Sig's home was a long, two-story rectangle with stone walls, a low fence, and a slanted roof. Snow fluttered down, sliding across the invisible Traveler's Shield I had conjured on the way.

My martial mentor greeted me at his door, ushering me in with a skyward glare as if the weather had personally offended him. The inside was a single open space divided into sub-sections with half-walls. A large sitting area dominated the first floor, with plush chairs and couches surrounding a roaring fire. I could see a dining table meant for four near the far wall, a kitchen in the corner, and two staircases at the opposite end of the room.

The home reminded me of Academy dorms, and I wondered if this was a standard Volaris design or an accidental similarity. The capital was a massive city, so saving space felt paramount.

My eyes fell onto paintings covering the walls. Some were the size of my hand, and others were larger than my torso. Each depicted something different, from animals and landscapes to maps to renditions of battlefields. Most common were portraits featuring men and women, several with features reminiscent of Sigmund.

I noticed a large, well-cared-for painting depicting two young men standing before a fountain. Both looked in their late teens and wore Academy uniforms slightly different from mine. One had messy blonde hair hanging to his shoulders, disheveled clothes, and a sly grin. He had one hand in his pocket and the other on his friend's shoulder.

The other man had a bare face and short, dark hair with both arms behind his back, an expression made of stone, and a posture that suggested an iron rod had replaced his spine.

I turned to ask Sig about the portrait but faltered at his expression. The older man's face was a mirror for his younger self, his eyebrows drawn down and his mouth a thin line.

"Follow," Sig commanded before turning and practically stomping to the stairs. He chose the descending set and disappeared underground in seconds. I followed with the briefest hesitation, wondering momentarily if this was a trap.

When I reached the bottom, Sig was waiting for me with his arms crossed. I was about to ask why we had gone to the basement, but the question died as I registered my surroundings.

The basement was one of the largest rooms I had ever seen. It was rectangular, at least fifty feet wide, twice as long, and divided into roughly three sections.

The section to our left resembled the blacksmith shops I had seen in Volaris and Aresford. I could see a grindstone, hammers, chisels, workbenches, and dozens of labeled shelves and cabinets. Further back was a fire that blazed a deep blue and produced no smoke. Besides that were anvils and several basins, which I presumed were filled with liquids to quench hot metal.

To our right was something halfway between an armory and a museum. Hundreds of glass cases sat in rows and columns, stretching from floor to ceiling and varying in size from shorer than my arm to taller than my body.

Although I was too far away to make out details, I could see mannequins wearing armor and weapons hanging from pegs or sitting on plush cushions. Some looked familiar, but most had strange designs that seemed entirely foreign, even without a closer examination.

Finally, the section in front of us was a training area. Hay-filled cloth dummies and targets covered in pockmarks sat against the wall, with stands holding wooden swords, staves, maces, shields, and axes with presumably dull edges. The foremost feature was a wood-lined square filled with sand, which I recognized as a sparring ring.

I turned to Sig and gestured, "A nice place. Are you planning to raise an army or-"

Sig ignored me and marched to the sparring ring. He reached down to his belt, pulled something from a strange container by his waist, and then turned to face me.

"Pick a weapon," Sig ordered.

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I blinked, "Pardon?"

"Pick. A. Weapon," Sig repeated, raising his free hand and pointing towards the stacks beside him.

I raised an eyebrow, then shrugged as I walked past him and selected the staff that looked in the best condition.

"Face me, and get your magic ready," Sig said, moving his hand to point to the far end of the training ring.

I realized what he meant to do and replied, "Sig, I do not think-"

"Ring," Sig's voice sounded hard as steel, "Now."

I debated refusing, but one look at Sigmund forced me to reconsider. The wrong word here would ensure I lost my closest remaining mentor and my best source for martial training. So, I nodded and took up a position opposite Sig. It took me a few seconds to draw together my Traveler's Shield and several more to prepare a Force Step.

Sig grabbed a wooden shield from one of the stands and returned to his starting position. I could still not distinguish what he held in his right hand, but it looked shining and metallic, with a leather-wrapped hilt.

"Whenever you're ready," Sig said, not bothering to raise his guard or get into a balanced stance.

I blinked, then shrugged and examined the older man. Sig had never said why, but he could not or would not use magic. I knew he had to have been a mage once, but why he was no longer did not matter. Without spellcasting, he should be a much easier foe than Flynn.

