“And such is the tale of Fenrir,” Ronin finished. “Or at least, the version I heard.”
Storm stared quietly at the flames flickering in the dark. He had never heard a story that resonated with him as much as Fenrir’s tale, and he found himself feeling deeply inspired.
“Wow,” said Caim finally. “I think that’s my favorite story you’ve ever told us.”
Ronin smiled. “I thought you might like it.”
“He has the same dream as me,” said Storm. “I always knew it would be hard to become the greatest swordsman to ever live, but if I have to surpass Fenrir, I’m going to have to really give it my all.”
“That you will,” said Ronin. “It is an ambitious dream, to say the least, but I think it fits you like a glove. There will be moments where you feel like all is lost, and in those moments, you will know that there was, at least, one other, who made the impossible, possible.”
“Nah, grandpa,” said Caim, his tone slightly timid. “You said that when we surpass our final swordsmanship test, you would give us our first swords. Do you think we’ll really be ready? I mean, you’ve only let us use wooden swords up until now.”
Ronin took a long, steady breath, whilst staring into the pits of the fire. “That is a difficult question to answer, Caim. But I think it’s time you boys knew the truth of the matter.”
Storm and Caim both glanced up. “The truth?”
Ronin met each of their eyes one by one. “I was lying when I said you would be given your swords upon completing the final test.”
“Lying!?” Caim cried, jumping to his feet. “So, we don’t get our swords after all? We have to chase nowls and go down to the darkness and face ourselves?”
Storm merely stared at the old man, quietly waiting for him to elaborate.
“Not quite,” said Ronin. “For it is only with real swords that your final test can be done. The acquiring of your first swords is a symbol of the danger that you will face in conquering the trial. It is the final stepping stone from an apprentice to a full-fledged swordsman.”
Storm’s eyes widened. “Wait . . . you don’t mean?”
Caim sat there blankly, waiting for him to say what he hoped he would say.
“Caim, take a seat,” said Ronin. “I want you boys to look into the depths of this fire and tell me what you see.”
Storm sat up straight and stared into the flames. He watched as they licked the wood and soon found that the tongues of flame were similar to the wind itself. They were elusive, irregular, and impossible to catch. But deep within the flames, lying amongst the wood and the coal, were two strange stones that caught his eye.
“I see a dragon,” said Caim. “And a sandwich.”
Storm tried not to smile. “There’s something other than wood in the fire, isn’t there?”
Ronin nodded. “Yes, there is.”
“That’s what I meant,” said Caim, scratching his head.
Storm found that each stone was about the size of his palm, with flames dancing around them.
“But, what are they?” Caim asked.
“For each and every unique sword that is ever tempered,” Ronin began. “The blacksmith creates whetstones to match. Look at them like a sheath to the sword. A sword can only be sheathed by its proper counterpart, for the sheath was built for one purpose and one purpose alone.”
“Those are our whetstones,” whispered Storm. “For our swords?”
“You’re giving us our blades?” Caim asked, looking up at Ronin with all the innocence of a child.
“I am not giving you anything,” Ronin answered. “You must earn your swords, as Fenrir had to.”
“So, we’re going to the darkness, after all!?” Caim yelped.
“Figures,” muttered Storm, unable to take his eyes off the stones.
“Not quite,” said Ronin. “First, I want you boys to fetch two bowls of water from the cabin and return here.”
At that, both brothers jumped up, scrambling over one another until they made it to the door, and laughed as they waltzed inside. Soon after, they each returned with a bowl of water and a smile on their faces. They sat down on their knees.
“The first step is to show me your resolve,” said Ronin. “I want each of you, at the same time, to reach into the fire and pull out one of the whetstones. If at any point in time, you drop the stone in fear of the burn, you will fail the test, and you will have to wait an entire cycle before you are given the same opportunity again.”
“An entire cycle!?” Caim cried. “I can’t wait that long! I’ve already been waiting for this since I was a kid! I’ve been waiting for this since even before I was a kid!”
