Welcome home. How was your day dear? The Sentinel asked as soon as Jack materialized in his chair.

Enlightening! Jack exclaimed.

Hehe. It seems that you have had a good time of it. That is excellent news. Was it your new friends in the dorm that have you so cheerful?

Jack pondered this question before answering. Partially. I think my good mood has more to do with my relative distance from the darker parts of this world. Back home I was constantly surrounded by the gloom of a dying world, now that I have finally had the time to take in my new environment, the pressure on the back of my mind has faded significantly. But that's enough doom and gloom. What are you going to teach me today, master?

Ha, I would not be in such a rush if I were you. This next lesson is going to be different from the easy victories you have begun to rack up. Today you are going to learn how to cultivate. Now clear your mind and focus on your foundation.

Jack did as instructed and straightened in his chair. His eyes fell onto the symbol floating in the crimson flames.

Now you need to focus on feeding the Fire mana in your Hearth to the sigil.

Jack examined the bonfire in front of him. The cozy campfire had grown into a crimson bonfire more than four meters tall. Real pride swelled up in his metaphorical chest as he beheld this accomplishment. What can I do with this much power? It only took a small fire half a meter tall to create a Fireball. Is it enough to fulfill my role as the Adjudicator? It has to be!

Jack focused on trying to push the Flames into the sigil with his mind. Nothing happened. Ugh, that didn’t work.

No, it did not dear. Try something else.

Can’t you give me something more specific than ‘try harder’? He was irritated with the inane comment

No. Everyone comes to this stage in a different way. Telling you how others have done it in the past will only be harmful to your efforts.

Chastened, he tried pulling a strand of power out. Sure enough, a stream of Fire flowed into his open palm before turning into a small oblong jet. He played with it for a bit while he thought. The little jet moved from fingertip to fingertip.

Then he cocked his arm back and chucked it straight at the sigil, willing it to merge. The jet of Fire bounced off with a ‘tink tink’ sound and landed in the woodpile at the bottom and was merged back into the blaze.

Well, that was underwhelming.

…

The next hour was an exercise in frustration and failure. No matter what he tried, the sigil would not absorb any of the power that is oh so eagerly bathed in. He had tried casting spells, pushing, pulling, lifting, and even a bit of begging—nothing worked.

Why isn’t it working? Jack screeched as he fell back into his chair. He had finally reached the hair-pulling stage.

You are trying too hard. If physical activity was all that it took to ascend to the next stage, then everyone would be doing it.

Uggh, why didn’t you tell me that earlier? Now I feel like an idiot.

Never diminish yourself, dear. It is an unseemly habit and continuing will prevent you from reaching your full potential. The Sentinel gave Jack a meaningful look. He was getting better at interpreting those.

I’m sorry master, I’m just frustrated. Jack replied, head hung low in shame.

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Why apologies to me, you wronged yourself. You must be the one to let go of the grievance or it will harm you. Constant apology is soon ignored.

Forgiveness. It was a word he struggled with even now. For almost two years, he lived with James as a foster child. There he learned what it meant to be not just a decent person but a good man, a strong man. In the end, he let petty grievances drive a wedge between him and his mentor because he was too afraid to step up and be the person James told him he could be. He had regretted that mistake ever since.

I am not sure that I can, master it. I don’t even know where to start.

The Sentinel stood and walked behind Jack’s chair. They placed their hands around him and squeezed ever so lightly. You are not required to bear your burdens alone. The people who care for you will be happy to help you lift it when you stumble as you will help them when they stumble in turn. Do not let pride or anything else stop you from reaching out. Now tell me your story.

Jack did just that. He spilled out all of his shame, all of his rage, sadness, pain, and regrets. For the rest of the night, he vented. By the time he was finished, the world was beginning to shimmer and he was once more sent to the waking world.

...

Bleary eyes opened to find that the world was shaking. Jack’s body lifted out of the bed as something lifted him up before rocking him back and forth. He moaned in discontent but otherwise didn’t react due to exhaustion.

“Wake up!” A voice called out in a tone that said that this was not the first, or even the fifth, the time they had said the exact same words.

“Wazza matta?” He asked with a mouth that felt like it had been stuffed with sand all night, courtesy of Mr. Sandman.

