Wiping his face off, the boy surveyed the workshop. Many tools went unused today, having spent the majority of his time accruing a stock of material. It was well into the evening when he finally stopped, deciding the stock would be enough when it all cooled. Sigmar told him a strong body would be imperative to his training; and he didn’t know a better way than forging.
When done correctly it could be a full body motion. Each breath carried a rhythm, twisting the body to carry the most efficient amount of force with every strike. The legs provided stability, but the stance was straining. Add the natural heat of the desert and the even worse furnace, he was dripping head to toe in sweat.
Taking another half hour to put the iron away to cool in storage, Ryke finally walked back inside to rest. The book had detailed how to find the ‘spark’ Sigmar had mentioned well enough, even if he didn’t quite understand it. The process itself was very simple. Exhaust yourself somehow, submerge yourself in water, and meditate on the image of a small flame being doused by a sea.
The only issue Ryke had was that the process apparently felt like drowning. From what he understood, the Aurelius Flame was meant to represent something like the ‘body’s soul’, the representation of your physical life. To snuff it out, while also being submerged in water, is meant to evoke a feeling of panic and death that would lead you to finding this ‘spark of life’ to strengthen it against the tide.
Honestly, the prospect scared him.
Were Centurions all like this? Awakened by the fear of death? Have any died in the process? Did all Water Scriptures work like this, or just his? Did a Fire Scripture require something similar?
Was it.. Worth it?
Even as Ryke was getting a bathtub full of water for the process, he was still thinking about it. He couldn’t wrap his head around why anyone made the risk. Sigmar must have. Leghan must have. His father must have. But why?
Ryke couldn’t find the answer even as he was slowly submerging himself in the water, the lukewarm feeling was rather nice after the day of heat. Without thinking much about it, he had already submerged his head beneath; having been forced to curl up within the wooden barrel to barely fit. A few seconds passed with his breath stuck in his chest, visualising the tide swallowing up a weak flame from all sides.
The panic hadn’t set in yet.
A few more seconds pass, the image slowly becoming clearer. The air slowly being consumed. His body restless. Every moment seemed to stretch on, every fading breath leading to rising panic. The endless tides began to lap at the slowly dying spark, its golden glow dwindling with every wave. Yet the image grew vibrant. The flame growing more and more lifelike.
Ryke’s mind raced as the image seemingly took over, engrossed in the way the tides would move back and forth, receding from the flame only to come back stronger. He sensed a strange rhythm to it, as if the tides were breathing. Swaying gently, the golden flame appeared to have a life of its own.
His breath ran out.
The image didn’t leave his mind, even as Ryke struggled to see. His arms and legs smashing against the inside of the tub much too small for something like this. He couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t move. His golden eyes shot wide open within the water, yet the visualisation stayed like a hungry ghost
He opened his mouth, unsure if he wanted to scream or out of the instinct to breathe and only took in more water. The tides grew stronger. His vision began to blur, his arms growing limp. An ember snuffed out due to idiocy and recklessness.
The golden flame was nothing but an ember now.
But it was no longer just an image.
A sudden warmth appeared in his chest. A feeling of energy and strength filled his veins in less than a moment, it’s power reawakening him momentarily. Ryke’s sight returned to him, the soft orange glow leaking into the tub reminded him of the open top. An arm blasted out of the water and gripped the side, toppling it and sending the boy out as he coughed up water and breathed desperately for air. His limbs lost strength just as quickly as it returned.
He laid there for an hour in the cold water before he found the strength to get up, eat a quick meal and head straight to sleep; his mind still reeling.
----------------------------------------
He would have drowned pathetically in that tub, a demise of his own making. That last burst of energy was the only thing that kept him alive. He hadn’t thought the size of the tub would have been an issue, but he’d sure fucking remember the small stuff like that in the future. And to buy a bigger tub.
The morning after was rather nice, actually. He felt oddly refreshed, no soreness from the forgework the prior afternoon or any lasting physical effects from the near death in a fucking bathtub. Ryke had a pep in his step even well into the end of breakfast and he didn’t bother thinking about the questions that plagued him the day before. Even as he packed his glaive and the scripture, Ryke simply couldn’t be brought down.
The moment he entered the Ludus, however, he felt the Lanista’s eyes on him. Sigmar abruptly appeared by his side, placing a firm hand on his shoulder; his eyes holding a weird look of worry and confusion.
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“You did it, how?”
“Did what?”
“Manifested the flame.”