Storm rolled his eyes.
“Then you shouldn’t let go of the stone when you pull it out,” said Ronin, pouring himself another cup of wine. He took a sip, watching the two boys carefully.
Storm’s eyes were focused and calm. Shaking out his hand in preparation, he looked at his brother. “C’mon, Caim, we can do this. I don’t care if it burns off all the skin on my hands, they’re already numb anyway from the climb earlier.”
Caim laughed at his brother’s confidence and nodded. “On three, then?”
“One,” said Storm.
“Two,” followed Caim, and both of them raised their hands above the flames. They could feel the heat already, and bits of angst swelled up inside their chests.
“Three!” They cried out together, thrusting their hands into the fire. Storm felt a burn far beyond what he had imagined when grasping the stone, but upon trying to pull it out, realized it was much heavier than he had thought. Heaving with all his might, Storm lifted the stone free.
Everything in Storm’s body told him to drop the stone. Forcing back all visceral thoughts, he gripped it as tightly as he could and closed his eyes. It was then that he realized, quite suddenly, that the whetstone was actually not hot at all, only about as tepid as lukewarm water.
“It’s a magic stone,” whispered Caim. His eyes suddenly widened. “W-We did it!”
“Now place each of those stones into your bowls of water,” instructed Ronin. “Then hold the bowl in your hands and close your eyes.”
Both Caim and Storm did as he asked.
“Next comes the binding of your aura to the whetstones themselves. Focus on the energy in your body, the energy that is yours and yours alone. When you have found it and have control over it, I want you to pass a little of your aura into the bowl.”
As Storm and Caim focused, the bowls of water in their hands began to glow. For Caim, it was a bright shade of blue, whereas for Storm, it burned red like a firelit sunset. With their eyes closed, they could feel steam rising up and touching their cheeks.
“Open your eyes,” said Ronin finally.
Storm opened his eyes to find that all the water in the bowl had evaporated, leaving only the newly glowing whetstone at the bottom. He picked it up carefully, feeling his own aura coursing through it. Little strands of red energy ran around the curved facets of the stone, and the sight of it awed him.
Ronin stood to his feet, nodding in approvement. “Now, there is something else you must do before you are given your swords. I need to show you something I have never shown you before. Come.” He began walking towards the cabin.
Caim and Storm eagerly followed him, taking chances to peek at one another’s stone in the process.
“I wonder what it is we have to do now,” said Caim eagerly.
“Don’t get too excited,” said Storm. “There’s always a catch with the old man. He has never been one to give handouts. Hopefully, he doesn’t ask us to fight a flare or anything. He’s sneaky like that.” Caim’s face went pale.
As the two boys moved towards the cabin, Storm noticed the tall rectangular metal box that Ronin had returned with earlier. He glanced at it momentarily before following his brother through the bamboo drapes of the doorway.
Upon entering, Caim and Storm stopped as they watched Ronin finish moving the wooden table away from its place on the floor. Running his fingers through the seams of the cracks, Ronin found what he was looking for and pressed down with his body weight. A loud click could be heard, and Ronin lifted up a wooden trapdoor.
“Told you he’s sneaky,” muttered Storm.
Caim wasn’t paying attention. “There’s a secret hideout in our secret hideout!?”
The old man turned and smiled, then motioned for them to follow. Caim and Storm looked at each other in wonder before walking over to the trapdoor. A long ladder descended into darkness, and the two boys began following their grandfather down to whatever it was that awaited them at the bottom.
They soon reached the end of the ladder, only to find themselves standing in a pitch-black room. Ronin lit a candle, then proceeded to light several other candles until the light began to fill the dark space.
The boys gasped in astonishment. The room was walled in by stone with nothing placed on the floors, yet hanging from the ceiling were nearly a dozen swords, all quite different from one another, and each one hanging by ribbons clasped to hooks.
“You’ve had this here all along,” murmured Storm. “How could you have hidden this from us?”
