As a child, I once dreamed of becoming a master swordsman. Nothing quite struck as heroic an image as a warrior, blade in hand, dancing between foes with impossible grace and skill.

If I ever gained the ability to manipulate time as my future self had, I might use that talent to travel back and discourage those youthful delusions.

Sig's mentoring had always tread the line between brutal and cruel. He had favored uncompromising standards, and my swordsmanship was so poor as to be insulting. That, or he took his oath to keep me alive far more seriously than I had anticipated.

To hone my swordsmanship, Sig introduced me to a series of movements designed to flow together, which formed the basis for every step and adjustment used in traditional Ferren fencing. It was a style that had become fashionable for about a century to settle disputes between nobility. While it was no longer so favored, Sig noted that it was still the finest sword style in the country.

All that translated into long hours of practice, drilling each movement while Sig lectured me, corrected mistakes, and tried to force as much knowledge as possible into my head. There were only a few days left until classes, and Sig seemed hellbent on turning me into a master before then.

"Footwork is critical for a swordsman, even more than for a spearman. You have less range, and safely moving in and out is the difference between life and death. Trip, and you die. Come in too recklessly, and you die. Retreat poorly, and-"

"You die?" I offered as I lunged and held the position.

"Wounded, more likely," Sig replied, "Less chance they'll land anything fatal if you're backing up. You stepped in too far. Again."

I adjusted and repeated the movement, earning a nod before I moved to the next step in the form.

"Wounded does not strike me as quite so motivating," I responded as I moved. Even this unfamiliar form, rough and unrefined, was incomparable compared to my first fumbling attempts at martial combat months prior.

"Watch the angle of your lead foot. Better. Now, what are the strengths of a sword?"

"A sword is versatile and unpredictable. The blade grants more options, making it harder to predict which an opponent will choose. And because it is smaller, you can carry it more easily and use it in confined spaces where a polearm might not work."

"Good. Keep your knees bent. Weaknesses."

"Too long to master and too expensive. Less reach, too."

Sig nodded, "Exactly right. Now, remember that your sword has less leverage than a spear. Never meet an attack strength to strength, but..."

Our practice session lasted nearly four hours that day, during which Sig put me through everything possible. We performed calisthenics, practiced footwork, and drilled every block, parry, strike, and counterstrike imaginable. Sig did not allow me to use a sword-staff yet, believing that I should get a handle on a regular blade first, but it was still an enlightening experience.

The movements had some similarities but mostly differences. A spear focused on straight advances and retreats, using the former to drive their strikes home and the latter to evade counters. There were rarely any deviations, and Sig preferred attacks from strong, planted stances to retain enough power.

However, the fencing style used precision and speed. Lateral moves danced past guards, opened up strikes, and allowed a master to dance untouched in and out of range. Sig emphasized over and over that a true fencing master controlled both the pace and position of a fight.

Most of those complexities passed through my mind, but each new session opened up new possibilities as I absorbed more knowledge and honed my skills.

All of the complexities washed over me as I tried to take it all and integrate it into my skills. The sheer number of possibilities astonished me, and I realized with a chill how dangerous I might become with a few more years of practice.

Finally, when we had finished for the day, I was ready to fall asleep in Sigmund's basement. It took me several seconds to gather enough focus and mana to use my ring and scrub myself clean. It was no substitute for an actual bath, but with my personal quarters still occupied by a corpse, I had to make do.

Sig looked down at me and grunted, "Not bad. We'll have to set aside time once classes start for private training. No point having Amelia waste her time since she at least had the sense to stick with a staff instead of insisting on being unique."

I think Sig meant it as a joke, but any satisfaction in my progress vanished.

Amelia and I had not spoken in weeks, not since I had...well, "rejected" felt too strong a word, but it was the closest that came to mind. Worse, I had planned to visit her at least once during our break, but that promise had slipped my mind. There was just too much else to do, and now that Sig's comment had jarred that memory loose, it loomed over me in the way only an unsolved problem could.

I still had no idea what to do about her. Ideally, I would ask someone like Julian or Leon. But the former would not speak to me until I repaid him for his lost gold, and the latter was not back in Volaris yet. That left one, particularly gruff, mentor, to ply for answers.

"Ah, Sig, before we end for the day. May I ask you something?"

"Depends what it is, kid."

"How are you with romantic problems?"

Sig's face turned blank. He stared at me, then said, "Absolutely not."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll help with plenty of things, but not that. I don't know, or want to know, what's happening between you and Amelia."

"How do you know-"

"You're not subtle. And, like I said, I don't want to know. Figure it out."

I sighed and nodded, "Okay. I had hoped you could help, but I apologize for overstepping."

