The next four days are a blur of wooden blades, sleepless nights, and very real pain.

But like my new Master says: no pain, no gain.

I meet her in the grove right on time every morning, bounding through the waterfall and flashing a tired smile at the Elves washing their clothes as I go.

We train most of the day, stopping only momentarily when I say something Myrathellon considers bonkable (or, to use her words, irredeemable) or for her to go through further lessons.

The promise of Mia’s sweet mix of jam, bread, and tummy rubs keep me motivated. It’s what keeps me getting up after every beating, every failure to knock that blade out of her hand.

Oh, yeah – that and beating the Darkseed. Saving the world is important, too.

Through it all, despite my aching muscles and chronic teeth pain, and despite Myrathellon’s sneer every time she trips me up in the flowerbed, I can’t deny the results:

[Glittering Thrust: LVL 3]

*WEAPON ART MORPH AVAILABLE

HOMING THRUST: [Glittering Thrust] now homes in on a target within sight.

OR

GLITTERING SPEAR: [Glittering Thrust] effective range increased to 100 ft.

When I inform Myrathellon about my options, she scoffs in the face of my pride.

“Tch’kalamat!” she spits. “It has taken Glenmaidens of above average character at least fifty standard years to become adept at the Glittering Thrust. You unlock its hidden potential in a mere few days…”

“All thanks to my professional teacher,” I say.

Her sneer widens into a thin grin. “It is true, is it not? I am an expert worthy of study.”

“You’re the most professional warrior I’ve ever seen,” I say, thinking again about the jolly Aethel and his drinking. Then, not wanting to linger on the memory, I start scratching behind my ear and select the [HOMING THRUST] option.

“I’ll follow in your footsteps,” I say. “I’ve got the Swallow Swipe to help me keep people away, and my Repulsive Bark’ll help out if needs be. I’d rather be certain I’m gonna hit someone than completely miss someone who’s far away.”

Myrathellon nods once which, to be honest, is the best I get in terms of praise. But she then becomes struck by something as her look lingers on the blade in my mouth.

“’And he shall know your ways, as though born with the soul of your kin.’”

I look up at her, remembering the phrase. It was said by Witherfang, Aethel, and Palka, wasn’t it? And before I can ask her what it truly means, she lifts her head and scoffs.

“Witness the joke that the Gods play on us through the Lightborn: you are a warrior created to absorb the knowledge of this world as quickly as possible, with little care for meditation upon the Path of the Blade.”

“Hey, I love meditating just as much as the next Corgi. Preferably with a few snacks. As a matter of fact, I could use some right no-“

“No,” Myrathellon snaps. “Instead – it is time for another lesson.”

I groan and wrench myself up, ready for a sound beating. But, to my surprise, she sits down on a stray log and hunches her shoulders in a meditative pose.

“Do you know where magic comes from?” she asks.

I cock my head at her and settle down for an unexpected story time.

She sighs, producing a little wisp of energy in her palm that dances between her fingers.

“The mages say there is a world beyond our own,” she says. “A world of infinite energy, formless and ever changing. In our tongue, it is Cha’Anuzak – the ‘Place Beyond’. ‘Magic’ as we know it comes from one’s ability to harness the energy from this other place, and give this energy tangible form.”

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Another place,’ I wonder. Another world…

“To bridge the gap between worlds is an art that requires total dedication of the body and mind,” Myrathellon continues. “Even we Glenmaidens only use spells to augment our combat capabilities. Few true mages have ever existed among us.”

“Why?” I ask, my tail wagging with a strange sense of excitement.

She eyes me warily, and unsummons her little whisp with a clench of her fist.

“There are dangers,” she says. “Should one untrained attempt to harness the energies of the Place Beyond, the unchecked power corrupts the soul and twists the body and land into something malformed and wretched. This corruption is the source of all monstrous beings that walk the lands of Arwyll.”

I whistle up at her, honestly surprised.

“Magic’s that strong, huh? But surely, if anyone could control it, you Elves could, right?”

She grins. “When one lives for hundreds of years, one learns that some mysteries are best left unsolved. Some doors are best left unopened. This is something that humans, in their endless thirst for glory, can never understand.”

Well, I can see that, I think to myself. If your time on this earth is so short, you wanna make – like – your mark on the world, right?

But I can see that she’s become almost melancholic. Her mind’s preoccupied suddenly. Her eyes stare off past me into the distance – past the trees and flowerbeds into something beyond us both.