Caim was completely speechless as he walked from sword to sword.
“I stopped coming down here when you were still quite young,” said Ronin. “I figured that if I tried to come into this chamber when you were older, you boys would have eventually found it. Besides, I knew the time would eventually come when you would see it for yourselves.”
Storm nodded as he moved from sword to sword. He didn’t touch any of them, but noticed that they were all quite different from one another. There were rapiers and claymores and katanas and longswords. Each and every one of them had felt the touch of a swordsman’s hand, and the idea that something like this could exist beneath his home baffled him.
Ronin walked back to the ladder and stopped. “Your next trial is to find which of these swords is yours, and bring it to me afterwards. I’ll be waiting at the fire for you. Choose wisely, for there is only one sword that is meant to be held by your hand. Choose wrong, and you shall have to wait an entire cycle for the same opportunity.”
Caim stuck his tongue out at Ronin, and Storm let out a deep sigh.
At that, Ronin climbed up the ladder and left the brothers in silence. For a long time, they wandered around silently, examining each of the blades with the utmost care. Storm found that all the blades could be unclasped from the ribbons so that they could be held in hand.
After feeling out several of the swords, Storm sat down on the ground. He watched as Caim went from blade to blade in the same fashion, but without any luck. Caim soon came over and sat next to Storm.
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“How are we supposed to choose?” Caim asked.
“I told you not to get your hopes up. I knew he would pull something like this.”
“You knew he was going to do this?”
Storm sighed. “Caim, no. Not exactly this, but some sort of impossible task.”
Caim leaned back on his arms and felt his whetstone fall out of his pocket onto the floor. They both heard it, and at the same time, their eyes lit up.
“The whetstones!” they said in unison.
“They’re the key to finding our swords,” Storm said, taking his out of his pocket.
The two brothers then began their circle around the room once again, holding their whetstones tightly within their hands, but with every sword they held, there was still no answer, no true feeling inside.
After nearly half a shade had passed, Storm let out a breath of air. “Maybe we should just pick one already. He didn’t tell us how we were supposed to do this, after all. Maybe it’s just the one that we decide that happens to be the right one. Ugh, no, that can’t be right. He said we could choose wrong. This is so frustrating.”
Caim was closing his eyes while holding the hilt of a scimitar. “Not this one either,” he said, carefully placing it back where he had found it.
“Caim? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I did. It’s weird, almost like I can feel a small amount of connection to all of them, but nothing feels quite right. And these are all swords that have been used already, so wouldn’t they belong to other swordsmen?”
Storm looked back at his brother. “Obviously they belonged to other swordsmen, probably the old man, but now they are being passed onto—” He paused, looking down at his whetstone.
“What is it?” Caim asked.
“Has your whetstone been used at all?”
Caim looked down at his. “How should I know?”
“Didn’t he say that every unique sword tempered is created with a whetstone to match it?”
Caim’s eyes lit up. “That means—” He stopped. “That means . . .”
“It means that our swords aren’t in here! This whetstone looks practically unused to me, or maybe only one or two times, but that would mean that our swords would be unused as well, and all of these have clearly been used in practice, and in battle. I mean, look at them, their worn.”
Storm turned back to the ladder, feeling within that he had stumbled upon the trick and the truth. “That crafty old man. He was testing us to see if we would choose one out of impatience!”
“Then that means—” Caim paused. “Wait, what does that mean?”
“It means that he has them up at the fire!” Storm said, finding clarity in his choice.
The two boys quickly made their way back up the ladder and out of the trap door. A strange feeling of nervousness swam through Storm’s heart as he walked out of the cabin. The fire was burning fiercer than ever in the dark, and there, sitting just beyond it, was the silhouetted figure of Ronin, gazing up at the stars.
Storm and Caim made their way to the fire, slowing their pace as they approached. There were no swords to be seen anywhere, and the feeling that Storm might be wrong sent his heart racing. Laying across Ronin’s lap was only his wooden cane.