We sat in silence for another few seconds before Sig groaned and mumbled something suspiciously like, "This is why I didn't want kids," before more loudly stating, "Fine. What's the problem?"

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"Ah, are you sure?"

"Spit it out before I change my mind."

"Right, right. Sorry," I cleared my throat. "Amelia and I attended the banquet together several weeks ago. There, she made it clear she was...interested in more than just friendship."

"Congratulations," Sig replied blandly, "What's the issue? You don't feel the same?"

"I...am not sure, honestly. Technically, I am not supposed to have any romantic relationships. It would take my focus from my duties and onto personal business."

"You're fifteen years old-"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen years old. Doesn't matter. You're not proposing marriage yet, are you?"

"I had not planned on it, no."

"Then, again, what's the issue?"

I glanced down at my body and considered my situation. The next few months would be a race to make as much gold as possible and grow as powerful as I could. I wanted to be more independent and fast, but that did not change who I was and would remain.

"Amelia is from a wealthy, noble family. She is meant to become someone great," I explained, "And I am...well, me. I have no great lineage. I have no inherited wealth or prestige."

Sig stared at me with arms folded, "Reject her, then."

"What?" I raised my eyebrows, "Why?"

"Because you think she cares about those things. That, and you're speaking to me about this instead of talking to her."

"Ah," I cleared my throat, "That makes sense."

Sig rolled his eyes. "Vayne, you trust Amelia, right? Trust she knows what she wants. If you like her and want to see what happens, do it. And if you don't, then say as much. But stick with your choice. Got it?"

No reasonable protests came to mind, so I nodded, "I understand. Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it. Next time, I'd prefer a question on swordsmanship, though."

I returned to my room, planning to find Amelia and speak with her first thing in the morning. Until then, I could focus on some final preparations for the next semester.

My bookshelf held borrowed copies of over two dozen books on topics ranging from force magic and defensive spell crafting to physical armor, mana constructs, mobility magic, unstructured magic, and a particularly dense book titled A First Year Introduction to Spatial Magic.

Most mages followed the same progression. Apprentices learned foundational skills, which they honed over the years. Along the way, they picked up other talents and mastered specialties, and though the specifics varied, most adepts and masters had shared abilities.

I had something different in mind. I did not have months or years to waste on useless tricks and abilities. All that time and effort spent perfecting magic circles or verbiage for higher-level incantations took away from mastering other, more useful skills.

Instead of spreading myself thin, I would perfect a few essential abilities. Most would go far beyond my current talents and would require harsh, dangerous training. By the end of it, I would be a half-finished mage by most estimations.

And if it worked, I could likely butcher any Archmagus in existence, including my future counterpart.

I worked for hours into the night and convinced myself it was solely to further my magic. And if Amelia's face popped into my mind during that process, it was entirely a coincidence.

--

The next morning, I knocked on Amelia's door. She did not answer at first, and I wondered if she had not returned to the Academy yet. Then, the knob turned, and she opened it. I watched as her emotions played out on her face, a smile and scowl fighting for purchase on her lips and in her eyes.

Finally, she settled onto something resembling a blank stare. Amelia leaned against the door frame, staring at me for a long time before saying, "You never visited."

"I know," I inclined my head, "I am sorry. I should have at least sent a letter, but...may I come in?"

Amelia considered me, then stepped to one side and gestured to her room. I stepped past her and stopped a few feet into her quarters.

I had expected something functional like my room, with plenty of space to practice staff forms or test new spells. Instead, Amelia had gone in the exact opposite direction. At least four new chairs and a new table sat in the corner, turning that small dining space into something sprawling. She had pushed a second sofa beside the first and added additional pillows and blankets. Multiple carpets covered nearly every inch of floor space, with strange, esoteric designs that appeared at once magically functional and decorative.

The sole concession to practicality was a cleared space near the corner with something painted into the wooden floor. I could sense a higher density of ice mana in that direction and wondered if Amelia had used a circle to draw more power into a single spot. Then, even though it gnawed at me, I set aside magical questions and returned my attention to Amelia.

"I like your room," I said, looking around again, "It feels..."

"Cluttered? Messy?" Amelia interjected with a frown.

"I was going to say comfortable."

Amelia's lips twitched, and then she returned to her previous expression, "Why didn't you visit, Vayne? Or write? We didn't need to spend every waking moment together, but something would have been nice."

"I know. Master Julian sent me north to Aresford, and there was an incident. I spent a few days recovering, and by the time I got back here, I-"

"Recovering?" Amelia's face changed again, and this time, she looked distressingly focused on me, "Recovering from what?"

"...maybe we can sit down and talk about it?"

