"No, not like that! Keep your weight balanced, or I can knock you over just like this!" Sig shouted as he swept my legs out using his staff, sending me tumbling to the grass.

I tried not to swear as I hit the ground hard, feeling the bone of my hip slam into my wooden staff. Was it a bad idea to strike Sig when he turned his back? Undoubtedly, but damn if the temptation was not there.

With only a few days until classes started, Sig had accelerated our training, working in combat drills. When he heard about my potions, I could best describe the look that crossed his face as sadistic glee.

"Really, now?" he had said when I told him, drawing out the words as he leaned in close, a feral grin on his lips as he continued, "Then we don't need to take it so easy anymore."

The word 'easy' never came to mind during our prior training, but as it turned out, there was, in fact, a level beyond misery. I was no poet, so I could not think of a name for it, but Sig would be the first to know once I did. He would probably get a good laugh out of that.

Every day became a hellscape as he pushed me further with each workout. Usually, we met early in the mornings for combat training, using a staff in place of a spear. Sig had noted that my skills needed to improve before we risked swinging around even a blunted piece of metal. I had protested at first until I accidentally hit myself in the face with a poorly performed parry.

We drilled basic blocks, strikes, parries, and dodges for a half-hour straight, working in proper footwork and positioning exercises. Usually, this included Sig striking at me with his staff to 'test' how closely I was paying attention or correct mistakes in his rough but effective manner.

When I asked about it, he answered, "Every warrior needs a firm foundation to fall back on when things go bad."

Once we wrapped up those drills, we moved onto physical training, including weight training, which involved lifting and moving rocks to improve my strength. This was bad enough by itself, but that was not the end of the changes. After we finished exercising, Sig sent me right back to combat practice, only this time while exhausted. He claimed I had to learn to fight like this so that the moves and strikes became second nature, even when bone-tired.

Privately, I wondered if he took pleasure in my misery, but I had to admit his methods got results. After nearly a month, my body looked a little filled out, and I had put on around a half-inch of height. I was still small for my age, but now, I might be mistaken for fourteen instead of thirteen. At least part of these changes came down to the healing potions.

Usually, the body had to heal after exercise to improve itself, which took several days of rest. However, between my healing potions, stamina potions, and pills to replace meals, this happened at around three times the regular rate, turning a month's worth of growth into less than a week.

I had always hoped this would happen but intended it for magical training, not physical. The most looming threat around remained that still-contained drop of mana in my core. Even though the shell looked just as solid now as a month earlier, I was under no illusions. The instant it faltered, if I was not ready, it would tear me to pieces.

Still, two birds with one stone, as they say.

Despite my improvements, the upcoming semester set my heart racing, though for two different reasons. On the one hand, I did not feel ready yet. I had come far, learning and growing more than seemed possible, though not without help from Sig and Julian. But was that enough? It certainly did not feel like it.

On the other, I was desperate to learn even more and develop further as a mage. There was only so much I could grasp on my own, and I needed guidance from the masters. Those classes might prove invaluable, though I fully intended to drop several as the year progressed once I had a better idea of where my talents lay and what would prove most beneficial.

Those conflicted thoughts were always in the back of my mind, even now as I sat, glaring up as Sig. Just because I appreciated the need for constant training did not make it a pleasant experience.

"That hurts, you know," I snapped, pushing up to my feet and rubbing my side.

"Do better, and you won't get hurt." he shot back with a shrug. His empathy was staggering at times.

I sighed but nodded, knowing he had a point. Instead of complaining, I adjusted my grip, pointing the staff towards Sig. One end was painted black to represent the 'speartip,' and that end now thrust through the air in a quick, if slightly clumsy, stab.

After a few minutes, I decided to ask something that occurred to me the other day, "I had a question, Sig. All we have done are basic drills so far. Why not include sparring? It seems like-"

"Why don't you use contractions?" Sig abruptly asked, cutting me off with a firm tone.

I was caught off-guard, half-stumbling as I paused and furrowed my brow. After a second, I shook my head and said, "Girem hates them. He says that an advisor must-"

A staff smacked against my cheek with a loud 'thwack,' and I stumbled to one side, grabbing at my face. The strike was relatively light, doing little more than stinging, but between the shock and humiliation, that was more than enough to send my temper flaring.

"What the hell was that for?!" I shouted, forgetting my place as my cheeks burned.

"I noticed that you've got a bad habit of lowering your guard when you stop to think. You can't do that in a fight, or you'll die. That slight delay between thought and movement is enough. And I was curious." he added on at the end with a shrug and grin.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Sometimes, when Sig discussed the finer points of melee combat or the right way to track a beast without magic, I wondered how he and Julian remained friends. The wind mage seemed like he would prefer a slow, agonizing death by immolation than exploring the wilderness with nothing but a sharpened stick between him and death.

Other times, typically right after he sent me to the ground or made some slightly insulting joke at my expense, it was as if they were brothers in all but name. If nothing else, they shared a love of annoying me.

"Noted," I terse replied, returning to my ready stance and lashed out, tucking one end of the staff under my arm and throwing a haft strike with the other. Though the thrust was the most well-known attack, Sig often pointed out that polearms had more to offer in the hands of a master. Depending on the style and length, you could perform any number of moves, and he was sure to remind me of the near-endless possibilities often.

"Keep your elbow tucked in closer, and remember to keep the strike as direct as possible. You're wavering and wasting energy making useless moves. Now, to answer your question, the only person I trust enough to set you up against is me, and I'm too strong. Or you're too weak if you prefer."