In response, Ryke smiled wryly and looked around, only a few other youth’s looking their way as the rest were talking to each other. Only Caius seemed even close enough to hear, while Lycus was nowhere to be found.
“I uh.. did what the scripture said.”
“Which scripture?”
“Endless Tide..”
The boy offered the warrior the book in question, which was grabbed at an excessive speed before it was opened and read. The expression on Sigmar’s face for a few moments as he read was priceless. Ryke didn’t have much time to enjoy it, though.
“How’d you simulate this?”
“A bathtub.”
“And it worked? In one night? This method relies on slow visualisation and senselessness. You’re meant to slowly train your breathing to last longer until..” The voice trailed off, as if hit by a realisation. “Did you.. somehow drown yourself in a bathtub, Ryke?”
“No. Why do you say that?” He lied through his teeth.
“Many soldiers sense their flames in combat. They often die shortly after, but those who survive show good talent for the path. No matter how talented, you don’t suddenly manifest the Aurelius Flame unless you’re dying.”
Silence hung between the two.
“.. How did you drown in a bathtub?”
“I- I was too engrossed in the vision and.. forgot to get out.”
The silence returned, Sigmar simply not knowing what to say when he looked down at the youth. He handed the book back, trying not to laugh even while Ryke tried to hide the guilty expression on his face, as if he did something wrong. It was when Ryke gingerly took the book back and put it away did the Lanista’s expression finally crack and let out a chuckle.
“I expected a few impatient brats to go home and try it right away, but I didn’t expect one of you to actually succeed; even if by sheer, dumb suicidal luck. I had a whole speech planned to motivate you all and everything, fuck.”
“Right, you’re not gonna tell anyone.. Right?” Ryke nodded along until he could finally ask what he really wanted to know; Caius in the distance keeping his mouth shut as he listened. The man in question himself however simply nodded. The rare time where his expression was anything but stoic had passed.
“Sure, kids do stupid shit.”
“Thank you!”
A sigh of relief escaped the young boy as he got confirmation, before he darted off to escape the Lanista like he was a plague. Ryke walked straight towards the crowd with light steps and found a group consisting of most of the people who talked to him the day before, most of whom greeted him warmly. One boy plainly acted like he didn’t see him at all. Ryke didn’t recognize him from the day before, but instead recognized him from the Stygian Serpent coiled around his torso. Greeting Caius, Sol and Kievra first, he extended a hand and a smile to the last boy. “Good to meet you again! I’m Ryke.”
The boy seemed to smile in response, extending a hand forth to shake Ryke’s, but his head didn’t move at all- still looking at a wall. The grip was firm, his hand felt rough, and the snake looked at his golden eyes with some sort of leer.
“Darriwil. I never got to thank Fairrin, please do so when you next see him.”
“Thank him?” Ryke decided to not think about the next time he’d see him.
“Yes. He made me a sword. You didn’t know?”
“Ah, well, he makes.. Did you say a sword?”
“Yes. No one else would, but he did luckily.” The boy beamed in response, bringing his hand away from Ryke’s to pet the serpent’s head gently; his head not having moved at all the entire time.
“Why would nobody else?”
“Would you trust a blind boy with a sword?”
“And my father did?”
“When I proved to him I could use it.”
“And how.. Can you?”
It wasn’t just Ryke who seemed interested, as the other youth’s evidently never asked Darriwil about any of these either; not that they had any reason to.
“Like a snake, I suppose. I make up for it with my other senses.”
“But-”
“Roll call!”
Sigmar’s voice boomed amidst the main hall, echoed by the usual slam of his spear. This time, the man was wearing a full suit of armour similar to those he had seen the Legionnaires wearing a year ago; dull silver colours mixed with the strange light brown of the leather. Though, the Lanista’s armour was made with much more of the metal from what Ryke could see.
The youths all responded when their names were called except for a few missing trainees who plainly were just not there. Ryke did notice the tiredness in some voices and eyes, probably from doing the same thing he did last night; without the fortune he did at the end. Or misfortune, depending how you looked at it.
“Right, all of you. I see some tired faces. I think I know why.”
“The path of a Centurion is a tough one. You must have ambition, patience, calm, fury, and ruthlessness all at once. The journey could be slower for some, faster for others. Rockier for a few, smoother for the rest. What matters is the level head required to bypass these challenges without falling on the path.”
“For those of you who could not sense the flame, do not worry. Among the few dozen of you, only two have found their sparks. One nearly killed himself last night to do so, the other has long since lit theirs. What the rest of you need is patience. Take the method taught to you and find how to do it best for you. Slowly build that foundation. You have time.”