“Well?” Ronin asked, gazing up at the two boys. “You’ve returned with nothing.”
Caim gulped. “O-Our swords aren’t in there.”
“And if they were,” added Storm. “Maybe we aren’t ready to have them yet.”
Ronin took a long sip of his wine, then stared at the two boys for a good, long moment.
“I would be lying if I told you that I hadn’t been anticipating the moment you boys earned your first real swords for a very long time,” Ronin began. “It’s been nearly ten cycles since I first started training you, and to see both of you develop as you have, learning to embody the subtle philosophies of the swordsmen as you grew . . . has been quite the journey.”
Ronin paused for a second before continuing. “The thought of waiting a whole cycle to give you another chance was a grievous decision to make, but one that could not be avoided. I needed to be certain that you both were ready. A sword is not for the misunderstood, that it isn’t.”
Storm and Caim were silent.
“That is why I am relieved that you boys did not choose one of the swords from my chamber.” The brothers looked up slowly, their eyes widening. “Because you were right, none of those swords were meant to be yours.” Ronin could no longer hold back his smile, nor the brothers. “I am proud to say that you boys have passed the test, and that now is the time for you to acquire your first real swords, the swords that will officially take you from apprentice swordsmen, to the real thing.”
“Really!?” Caim said, unable to hold back his enthusiasm. He looked at Storm who smiled and held up his fist. Caim pounded it. “Yosha! We did it!”
“Not quite,” said Ronin. “There is one last thing you must do.”
“Of course,” said Storm.
“You said that last time!” Caim cried out.
“Are you ready?” Ronin asked.
“I’m always ready,” answered Storm.
“Me too!” Caim said, eagerly excited.
“I hope so,” Ronin said, and Storm felt a tad nervous all of the sudden.
Ronin walked over to the cliff overlooking the Edge, and Caim and Storm came to stand beside him. Looking out from where they were, they could see the Edge of Falia staring back at them, dark and mighty beneath the night sky.
“Each of your swords has been pierced into the cliffs over at the Edge,” said Ronin. “Do you see them?” Caim and Storm looked closer to find two shimmering glints reflecting the light of the moons. One was long, sleek, and curved, while the second was shorter, wider, and straight.
“I see them! I see them!” Caim exclaimed, squinting. “Wait, maybe that’s a tree?”
“Focus, Caim,” said Ronin. “The time has come. Concentrate on the energy of your whetstones. Find the energy that resides within them and use it to see which sword is your own. Remember how you learned to hunt? You must become like water, allowing yourself to take the shape of your environment. This is not so different, as you must match your aura to the appropriate sword. Then, the only thing you have to do is call it, and the sword, if it is meant to be yours, will answer. If you succeed, meet me at the tree near the cliff’s lookout.”
Ronin’s feet lifted off the ground, and he floated across the sky, his long black cloak whipping out behind him. They watched him land next to the small tree at the Edge’s salient point.
“We can do this,” said Caim, looking across at the two blades. “Let’s get our swords!”
Together, the two of them took hold of their whetstones and closed their eyes. They could feel the energy of the stone like static electricity within their palms, and the more they focused, the more the stones seemed to come alive.
With his eyes closed, Storm could only see darkness. He settled himself into a state of openness, thinking at first of the grass and the wind, before switching his focus purely to the whetstone. The more he focused on the aura of the stone, the more something began to take shape in his mind. At first, it was but a small flame, timid and shy, but the more he reached out for it, the more the flame began to burn until it slowly took the shape of a sword. It was slender and sleek and beautiful, and holding out his hand, Storm whispered to the passing breeze.
“Come to me,” he said, his voice quiet and tranquil, full of hope.
He felt the blade stirring in the earth, shivering back and forth, hearing his call.
“Come to me!” he said once again, his voice alive with strength and passion.
When he opened his eyes, Storm looked down to find himself holding the hilt of a dark, slender blade. It had a slight curve to it, and the sword itself was made of a darker metal. It was cold as winter, as beautiful as the falling of leaves in autumn, and the feel of it in his hand was unrivaled to anything he had felt ever before.
