"Talented are rare in the Kingdoms of Athun," Eurya said, still resting her chin against her fist. Her other hand ran idly over her head. Her crimson hair was pulled tight around her scalp, trailing down her back in a long ponytail. "Usually the Hero of a city will be a Talented, if the All-King is lucky. Otherwise, they make do with what they have."

"The All-Kings fear the Talented," Nicos stated more than asked.

Eurya considered his words, then wobbled her hand back and forth. "Eh, less than you think. Its more that they dislike the uncertainty that Talented bring. Its difficult to predict a person's capabilities, when those capabilities are explicitly beyond the norm. It disrupts what is a carefully constructed balance of power, a precisely moderated system of control. It would be inconvenient to have a bunch of Talented gallivanting around and mucking it all up."

Nicos scowled. "So they execute them. Like my father."

"Eventually," Eurya agreed. "After they get some use out of them. The Kingdoms have spent a great deal of time and effort to establish their culture. Impossible, for your people, generally manifests as 'something only the All-King can accomplish'. Talents generally appear as something straightforward. Unnatural levels of strength or speed or"—she nodded to NIcos—"the ability to cut through anything. Nothing too esoteric, on the surface at least. And they are never taught to look any further than that."

"Esoteric?" Nicos questioned. He recognized the word. Magic, essentially. Things like what the Keeper did on a daily basis. "What would that even look like?" He tried not to sound overeager.

Eurya hummed to herself, regarding the boy with an amused gaze. "I suppose a story wouldn't hurt."

Nicos nodded, carefully schooling his features and straightening his back.

His teacher sighed. "There once was a man, a former general, actually, of a large empire far to the north. This man was talented in the ways of war, unparalleled in combat and with a keen mind for tactics. He was called from his peaceful retirement in a time of great crisis, to defend the empire from a mortal enemy. He lead their armies against this foe; he crafted the strategies, and motivated his warriors. He, almost single-handedly, turned the tide." Her eyes glittered, as her melodic voice whispered, "And when it was all over, and the empire was saved, the people demanded that he be crowned as Emperor.

"But this man had no desire to rule. He had a family. A wife and child, and a little slice of land where he grew crops. He wanted nothing more than to return home, and rest. And so, despite literally tens of thousands of voices begging him to take power, he left. He returned to his farm, to live the simple life that he desired.

"Three times, his people came to him, demanding that he lead them. Each time, they brought more gifts, more offers, and more responsibilities. Three times he refused. On the third, his temper finally broke. Upon being offered riches and power beyond imagining, he proclaimed 'the only sovereignty I will hold is over my own land,' and he cast out those who had come to see him!" Eurya snapped her fingers. "And like that, his Talent sprung into being. Nobody had believed he would actually step down, and walk away. It was an act, they told themselves. It was his destiny to lead. It was what he was born to do. And even if it wasn't, what man could resist what had been offered? This man thought otherwise, and in his conviction, he was rewarded."

Nicos leaned forward, holding on to every word his teacher spoke. "He became the sovereign of his land. Those were the words that the world whispered into his ears: the exception he was granted by the Memory of his actions." She looked at him seriously. "Nicos, these words are no exaggeration. I once told you that there were two types of Talented: those who define their Talent, and those who are defined by it. This man is the former."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Nicos admitted.

"He could have understood his Talent as the authority to act as a king. To lord himself over those who step foot on his property, with his demands backed by the world itself. A lesser man would have seen it this way. This man, however, understood the truth of things. On his land, he is sovereign. Unquestioned. Absolute." She leaned forward, fangs peeking past her smile. "He is a titan, boy. A self-made one, holding dominion over only of a tiny slice of dirt, but a titan nonetheless. That is the exception he perceived as his talent. A simple phrase, harmless even, turned into something extraordinary. What once was a man, while standing on his land, can contend with the gods. That is what I mean by esoteric."

"That seems impossible," Nicos murmured. But he knew the truth of things. Nothing was impossible. That had been proven to him, time and time again.

Eurya laughed. "Exactly."

The boy's mind spun with possibilities. "Will I gain a Talent like that?"

Eurya shrugged. "You'll gain what you gain. If you cannot make something of it, that is your failure."

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"That will never happen," Nicos vowed seriously. He gave her an earnest gaze. "Teacher, what will my task be?" What momentous victory would earn him a worthy Talent? What did the millennia-old mind of Eurya Longstrider concoct for her student to gain power overwhelming?

She leaned back, kicking out her legs and resting her weight on her palms. "Your father was on the right track with you, I think. You'd made more progress on your evertree than you should have." She gave him a fond smile. "That stubbornness of yours was good for something, at least."

Nicos furrowed his brow. "Will I need another evertree?" If so, they were going in the wrong direction. It would be some time before they could visit the legendary Dread Valley.

"No," Eurya quickly denied. "The idea was correct, having you echo the feat of your ancestor, but he thought too small. Your father, much like yourself, was burdened by the legacy he carried. The shadow of your ancestors hung over him like a heavy cloak; it weighed him down more than it protected him."

