

  "Runt looks like he gained some muscle," said one of them; eyeing the tip of the Princeton suspiciously.

  "Let's get rid of his weapon and teach him a less-"

  A fireball flew right into the back of the middle boy’s head at that moment.  He flew to the ground smacking at his hair as the other two spans around in the direction the spell had come from.

  Chrys charged as Sylus jumped from one of the branches of the trees; his legs wrapping around the left boy's neck, Sylus swung his body in a twist and the sucker crashed in a tumble afterwards; choking as Sylus tightened the grip of his thighs.

  The boy on the right yelled and ducked as Chrys flung the Princeton at his stomach; Chrys realised he would have to be careful of not killing his opponent.  The bully delivered a kick to Chrys's stomach and he was thrust backwards; dropping the hilt of his sword.

  Sylus swore and loosened his grip around his opponent and made a quick somersaulting dive and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the Princeton just as Chrys's opponent was making his way to his feet.  He launched; the bully fell backwards with a yelp; the tip of the sword pointing to his eye.

  Chrys watched in horror as the other boy made his way hurriedly to the rescue of his friend.  He thought fast, pointed his palm, visualized compression followed with a mighty gush of force; and pushed with the annunciation "Kinectos!”

  He was surprised when a strong kinetic force erupted from his palm, for the spell had not worked before when Sylus had taught him the theory of tension; alas, the force shot into his target – blasting the bully from his feet and sending him flying into another Ored tree; knocking him out by collision.

   Sylus grinned down at his opponent who was whimpering.  The screams of the first boy, who had killed the fire on his hair, but was still suffering copious amounts of burn damage, filled the air.  Chrys got up to his feet.  He gasped.

  For Sylus lifted the Princeton, slashing down at his defeated opponent.  Chrys acted out of instinct:

  ""Kinectos!" with both his palms pointing unintentionally this time. 

  The force exploded into Sylus.  This time with less enthusiasm; who lost grip of the sword as he was pushed off his feet by the force.

  Narrowly dodging the edge of the sword; Sylus's opponent got up in panic and sped into the direction of his burning friend.  Chrys hurried to the Princeton and retrieved it his grasp as Sylus groaned and made his way to his feet.

  "You idiot, look!" he spat.

  Chrys turned to see the two boys dragging the other as fast as they could away from the scene. Chrys turned back to Sylus and shook his head.

    "You said teach them a lesson, not kill them!" he shouted angrily.  "With my sword nonetheless!"

  Sylus got up and dusted himself off.  "The audacity of hitting me with a spell I taught you!”

  “You better hope they don't go running to the medioces!" Chrys carried on.

  "And tell them they just had their asses whipped by a couple of wallies who haven’t even begun proper academical training yet?" Sylus snickered "I doubt that."  He burst out laughing; menacingly almost.

  Chrys had had enough; he was tired of Sylus's bad attitude.  The moons they had spent training together were filled with plenty of tones that had made Chrys feel claustrophobic in Sylus’s presence.  He always had little words; especially for Sylus.

  He sheathed his sword and narrowed his eyes at Sylus, meaning it as a farewell, before turning away to make his way back to his loneliness.   After all, they had accomplished what they had set out to do.  He was looking forward to training without Sylus. Finally, he could be alone with his sword.

  Sylus hid the look of hurt he felt in that moment and huffed irately.

  "Hey! Kion!"  He called after Chrys.  Chrys froze for the second, but did not turn around.  "Let's be rivals!"

  Chrys did not move.  He thought about it for a second but said nothing.  He carried on walking and Sylus grinned maliciously behind him.

  They were never mistaken for victims from that day forth.