Rise of Winter, Week 1, Day 5

Freddie took a deep breath, letting the hot air fill her lungs. She felt the heat lick her face, and it wasn’t until Tiltham once again extinguished her flames that Freddie pulled back.

“I’m going to try something, and I just want you to watch,” Freddie said as she stretched her arms above her head.

“Oh? And will it involve you once again ignoring me and getting too close to the fire?” Tiltham’s voice was dull, lifeless, as if Freddie had exhausted her last nerve. Which wasn’t impossible, as Freddie had found out Tiltham was not a bastion of patience.

“Yes, actually.” Freddie laughed lightly, giving Tiltham a serious look. “You’ll hate it, but only put out the fire if I say so.”

Tiltham, to her credit, simply looked resigned, “Your will be done, Lady Fredericka.”

“Great.”

Freddie’s mouth widened into one of her signature grins—the one that was a bit too wide to be anything but feral, especially with the way her eyes almost shone with exhilaration.

“[Imbue Flame]”

Molten lava spread through her veins, focusing on her balled-up fist in front of her. The feeling of overheating settled into the bones of Freddie’s dominant hand.

“[Fire Conjuration+Fire Manipulation]”

The same feeling of lava spread from her mana veins, guided out of her fingertips. In the end, it resulted in a single ball of flame wrapping Freddie’s fist.

For a glorious moment, Freddie’s grin widened.

I did it, I’ve gotten it back—

“Ahhhhhh, not quite then,” she hissed and accidentally released control of the flames.

The fire did not cease and instead continued digging through her flesh. Yet she did not scream, did not beg for Tiltham to put it out. No. She simply continued to speak.

“[Fire Manipulation]”

Swiping the ball of flames from her fist, she cast it away —off to one of the targets to the side. In the wake of the fire, her hand was a mess. The flesh was browned and liquified, already slick from the heat, and underneath was a bright pink. Freddie stared at the wound for a half-second, fascinated at the way the pain felt distant, almost dissociative. But the pain was still there, if not at the forefront, so she continued on.

“[Regenerate]”

Using as much of her mana as she could, Freddie funneled her intent and power into the Divine Skill, watching the skin knit back together. It took several minutes, but soon enough, the skin looked fresh, and it was clearly new—the shade of the skin was significantly paler than the deep tan of the rest of her arm. Not ghostly pale, because her base pigment was still darker than that, but it was sickly in comparison to her body.

Okay, so it's a last resort if I don’t want scars.

Freddie glanced at Tiltham, who was pursing her lips.

“As we are currently training your Skills, I will not say anything, but I will insist you use a Scar Reducer potion.”

Freddie nodded, holding out her hand, “Well, I’m not going to complain. I’d rather not be riddled with scars just yet.”

The silence between them stretched, and Freddie wouldn’t meet Tiltham’s gaze.

“My Lady,” she said.

“Tilly,” Freddie whined.

“Lady Fredericka.”

“Void Captain TIltham.”

“Take care of yourself,” Tiltham said severely. “If you insist on being scarred like a common adventurer, try to keep it where the Duke cannot see.”

Freddie crossed her unscarred arm across her body and shook her newly pale hand, “Fine, fine, just lather me up so I can get on with training.”

“Are you finished destroying your hand for the day?” Was Tiltham’s response.

Freddie blinked, “Uh, probably not.”

With a heavy sigh, Tltham leaned back against the wall. “Then we’ll not waste a potion until you’ve accomplished what you’re hoping for.”

Rolling her eyes, Freddie began thinking about what had gone wrong.

It took her some time, and often, her thoughts went in circles. Freddie had a mind for combat itself, not the theory behind why it worked. It was more instinct than it was anything else. So, it was with a gasp and several more failed attempts that she realized she had only felt [Imbue Flame] work on her bones.

It needs to either encompass my whole hand, skin to muscle to bone, or just the skin. Let’s give it another shot.

“[Imbue Flame]”

The magma in her veins was called forth, shifting under her skin before it seeped out of the pores of her dominant hand. She could feel the Skill settle swiftly.

“[Fire Conjuration+Fire Manipulation]”

Another ball of flame appeared—this time without the accompanying smell of burning flesh. The Skill had worked as promised. There was still a discomfort under the skin, but Freddie could ignore it, and so she did.

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Striding up to a practice dummy, she took her boxer’s stance and launched a right jab —sending her flaming fist out to impact the dummy’s shoulder.

Unfortunately, upon impact, there was an unpleasant ‘squish’ noise. And unlike the resounding sound of a landed hit, it was a moment filled with the sounds of Freddie releasing an agonizing howl.

“Oh my Gods!” She growled, looking at her hand.

Freddie had been correct; [Imbue Flame] had protected her skin this time —it did not, however, protect her muscles or the soft sinew within her hand or even the smaller bones. So, the flame’s heat had damaged them in such a way that upon impact, her hand simply collapsed, which left the sight looking a bit grotesque.

Within a moment of her initial howl, Tiltham was next to her, holding out a glowing yellow potion with the top uncorked. But Freddie was staring at her hand, uncaring about the knight looking to pour some concoction or another onto her injury.

“I’ve got it, Tilly,” Freddie half-gasped, “But be a dear and step closer, anyway… Just in case.”

“[Regenerate]”

The warmth of her mana flooded her hand, but, as she suspected, it wasn’t enough. Even though Freddie could feel the muscles rebuilding, the shattered bones were barely moving.