“To see further,” she whispers. “To run faster. To think clearer. To go beyond…these wishes have been the end of many great warriors.”

She claps her hands together in what looks like shame, before rising and breathing in the calm, crisp air.

“Magic will always come naturally to you,” she tells me. “The Lightborn need not strain his eyes to look into the Place Beyond. It is as though you have a direct connection with it. I do not pretend to understand this, but take heed of Lesson #6: A warrior cannot trust a mage. They are fonts of boundless magic and ambition, both. Which one truly corrupts them? Who can say…”

She walks away without another word, barely even remembering to shout back ‘Lesson over!” before disappearing beyond the waterfall’s barrier.

----------------------------------------

Flop.

When I lay may head on my mossy pillow tonight, I instantly know it’s gonna be a tough one.

My belly rumbles and my muscles groan in complaint – like a symphony of pain welling up inside me.

Look, all we gotta do is wait for Miss Mia’s Sweet Time and then, before you know it, we’ll all drift off into a comfy sleep.

Such tummy debates are the eternal pain of the dog. We are beholden to our appetite. It takes great discipline to still the wailing monster that is doggie hunger. The fact I’m managing to hold out just shows how strong I’m getting. For the sake of toning up these little muscles, I might even attempt a fast.

My stomach responds with a roar of defiance to that particular notion.

Alright, alright! One thing at a time…

My internal struggle comes to an end as I hear footsteps echo up the stairs outside.

Miss Mia…you’re coming.

The footsteps come closer. Light and purposeful, like the soft paws of a pup.

My mind flashes with images of her jam bread, and the feeling of her sticky fingers caressing my brow.

“This is cruel, Miss Mia,” I groan as I twist and turn in anticipation. “You’re approaching even slower than normal…”

My door creaks open gently.

“Miss Mia,” I whisper. “My body is ready.”

But the voice that whispers back isn’t quite matching up to my imagination.

“Little Brother?”

My eyes widen and, through the pain in my bruised back, I jerk up.

“Swifty!”

“Shhhh!” my wolven companion whispers back at me.

“Swifty, I – wait – where’ve you been the last few days? Enjoying the company of our Elven hosts?”

Swiftrunner fixes me with tired eyes. He’s been groomed – I can tell. His normally freyed hair is well combed and his nose looks like it’s been powdered.

“Oh, Raziel,” he says. “I am glad to finally see you. Strictly speaking, I should not be here – the Lightborn’s training is not to be disturbed. But I had to see you tonight.”

I sniff around him, inspecting his curled tail and clipped nails.

“Swifty…is it really you?”

He twirls around and cocks his head at me.

“These Elves place a great deal of stock in one’s appearance, it is true,” he says, brushing his mane with a well-trimmed paw. “The women of the communal house have seen fit to pamper me with every luxury and see to it that I am groomed to resemble – in their words – ‘a steed fit to be ridden by the Gods’.”

I chuckle quietly at the idea. “Alright for some!” I quip. “While I’ve been hard at work training my butt off, you’ve been in the lap of luxury!”

He fixes me with his new, long-lashed eyes. “Do not mistake the sight you see before you,” he says. “I have been delving into the tomes of the Glenheim archives whenever I can. Whenever one of them,” he sniffs. “Doesn’t see fit to grab me for yet another manicure! Oh, Raziel, you don’t know what I’ve been through. The brushes. The clippings. The breasts of the females pressed into my face as they administer to my body – playing with me like I am a simple stuffed toy!”

Yeah, I think. It sounds like Hell on earth, Swift…

“But tonight, I managed to sneak away,” he continues. “Because there is something we must do. Something important.”

I eye him back, struck by the seriousness of his tone.

“What?”

He licks his painted lips. “Not here,” he says. “We must go where no voices can hear us. Keep close, keep quiet, and keep your head down. The task we must commit to is for our eyes only.”

He nods at the open window and before I can question him further, he’s up and outside, waiting for me on the other side of my room. I sigh, watching the door, waiting in vain for my Goddess to appear. Alas, it seems I am forsaken. A handsome wolf will have to do.

“Say,” I whisper to Swifty as he helps me out the window. “You didn’t bring any jam, did you?”

He gives me a look that tells me that’s the last thing on his mind.

And with another weary sigh, I follow him off into the night.