The next day came quickly, Ryke forgoing the usual meditation to make sure he was prim and proper for the next day. A nice, pure golden tunic and a similarly well made pair of brown trousers, he stepped into the main hall early in the morning. He wasn’t sure what to bring, but he brought the hammer he was most familiar with from home, as well as his training glaive. Fromir was the only thing he wasn’t confident in bringing, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the little guy behind. He wrapped the stone fox around his neck like a sandpaper scarf and simply bore with the small moments of uncomfort whenever a jagged edge rubbed against his skin.
Many other first years had already assembled around the altar, but Ryke found himself drawn towards the canteen for breakfast in an effort to stay in top shape for what was to come. Still a little put off by Sigmar’s interaction with him the day before, he knew the man could be rather cruel and didn’t want to be caught lacking because he didn’t eat. Not to mention they still seemed to have plenty of time. Dawn had barely broken, and most of the time the instructors were fairly lenient. He didn’t doubt that might change though, now that most of their next year here has been ‘explained’ to them.
When just about everyone had nearly drifted off from boredom, an older candidate walked out from the Instructor Wing and rang a bell in his hand, shocking them all back to clarity. The sound echoed off the walls strangely and even Fromir perked up at it, usually far too lazy to react to even the loudest noises. The youth slowly flooded down the hall, giving Ryke the chance to take a peek at the bell. Incredibly tiny lines made their way through its surface, giving off an ethereal glow amidst the dark Ludus. A faint pressure descended on him, and the longer he looked, the more pain stung his golden eyes.
“Hey can you.. move?”
His gaze finally broke and the pressure disappeared, turning to see a smaller boy who found himself stuck behind him in the flooding crowd; clearly anxious to find their instructor lest they be late. Ryke flashed him a wry smile and pushed his way through his fellow first years, giving him a direct path to his instructor's door. His interest was piqued when it was the instructor for..
“Greatswords?”
The small boy hid an embarrassed look and directly ran through the doors, leaving Ryke stunned. It didn’t take long for him to just chuckle and dismiss the whole thing, trying to maneuver through the crowd for his own instructors. He was yet to know which he’d meet first, so he decided to just find the first one along the hall and go from there.
It wasn’t long before he found a door with weird symbols above it and the name ‘Gaeldir Amata’ written below. A sigh of relief escaped him when he opened the door and found the pair of dark violet eyes landing on him. Apparently Kievra hadn’t found the place yet, as it was just the two of them for now.
The runesmith beckoned him over with a wave and told him to sit down, a few ceramic teacups and a teapot settled in front of him on an ashen coloured table. He tried to hide the curiosity in his eyes, but that didn’t last long.
“Is this.. tea?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Mine.”
Unsure of what to say, he gingerly went to drink from the cup apparently meant for him and received a sharp glare in return; leading him to silently put the cup back down and wait.
“It’s rude to drink when everyone isn’t here.”
Ryke nodded meekly in response, placing his hands in his lap as he looked around the room, finding it vaguely familiar. Tool racks, weapon racks and shelves lined the walls, barrels of unknown liquids and a large furnace off to the side. Anvils and grindstones of various sizes littered the floor, and it was obvious it was all meant to be a forge. He only stopped looking when he realized Gaeldir hadn’t stopped looking at him.
“Your eyes. They’re hurt.”
“Oh! Yes, They started stinging when I..”
“Looked at the bell?”
The older man received a silent nod in response and abruptly frowned, though his glare lightened up by an incredible degree. Ryke watched him swirl his cup of tea gently, and stare into the liquid as if contemplating something. When he finally made a decision, the runesmith looked back up at him with a soft expression.
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“Don’t look at Runic Armaments like that again until I say so.”
“Okay, but.. why not?”
“You can apparently see their Vitae Pathways. A talent you’re not ready for.”
With a quick flash, the boy’s expression brightened up immensely, practically bouncing up and down in his seat by the comment. He nodded obediently until Gaeldir told him to stop, but his good mood was too obvious to fool the man, who could just sigh quietly. Another half hour passed until his fellow candidate silently made their way into the workshop, giving the two brisk nods and finding her seat.