“Potion, Tilly,” Freddie said coolly. “Potion!”

[Congratulations! Imbue Flame is now Level 2!]

[Congratulations! Regenerate is now Level 2!]

“Hold still, my Lady.” Tiltham gripped Freddie’s wrist firmly and immediately began splashing the glowing yellow potion onto her skin. “Take a deep breath, clench your teeth, whatever it takes. Just hold still.”

Freddie, horrified and intrigued both, did none of those things as Tltham began massaging the liquid into her knuckles. Instead, she grit her teeth and tensed her muscles to keep herself from moving. It was far from the worst injury she’d ever gone through —and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. Elsewhere was dangerous due to the nature of her professions, but Maeve was dangerous by virtue of the world it was built in.

She could feel her bones regrowing through the fresh muscle, could feel them rearrange themselves into the right positions, could feel her wrong hand become right again.

With a labored breath, Freddie took her hand back and gave a shaky smile, “Thanks, that one was a bit worse than expected. But I think I know what to do next time to fix it.”

Tiltham harrumphed and corked the potion bottle, looking down her nose at Freddie, “Be careful, my Lady, I won’t always be here.”

“Tilly,” Freddie said, her voice pitched higher than normal, “Don’t you think I dream of that?”

With a snort, Freddie stepped back and shook out her hand.

“Here goes nothing —[Imbue Flame].” She grumbled.

Magma filled her veins, shifting her very existence. The heat wrapped the entirety of her hand up to her wrist and settled into the very being of herself.

“[Fire Conjuration+Fire Manipulation]”

Another ball of flame. Freddie stretched her fingers, testing the feeling of the fiery fist. And then she went right back to the training dummy.

With a single movement, she lunged at the dummy and launched her fist into the thing’s side with a right hook. When Freddie pulled her hand back, there was no stinging, no burning, no flesh made liquid. It was simply a hand lit aflame.

Dismissing her fire, she smiled, “Perfect. This time, it was perfect.”

Tiltham watched on, examining Freddie’s state after her latest series of tests.

Now, Freddie thought to herself, with level 2 of [Imbue Flame], let’s try for both fists.

A wild grin filled her face, and she began focusing her intent and shifting the magma of her mana through her veins.

“[Imbue Flame] [Fire Conjuration+Fire Manipulation]”

It was an easy thing—for Freddie to hold her flames against her skin. It took up a minuscule amount of mana, and the amount of fire was just as negligible. The real tax was using [Imbue Flame] twice. Perhaps, when the Skill grew stronger, it would be more than an active infusion of flame. Maybe it would last on its own.

As Freddie stood in a boxer’s stance, both fists guarding her face, the flames flickered, and the heat radiated onto her unprotected skin. But she didn’t mind it. It felt like her mana. It felt like the ring. It felt like home.

Then she moved.

Jab, jab, right hook, pivot, jab, left hook, pivot.

After a half-turn around the dummy, Freddie was manic, and she hissed, “[Quick Fight].”

Her speed increased, and the practice dummy came into sole focus. Her tunnel vision stopped her from worrying about Tiltham, or her limits, or holding back.

It wasn’t in Freddie’s nature to do any of those things anyway.

Despite all this, Freddie had a single thought.

[Quick Fight] is wasted on a training dummy.

It was simultaneous with her head swiveling around to see TIltham approaching.

“Hey, Tilly,” Freddie half-shouted as she headed for the knight, her fists by her side, “Guard up!”

And then she brought her fists in front of her face and lunged, her first hit landing on TIltham’s palm and redirected in a single move. The next hit, aimed for Tiltham’s abdomen, was parried with the woman’s forearm.

Freddie maintained the maximum distance her small body allowed, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to be faster. To become a blur.

“[Running]”

She felt her thighs and calves burn, and she began running in place —planning, plotting, deciding her next move.

Her fists were faster than they had any right to be at eight years old. Her body moved sluggish still, compared to elsewhere. It lacked the muscle memory. So, Freddie opted for simple jabs. She’d punch until her arms couldn’t move —she’d move around Tltham and find an opening. She’d continue until she threw up.

Freddie knew she must have looked feral, but Tiltham was unphased. And so Freddie attacked.

Five punches. Ten. Twenty. Forty-five. One hundred and twelve.

A minute. Fifteen. Half an hour. An Hour. Two. Three.

She ignored everything. Time and pain and attempts. She ignored it all—until the stinging in her arms grew unbearable, and her final punch missed its mark.

Practice makes perfect, but only if it’s perfect practice.

“Stop,” Freddie gasped through her exhaustion, and Tiltham stilled, her arms mid-air, ready to redirect Freddie’s latest attack.

“Ah, I’m finished being a pin cushion, then?” Tiltham said drolly.

A tired smile graced Freddie’s face, and she stepped further away from the knight —who had a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead.

“Just for today. I am so, so tired,” Freddie said. “Tomorrow, will you hit back? Not enough to break my bones or too fast for me to see, but just enough to train?”

Freddie watched as TIltham’s face scrunched, her nose crinkling.

“My Lady, that is, of course, within my job description for this assignment.”

Freddie huffed, “Yes, well, I knew that.”

And then they settled in for yet another night of jerky, water, and cleaning potions. As a True Wash potion misted across her, Freddie ran her tongue across her newly cleaned teeth.

“Ugh,” she whined, “It’s so thorough.”

Tiltham, for the first time, laughed.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”