I found myself recounting my experiences in Aresford for a third time. When I returned to my room, I planned to write them down to save myself the trouble of repeating the story to Simon, Leon, and Sophia when they returned.

As a small blessing, it took me just fifteen minutes to get through all the pertinent details. I omitted most of my time with Markov and glossed over most of my traveling in the forest, though I still gave Amelia enough information to earn a glare.

"So, just so I understand, I haven't heard from you because you went into a forest alone?" Amelia said, "And you found a clearing filled with corpses and just walked in blindly?"

"Of course not," I countered, "I checked it for hostile mana signatures. But yes, I knowingly entered a forest filled with dangerous creatures."

"And you nearly died?"

"I was moderately injured."

Amelia nodded a few times, then stood and said, "Show me."

When uncomfortable, play dumb.

"...show you what?" I asked.

Amelia rolled her eyes, "You know what. Show me your wounds."

I stood, feeling my face heat up, and held up both hands, "I do not think that would be proper. We are friends, but-"

"You cannot possibly be serious," Amelia interrupted, "You're concerned about showing me your chest? Right now?"

As a matter of fact, yes, I was very concerned about that. It felt immature, sure, but that did not magically change facts.

After a few seconds, I sighed and reached for the hem of my shirt. I would prefer to retain as much chastity as possible, but the fact was I had to almost remove my shirt to reveal anything.

My wounds had healed, leaving thin silver markings across my chest. Amelia's face tightened as she leaned in to examine them, running her fingers along my torso and lingering on each scar. I tried to ignore her body heat and the smell of her perfume and focus on my sheer, overwhelming embarrassment.

Finally, Amelia stepped away and sank back into her chair, "You're an idiot, do you know that? You could've died."

"Yes, that is what everyone keeps telling me," I tried for a smile, "Though I had once heard that scars were attractive."

It was a clumsy attempt at flirting that I had heard or read at some point. Instead of smiling or blushing as I had hoped, the room turned icy. Not metaphorically either, as a literal chill crept into the air. I felt Amelia take control of the ambient mana and flood it with icy power as she glared at me. I suspected she was debating the merits of dueling me herself.

I held up my hands again and tried for a rueful smile, "Sorry, I...yes, I am fully aware I almost died, and I am taking steps to correct that mistake. Sigmund has also agreed to help me in his own 'gentle' way."

The chill faded, and Amelia nodded once, "Good."

"...Now, while we are already discussing my idiocy, there is something else I wanted to discuss."

"Oh no, what else did you do?"

"Nothing," I said, silently adding a 'yet' to the end of my protest.

"A few weeks ago, we talked about something personal," I continued, "You brought up wanting a relationship more than just friendly. Something...amorous?"

"Amorous," Amelia repeated with another eye roll, "Yes, Vayne, that's what we call it."

I flushed and cleared my throat. I had wanted to remain as formal as possible, likely to distance myself from what I would say. It would hurt, and treating it as a business dealing might dull the blow.

The wisest choice was to reject Amelia. I had no time or attention to spare on a romantic relationship. Girem and Duke Estton would disapprove. Hell, I could barely manage the commitment of shallow friendships.

No, the intelligent path was to push Amelia away, focus on my magic, and set aside my personal feelings.

But as I met her eyes and saw something warring there, I realized I could not speak the words.

Amelia noticed my hesitation and cleared her throat, "It's okay, Vayne. I get it. I'm sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable spot. And it wasn't fair to get upset you didn't visit. We're friends, and that's okay. Okay?"

She stood and walked to her door, opened it, and waited. I found myself following and once more realized that this would be the smartest choice. Even more than that, she had made it for me. It was the easiest this conversation could have gone.

And, like it had in Aresford when I nearly ran rather than kill that boar, a part of my mind whispered the same condemnation.

Coward.

So, I took a long breath, met Amelia's eyes, and began to speak.

"I want to see what this is," I said, "This is new to me, but I care about you. More than as a friend. Maybe we could visit the city together? Classes begin in a few days, but I am free tomorrow afternoon?"

Amelia's eyes brightened, and she smiled.

"Okay," Amelia nodded once, "We can do that."

"Okay, great." I tried to ignore the hammering in my chest as I realized I had just set up an explicitly romantic outing with Amelia.

We stood there for a few seconds, and then I started and stepped out into the hallway with an apology. I half-mumbled a goodbye and turned to leave, but Amelia stepped out to join me before I could. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed hard.

"I missed you," Amelia whispered into my ear, and the heat in my face doubled. Then, she squeezed harder and added, "And the next time you do something stupid without me, there'll be hell to pay."

Well, I suppose I deserved that.