“Storm . . .” Caim whispered, who had successfully summoned his own blade as well. He held it up in complete and total awe. “It’s a fallblade . . . I can’t believe it’s a fallblade!”
Caim’s sword was unique in its shape and form, with the width rivaling that of the ancient claymores. But the blade itself was not long by any right, perhaps even less than two feet in length. Staring oddly at the hilt, Storm noticed that it was almost twice as long as his own.
“That’s pretty impressive, Caim. But honestly, I’m not surprised. It fits you.”
He knew the sword Caim had received was rare amongst the rare. The original fallblades had only ever been gifted to the greatest of swordsmen, and named after Lord Fall himself, who was one of the most famous swordsmen in all of Soria’s myths and legends. He was one of the four Living Blades, after all.
“Yours fits you too, Storm,” said Caim. “Couldn’t imagine you with anything else, really.”
Storm looked at his sword and felt his pride swell, for he could not have asked for anything better. It would fit his swift style perfectly, and just by holding it, he could barely contain the childish desire to swing it all about.
“Let’s go,” said Storm. “The old man’s waiting.”
“We’re finally about to become real swordsmen!” Caim exclaimed.
The two made their way to the tree, where they found Ronin sitting and waiting. In front of him was the same rectangular metal box Storm had seen earlier, but this time it was open. Lying next to it on the ground were two sheathes, perfectly made to fit each of their blades.
“Take your sheaths,” said Ronin. “Then sit down, and lay them next to you on the ground.”
The two brothers carefully took their sheaths, admiring the craftsmanship for a moment, before laying them out beside them. They each sat down and crossed their legs.
“I’m afraid,” began Ronin, eyeing them each carefully. “That there is one last thing.”
“Like I said,” said Storm. “Sneaky.”
Caim laughed, all too happy with the sword in his hand.
“Listen carefully,” said Ronin. “And prepare yourselves. In mind, body and spirit.”
They did as they were told and watched Ronin pull out his long wooden cane. Grasping the hilt of it, he unsheathed a perfectly straight longblade. He pierced it into the ground between them.
“I must say that I am quite pleased with you boys, surviving all of the trials I have put you through over the cycles. From hunting the beasts within Neverend, to meditating on the highest branches of the highest trees, and even climbing out from beneath our floating land in the sky. I have seen you surpass all of these challenges with remarkable fortitude. You have faced the flames, conquered earth, and even learned to be fluid and adaptable, like water. You have shown tribute to the elements, the Children of Eɪᴇɴ, whom are perhaps the greatest teachers in existence.”
Storm and Caim bowed to their master.
“It is time,” said Ronin, studying each of them. “Your final challenge of swordsmanship is upon you. All that you have trained for these past ten cycles will be tested. But the trial will not be in a week. It will not be in a day. It will be now. The moment has come.”
“But—” started Storm, his panic rising. Ronin held up his hand, silencing him.
“I understand that you are exhausted from your training earlier today, and from climbing the hardest route from beneath Falia, but there is no other choice. Swordsmen must always be ready, no matter how fatigued or worn out they are. That is why your final test must take place when you least expect it. To prove that under any circumstances, no matter how bad the odds, you boys can persevere. It is a good thing to be able to overcome challenges when you are fresh and ready, but it is another thing entirely to be able to overcome something when you are least prepared for it.”
Storm gritted his teeth, feeling the strain in his muscles and his hands. He was nowhere near fully rested, and although the meal he had eaten after climbing had helped him heal somewhat, he couldn’t help but feel like the old man was being unfair.
Caim looked at Storm anxiously, knowing the condition of his brother.
Storm clenched tightly to the hilt of his sword, feeling his anger burning.
“Now,” said Ronin. “We will begin. Take each of your swords and pierce them into the ground. Make sure that your blades are crossed and touching mine when you do, or pulling you into my own Inner Depths won’t work.”