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“Now that you’re both here, I will explain my way of teaching. Please, help yourselves.”
Galedir gestured to the tea on the table and they both carefully picked up their cups to drink. Kievra’s expression faltered silently, but Ryke only enjoyed the flavour. It was a strong, sweet taste with some different flavours that he couldn’t find the right words to describe. His golden eyes practically lit aflame while he tried his best not to drink it all at once.
“Have you had tea before?
“Mhm! My father would make me a cup when I \behaved as a child.” Ryke laughed, taking the chance to discreetly have another sip.
“Oh! Uhm, Sir Gaeldir?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you have a second name?”
“Amata?”
Ryke nodded again, feeling like a pecking bird, his neck sore from the movement. He was too curious though; no one else seemed to know or like tea, and the only other person he knew who had a second name was Falenval.
“It was awarded to me by the Imperator himself for my service.”
The boy could hear the pride in the man’s voice, but also saw the hint of sorrow in his eyes that fought against it, a moment of confusion overcoming him as he fell into his thoughts and was soon enough pulled out by the sudden change in conversion.
“As I said, I will explain how I teach. Do either of you have experience with the forge?” Ryke nodded while Kievra shook her head, and Gaeldir kept speaking. “Then you, boy, will learn runes from me. Two hours a day until you’re ready. Starting at noon. The girl will learn how to forge first. Starting at dusk.”
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Ryke left Gaeldir’s Forge that day with a ten pound book and a heavy heart, having been told to read as much of it as he could by the next day. Easily thousands of pages, it contained almost every single rune to exist apparently, and even had theories proposing undiscovered runes and the progress made towards them- overall it was an incredibly demanding read; the boy was saved only by the fact that Gaeldir seemed fairly understanding, and that he liked to read anyways. Just nothing so mentally demanding.
He wandered for another few minutes in the Instructor’s Wing, looking for the Lanista’s residence. The search eventually led him to the very end of the hall, where a large gate-like door was placed. The name Sigmar was written sharply above in the stone, but he noticed the distinct lack of the surname that Gaeldir had. Did he just not want to put his second name there? Did he not have one? The light of curiosity burned in his eyes for the umpteenth time today, and he pushed the doors open into the Lanista’s home.
Sigmar was waiting immediately on the other side of the door, his eyes staring holes through Ryke’s chest before abruptly dragging the boy further into the residence. He tried to figure out the surroundings, seeing only the patches of green and large towering trees reminiscent of the Beast Courtyard, a sight that left him shook.
The wind soared by his face as he was tossed into a small clearing. Standing up whilst rubbing the back of his head in pain, the boy looked up to find Sigmar holding two long sticks, quarterstaves similar in size to the glaive he held on his back.
“Your weapon, take it off.”
Ryke gently placed the glaive down on the ground and Sigmar kicked it off into the trees, a weird expression finding itself onto his face while he watched it happen. A quarterstaff flew into his hands, and he stood up when he was told to. A few moments later he found the courage to ask what was happening.
“For two hours, every day after your Runesmithing lessons, you show up here. The quarterstaff is similar to the glaive, you will first learn how to use it before learning the glaive. Do you have an issue, Centurion?”
“No..”
“Good- yes?”
“Why does Sir Gaeldir have a second name but you don’t?”
The air turned hot in a single moment, Ryke’s skin beginning to sweat and the air in his lungs scorching his flesh. Even the wooden weapon in his hands felt like blazing metal, forcing him to drop it before his hands burned. He shut his eyes in fear they’d turn to dust, his knees hit the ground as every breath felt like it melted his throat, and then the heat disappeared as quickly as it came, a strange tasting iron-like liquid finding itself poured into his mouth and soothing the burns,
A few moments later he was in a daze on the ground, his skin perfectly instant, his throat feeling a weird sensation of relief as his body was seemingly whole again- healed of the sudden burns. Ryke finally opened his eyes to see a regretful Sigmar holding an open bottle above him, a familiar apologetic glint in his eyes doing it’s best to stay hidden.
“He earned one, I have yet to.”
“H-how do you earn one?”
“Render an incredible service to Cinefra.”
“Why doesn’t everyone have one?”
“.. Because the desert decided to forge itself anew.”