So, I set my feet and cast a Force Step. The world blurred as I shot across the gap in a single leap, sending up a cloud of sand. My vision narrowed to a point, and I ducked low, ready to thrust the tip of my staff up and underneath Sig's shield and into his stomach.

Sig stepped in to meet my charge, bracing himself as he raised his shield. My eyes widened, and I tried to break off the spell, but there was too much momentum behind me and the distance too short. I slammed into him at nearly full speed, and though Sig grunted and his feet slid in the sand, he stopped me.

There was enough force in my charge to crack my Traveler's Shield and knock the wind from my lungs. I grimaced as Sig pushed and twisted, throwing me back to the ground.

"Fast. Effective," Sig said, "Predictable. Again."

I nodded and stood, pushing mana into my spell to repair it. So, was this what he had planned? I could do better then.

Mana streamed from my core, and I split it into two streams. The first flowed down my right arm and gathered into a diffuse mana bolt in my palm, too weak to seriously wound Sig but enough that he would have to block it.

The second stream poured into my staff. I felt it flicker and groan as I forced it into a weakened, unfocused Mana Edge. The weapon would break in seconds, but ideally, it would last long enough for my purposes. All I needed was to make it too dangerous to block.

I threw my right hand forward and launched a bolt at Sigmund, who raised his shield. My projectile slammed into it, throwing splinters out, and I was behind it a heartbeat later, thrusting my staff out to slip past Sig's defense.

The older man blurred, discarding his shield and stepping to one side. My staff slipped past his side, and I turned only to see him practically on top of me. Sig's leg hooked behind my ankle, and his shoulder slammed into me.

Once more, I hit the sand and heard my staff crack and break into at least two pieces. By the time I stood, Sig had already walked to the opposite side of the ring.

"Too aggressive," Sig threw over one shoulder, "Stupid too. You destroyed your only weapon. Again."

I sighed as I stood and walked back to the stand to grab a new staff and a shield. With both in hand, I nodded at Sig and settled into another defensive stance as I waited.

My guard should be tricky to penetrate, between my shield, a staff ready to thrust past it, and my Traveler's Shield as a backup. It was simple, effective, and precisely what Sigmund would encourage. More than anything, though, it was not aggressive and reckless, which seemed to be his main point.

Sig examined me for a few seconds, "Not a bad idea. Let me come to you. Three mistakes, though. First, you're inexperienced with that shield."

Sigmund moved to one side, then stepped to the other. He circled a quarter of the way to my right, paused, feinted to move back to the left, and then continued on his original path. He stepped in hard, then pulled back, and each shift demanded an adjustment in my guard. The unfamiliar heft on my right arm pulled my balance, always leaving me a little off-center.

"Second," Sig flicked out his hand, and the metallic object in his right hand shone by the torchlight.

It unfurled mid-air, and I saw a chain made of silver-colored metal with an apple-sized iron ball attached to one end. That tip flew towards me at blinding speed, and I raised my shield only to watch the chain twist and weave under and past my guard before wrapping around my staff, above my hand, and just outside of my magical armor.

Sig planted himself and pulled, wrenching me forward. The force was enough to throw me off-balance, and my grip broke as he yanked the staff free. It clattered against the far wall, and I stumbled, falling halfway to the sand before recovering.

"Second," Sig repeated, "You're slow to adapt. Easy to trick, too."

I tried to circle around and get a new weapon, but Sig was not finished. His right hand moved again, and I watched as his chain flashed towards me. I pushed mana into my Traveler's Shield, forcing it into something closer to a barrier.

It should have blocked that chain without issue, but as I watched, the iron tip broke through my shield without slowing. It wrapped around my ankle and cracked painfully into my leg. I had enough time to brace myself before Sig pulled again.

There was enough muscle behind Sig's move to throw me to the ground. I hit the sand hard enough to drive the wind from my lungs, but the sensation was familiar by now. I moved to stand and pull a new shield in place, but for some reason, my magic felt sluggish and resistant to my commands.

Before I could make sense of anything, Sig was on top of me. In a bizarre mirror of my battle with that abomination in Aresord, Sig straddled me with one hand raised, a knife in hand. But he was faster than the monster and had his blade at my neck in a heartbeat.

I lay there, trying to catch my breath, as I felt the tip of Sig's weapon brush my skin. Sig held it for a moment, stared at me with a glare, then stood and took a few steps back.

"And third," Sig said as he sheathed his dagger, "You don't use magic. You depend on it. And now, thanks to that, you're dead. Now, what did you learn?"