“Urgh, do not tell me you are hung over. I read your medical report and it clearly stated that you your bloodstream has enough concentrated mana to burn away any alcohol before it ever reached your stomach. Just get up.” The voice responded in even more frustration.

“Nope, neva has been drunk before—too dangerous.” He responded once more. He was proud of that one. It was practically a whole sentence. He heard the sound of boots stomping away in anger a second later.

“Great news, no one likes a drunkard. Rise and prepare! Daylight is burning!”

Well, there’s no use hiding from the inevitable. With that, he heaved himself up out of bed. Due to his experiences, Jack would never feel comfortable sleeping in an outfit that he couldn’t run outside in. What had been a survival mechanism in his youth had become a habit in adulthood. So he took off the linen shirt and pants that were his sleepwear and reached for his uniform. It wasn’t there. Instead was a padded shirt and pants with a wooden gladius leaning against a nearby chair. With a sigh, he put on the ridiculous outfit and went outside to face his beating.

...

“You call that a swing? How are you supposed to defend yourself if you cannot even handle your own weapon?” Virtus barked at Jack after a particularly awful blunder. Jack had been practicing a downward chop that Virtus was showing him when the weighted practice sword slipped from his hand and smacked the guardsmen’s lorica.

By this point, his patience had been on the edge of a cliff. Virtus had pulled him out of bed at the crack of dawn and been yelling foreign obscenities at him. This eruption sent his last strand of patience careening down into the ravine where he kept all of his rages. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted the vivid mental image in his mind as something new. His thoughts had always been more instinctive. Emotion had always preceded thought before, the reversal was a bit of a novelty. That soon faded as rage flooded his mind once more as he shucked his shield and tossed it at his trainer like a frisbee.

“I quit!” Jack announced. With a flourish, he turned in place and headed towards the mess hall. Hopefully, Lillian would already have breakfast ready. He’d only made it a few steps before his sword landed on the grass in front of him, point first.

“Take care of your equipment before leaving,” Virtus said.

“Why should I?” Jack turned back to glare.

Virtus was unfazed by the open hostility from his wayward charge. “Because many in power would like to control you or see you dead. Last night, the Senate convened to discuss what the Empire should do with you, specifically. If the Emperor hadn’t personally intervened then you would have been swallowed by one of the many factions in the capital.”

“What does that have to do with my sword?” Jack growled.

“Because no one around you can be completely relied upon to keep you safe. You can only rely on yourself and your equipment. Now, go clean your gear!” Virtus said.

Jack wanted to snap at him, to tell him that he didn’t need a dinky wooden sword to defend himself when he had magic. Sigh, thinking about magic reminded him of his master and their patient grace with him last night. It would be disingenuous to repay that with a temper tantrum.

“Fine!” He picked up the blade and walked over to the public trough to the side of the courtyard of Jack’s dorm building and turned the faucet. Water came down from a pipe that trailed up to the roof of the building and splashed on the practice blade. Then came the scrubbing. When he finished, Virtus traded him a rag to wipe off his hands for the practice blade.

“How do you guys even have running water anyways?” Jack asked.

“What are guys?”

He pointed at Virtus, then made a circular gesture to encompass their surroundings. “I mean you, as in society in general. I thought that running water required pumps to push and pull water to where you wanted it.”

“Oh, I know of these pumps, the artificers guild recently started introducing mana machines that could move water uphill, but they are too expensive to anyone but the nobility or the richest of the citizenry to afford. As for this,” he pointed at the pipe Jack had just tapped. “That is sourced from the aqueduct to a water tower on top of the building.”

“Aqueduct?” Jack peered around, looking for the telltale arches of an aqueduct. “I don’t see one.”

“Nor should you be able to. They are encapsulated in the walls to prevent any tampering while it travels about.”

Jack nodded. “Makes complete sense. Aqueducts back home were open to the elements before the introduction of plumbing, and they still had to boil the water to make it potable. Hmm. Are there any magical spells in place to make the water drinkable?”

Virtus nodded in assent. “That was a very insightful question, Jack. Yes, the aqueducts purify all water that travels through it to a certain extent. You will not die from drinking straight from the tap.”

Jack just shook his own in melancholy “Not really. When you are without a home, potable water becomes a precious resource. Now let’s go get breakfast. I am starving!”