I asked, "What do you mean?" as I stepped backward, keeping my guard raised and my eyes fixed on him. Fool me twice, as the saying goes.

Sig noticed the move, chuckling before answering, "There's a point where the skill gap makes sparring counterproductive. And frankly, I'm terrible at holding back. Getting knocked onto your ass can teach plenty of things, but nothing you need right now. What you really need is someone closer to your level, so you can weave those drills together into something useful. Lucky for you, classes are starting soon."

"What do you mean? Did you have-" I ducked under a strike, stepping backward twice before continuing, "-someone in mind?"

"Don't step too far away, or you risk giving them the space to run or cast something. And you've got plenty to learn from Julian, but impatience isn't one of them," he replied, giving me a grin that told me he was avoiding my question.

I rolled my eyes but decided to drop it, responding, "In that case, I had another thing I wanted to ask."

"Lay it on me, kid,"

"Why spears? I mean, I understand why it is great for melee combat, but you said the more distance, the better. Why not something like a bow or thrown weapons?"

"Good question. Well, bows are tricky. They are excellent for hunting because your target usually won't see you coming, letting you line up a shot. In largescale, you usually have hundreds of archers firing at an army; Bound to hit something. But with a single moving target? That's a lot tougher to hit unless you've had a few years of practice."

"I see...so what do I do at long range? Spears are only six feet or so at best."

Sig looked at me as if I was the dumbest person in Ferris, saying, "Maybe I've pushed you too far if you can't figure that out."

I felt like smacking myself on the head, and half-chuckled, saying, "Right, magic. It takes too long at short range but is viable again with enough distance. Stupid."

The potions certainly helped, but it was not a perfect replacement for sleep. They helped stave off the worst symptoms of deprivation, but my mind was a little sluggish at times. Though I hoped otherwise, it seemed I still needed to get some rest, though hopefully much less than before.

"Good. I was worried about you for a second there," Sig said, voice dripping in sarcasm as he stepped backward, lowering his weapon to a neutral position. I kept my staff raised for several seconds until he rolled his eyes, saying, "Might've hammered that lesson in a little too well."

"I would rather not get any more bruises," I said with a shrug, lowering my weapon and holding it out to him.

He took it with a laugh, and I started stretching, taking stock of my body. I felt tired and sore, but not quite as bad as usual. It felt like we ended a bit early, though I could not say for sure. Days blended into one another now, and it was next to impossible to get an exact time.

"Did we finish early?"

"Yeah. I got a few things to take care of that take priority. Sorry, Vayne. Call it a break on account of hard work."

"First time for everything," I said, giving him a good-natured grin that Sig returned, shaking his head at me.

"I'd say to keep practicing for another half-hour without me, but you might pick up bad habits. Breaking those is a whole other pain in the ass. I'm sure you'll find a way to stay busy without my help, though."

He did not need to tell me twice, and I practically ran from the room, making my way to my quarters to wash up and take the herbal supplements.

Yardley stated in his notes that his creations caused "unpleasant side-effects." After a few days, I concluded that the word "unpleasant" meant something much different in his time.

Ash weed tea was vile and bitter, with the consistency of congealed blood. Every time I drank it, it clung and coated the inside of my mouth, leaving me gagging. At least I rarely ate solid foods, which was a good thing overall. Something told me it would come right back up.

Star mint bathwater seared, but not with heat. No, it was a bone-numbing cold that sunk into my flesh, lasting for hours and leaving me shivering even in direct sunlight. Fall was on the horizon, but days remained warm, leaving me dreading the coming winter. Traveler's Cloak was looking even more appealing now.

Finally, fire bloom, true its name, burned like the worst case of indigestion in history. I felt the heat running through my body, painfully pulsing along my channels and up my throat.

All three combined left me feeling simultaneously sick, hot, and freezing most of the day, one of the strangest and least pleasant experiences of my life; Yet another miracle of magic.

But the misery was already yielding results. Two nights earlier, I had managed to break through the first blockage in my right arm, and tonight I hoped to get through the second. After that, I could move onto my head and clear those channels before focusing on my legs. At this rate, all would be opened up by the new year, leaving me with one less looming problem.

However, when I walked out of the bathroom, any thoughts of training fled my mind. A letter sat on the dining table, my name on the front in Girem's precise hand. I opened it, finding another duty to fulfill. It seems I was expected at dinner, at the estate of a family friend in the Upper District.

I had nearly forgotten the truth, wrapped up in my training and far-off fantasies of power. Like glass, my dreams of independence shattered, and I was reminded of my position. There was no request to attend; Not even the illusion of choice. I was simply ordered and expected to follow, as I had for the last decade of my life.

The paper crumpled in my hands as mana rose almost without command. I memorized my destination before pulsing Aether through the letter, tearing it to shreds, and letting the scraps fall to the ground. It was a petulant and unsavory display, but that did not stop a brief smile from crossing my face as I returned to my bedroom to get dressed in something more formal.

It seems I had dinner plans, and it would not do to appear disheveled or late. Even if it did prick at my ego and burn worse than star mint, there was little choice available but to swallow my pride and march to Girem's orders. I had enough problems without adding his wrath to my list.

And maybe, if we finished up early, I could get back and practice Mana Bolt more. My spear training had given me an idea for a modification I would like to get down before going on another hunt. How was it that I still felt short on time even with so many extra hours in the day? A conundrum for the ages.