The boy's first instinct was to protest. The power his family gave him was very real, and had saved his life on more than one occasion. His family's sword technique, while understandably underwhelming to Eurya, was still an enormous accomplishment in the Kingdoms of Athun. His father, and the boy himself, had every right to feel overshadowed.

But some part of him understood the point she was trying to make. Nicos could feel it, the beginnings of his own power, his very own legend. He'd felt it growing ever since the Seraptis woman had claimed him as her student. He could not live in the shadow of his ancestors. He could not limit himself to their achievements. It was a disservice to himself, and the legacy he carried.

"He feared overtaking them," Nicos realized grimly. "He feared dishonoring them." Because he felt it too, at times. It was shame, almost. Like a slime, clinging to his skin. Unworthiness. By what right did he surpass those feats of old, while standing on the backs of giants?

"And the consequences of doing so," Eurya added. "His fear was for you. For all his loyalty to the All-King, Valka was not blind to the man's faults, nor of what he might bring down upon you, should a Hero overstep his bounds."

"He ended up doing it, anyway," Nicos replied bitterly.

His teacher sighed. Her voice came softly. "To save those under his command. To keep his brothers in arms alive. Hardly the worst reason a man has ever had for leaving his son."

Nicos had nothing to say to that.

"But as I was saying," his teacher continued, "he thought too small. You should not be mimicking your ancestors, you should be surpassing them. What's the point of a child, if not to grow beyond its parents? You, Nicos, will accomplish something far greater than what your first ancestor could have ever hoped to do."

"What might that be?" Nicos asked, awaiting the answer with hope and dread.

She spread her arms, flashing him a cocky grin. "Make me bleed."

Nicos blinked. "What, now?"

Eurya cackled at him. "No, boy. In a spar. Cutting me is a far more difficult feat than any silly tree. And I promise you, I won't be standing still." She trailed off, a curious expression on her face. "I must admit, it might actually be beyond you. It certainly is at the moment, but it's my hope that you've at least stepped onto the path of success by the time we reach Cissus."

The boy narrowed his eyes. "That's... what? Three or four turns from now?"

"About that." Eurya shrugged. "Perhaps you'll surprise me. Surprise us both." She nodded to the Keeper, who had finished cleaning the boy's kill. The blind man carried several strips of meat, bloody red but lined with fat. With a snap of his fingers, a fire bloomed between the three.

"Don't listen to her, Nicos," the Keeper chided amicably, as he laid out the meat on sticks, and suspended them above the fire. The bloody prize crackled and popped as juices poured onto the open flame. "I'm sure you'll find your own path. You certainly did in the desert."

"Yes, you did," Eurya agreed, her eyes narrowing at the reminder. "We need to speak on that, you and me. I could feel you pulling on my Memory, even across all that sand. A dangerous thing, that."

"Its impressive you stayed sane," the Keeper commented idly.

Eurya nodded. "I half-expected you to crack like an egg. Older and wiser men than you have gone mad trying to read me. None were ever foolish enough to resonate with my Memory. Not that they ever had the opportunity."

Nicos shifted awkwardly. "I felt, at the time, that it was my only option. I know that that is a poor excuse, and if I've displeased you somehow..."

"No, no." She waved away his concerns. "It was surprising, both that you attempted it, and that you succeeded. But no, I am not displeased. It is simply not something I would have ever done, or taught."

Nicos frowned. "Why not? I realize how dangerous it was to resonate with your Memory, unprepared, but surely someone less impressive than yourself would be a simpler matter?"

"Its even more dangerous than you realize," Eurya chided. "I know you, and you know me. My impressions of you linger in Memory, and the echo of me you called upon reflected that. If you'd tried it with someone else, someone just as beyond you, but less inclined to mercy, you would not have survived the attempt." She poked him in the chest, her eyes boring into his. "Remember, Nicos, Memory has power. That tiny fraction of Eurya sleeping in your sword, is mightier than every warrior of Farathun combined. Treat her appropriately."

Nicos eyed his blade with more weariness than usual. "Do you think I should no longer attempt to resonate with your Memory? I had thought to expand the technique to others, to learn from my enemies, but if even you would not attempt this, then surely I should not."

Eurya flicked her hand dismissively. "No, the danger is not what dissuades me. Your technique relies on borrowed power. Mine, or another's. It is not my preference."

"What she means to say," the Keeper smoothly cut in, "is she's too prideful to rely on anyone but herself. Eurya strengthens her Memory through dominance, systematically asserting her own superiority over all and sundry. That's how she likes to do things, and she's too damn old to change."

The woman in question rolled her eyes, but did not contest his assertion. She looked at the boy, instead, and said, "You are not me, Nicos. Do not try to be. You need to find your own path to power. Stay true to yourself, little fledgling. That's the best lesson I can ever impart."