A different feeling of angst came over Storm as he realized what they would be doing. “You don’t mean . . ?” He blinked, trying to stomach the realization of the words. “We’re fighting in Inner Depths? We’ve only barely been able to enter our own though . . .”
“Yes,” said Ronin, his voice radiating his resolve. “Your final test will be within my own Inner Depths. Over the cycles, you boys have both learned the early stages of this technique, and each of you has ventured into your own Inner Depths several times. However, this time, and for the first time, I will be bringing you into my own world. It is there that your final trial will take place.”
“We’re going into the world within your mind?” Caim asked.
“The world that is shaped completely by you, your emotions and experiences?” Storm continued. “The world that you have complete and utter control of? That seems really fair, Ronin,” Storm said angrily. “Anything else you wanna tell us?”
Ronin looked at Storm sternly, but said nothing. It was a look that made it clear there was no other way. Caim took a deep breath and pierced his blade into the ground next to Ronin’s. He turned to look at his brother. “Come on, Storm. We can do this. We will do this together.”
“Together?” Storm retaliated. He glared at the old man as he pierced his sword angrily into the ground. “Fine. I am going to beat you, once and for all, and prove that I surpassed you long ago. To do it within your own Inner Depths will only make it a bonus when I win.”
Storm took a seat next to Caim and crossed his legs. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Now then,” Ronin continued. “The final stepping stone is one you are familiar with.” He turned his palms up. “Air. The last of the elements you have studied.” They watched as Ronin, who was still sitting cross-legged, simply float up and off the ground until he was level with the hilts of their blades.
“Now, rise. Both of you.”
“This is so stupid,” Storm cursed.
Caim closed his eyes and focused. A few moments later, Storm watched as his brother lifted up, until he was floating evenly with Ronin. He turned his head away, holding back all the dark things he wanted to say. Flying was the ability Storm struggled with most, and he never felt like he had come anywhere near mastering it. Heights were just not his thing.
“Storm?” Ronin asked. “Are you ready?”
Storm let out a frustrated sigh and closed his eyes. He placed his palms gently on his knees. He slowly felt his body lift off the ground, but upon realizing it, fell back down. He pursed his lips and tried again, but once again, fell.
“I hate this,” said Storm. “Why does this even matter? Can’t we just enter without flying?”
“You can do it,” said Caim. “Just focus.”
Storm mumbled something under his breath and closed his eyes. Forcing away all negative thoughts, Storm tried his best to listen to the wind. It was soothing to his angered spirit, but he soon found the calm he was seeking. Feeling his body become more and more weightless, Storm did his best to keep his focus on simply rising. Opening his eyes to find himself level with the other two, Storm let out a breath of relief.
“Now then,” said Ronin, pulling two bells out of his pockets. Storm watched him carefully, wondering what it was he was devising. Ronin attached the first bell to the right side of his sash, followed by attaching the second bell to the left side.
“This is a trial of teamwork,” declared Ronin. “One that can only be completed by working together. Sorry to get in the way of your vendetta against me, Storm, but you will have to work with your brother if you truly want to be victorious. The test is simple. All you have to do is take these bells from me, and you pass. However, each of you will have to pull a bell from my side at the same time, or they will not come free. Such are the rules of the game.”
“Ooh, I love games!” said Caim. “This’ll be a sinch!”
Storm eyed the traces of Ronin’s aura circulating around the two bells. “I doubt that.”
Ronin took a breath before closing his eyes. Caim followed suit, and Storm reluctantly after the two. Despite all of his anger toward Ronin, Storm knew that he would have to pull something miraculous out of his sleeve to surpass the test. Trying to push away his feelings of doubt, he could feel the deep strain his body had gone through all the way into his bones. He was not even close to being in the condition necessary to face off against the old man. No matter how much he hated it, their grandfather was still the strongest swordsman they had ever known.
A grin curved Ronin’s lip.
“Shall we?