The next thing Kan saw was Luya’s worried face. Her voice was shaky, “Are you alright?”

Kan nodded. Luya let out a deep breath and glared at Nish with a gaze sharp enough to draw blood. “You broke the first rule of the arena,” she said, the fury in her tone unmistakable. “I’m escorting you to the Temple of Python”—She waved a hand when Nish opened his mouth—“silence. The rule is the rule.”

So Meizo did silence Wy back at the town, Kan thought. He had used the same gesture. Kan wondered if the sheer volume of trouble makers he saw in the past two days was typical of the Temples in general. Perhaps Yeven required the silencing to keep the last bit of peace left at his temple.

“I’ll take this along too,” Luya plucked the dagger from Kan’s hand. “Be careful with the rest of them,” she added in a whisper.

She could tell from the fluctuation of Ichor flows that Nish was the highest level apprentice in the group. With him gone, the remaining gang didn’t have much chance of taking Kan by force, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find other alternatives.

Kan gave her a reassuring smile, “I’m always careful.”

The sun had cleared the horizon now, casting a warm glow over the chilly late-autumn morning. The air stirred with life as people started to wake up and get ready for the new day. Kan patted off the dirt on the trim of his robe, considering whether he should go back to his room and change before classes.

“Bastard,” a rasp rose from the audience. It was the muscled apprentice from last night. “We aren’t done.”

“We will be,” Kan replied.

* * *

The teaching halls were separated by apprentice stages much like the lodges. Shortly before the eighth hour, Kan picked his way into the First Stage area and found a seat at the back of the class chamber.

A few young apprentices at the front noticed his entrance.

“We got a new breakthrough,” one of the boys said to the others. He kept his voice low, though not low enough for Kan not to hear.

“He looks old,” the one next to him commented. “Another of Wy’s lackeys?”

Shamans and priests pay frequent trips to commoner towns and test children for the gift of Ichor. Those found with promising potential would start training at eleven or twelve and typically reach First Stage by thirteen. Some might take a little longer, but it was rare to not see one’s first breakthrough until seventeen. Older First Stage apprentices were usually an outcome of delinquency rather than lack of talent, as were the cases of Wy and Nish.

“Are you blind? He’s a Southerner,” the first boy huffed. “He’d be dead if Wy sees him.”

“In fact … I saw Wy’s gang at the arena earlier this morning,” the other one said. “Nish was against someone tall and thin. Come to think of it, it probably was him,” he gestured at Kan.

A girl behind them gasped, “You mean he won?” Wy’s followers would never let their target get away unscathed, unless such a thing was beyond their abilities. “But Nish is First Stage peak, isn’t he?”

The boy shrugged. “Don’t know what happened. The gang didn’t put up the usual smug on their faces though, so I suppose they lost.”

“That’s incredible … I wish I was there to see it!” The girl darted a surreptitious glimpse at Kan. “He’s actually quite good looking for a Southerner.”

The group burst into laughter.

“—you have a taste for Southerners?”

“—he’s probably four years older than us!”

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“—don’t you think they look a bit weak?”

“—he’s not weak if he can beat Nish!”

“—give me four years and I’ll be much better looking too!”

The chatter only stopped when the teacher stepped into the room. Kan gazed up at the dais, grateful for the respite, and saw … Master Yeven?

Kan didn’t expect to have a Keeper teaching a general apprentice lesson. He wondered if Luya managed to catch Yeven at the temple before he left.

Yeven scanned the class chamber halfheartedly, pausing his glance when it swept over Kan. Whether he recognized the new apprentice or noticed any differences in him since yesterday, Yeven didn’t show. He leaned his elbow on the dais, “Today we’ll continue discussing the different paths of training.”

A murmur spread through the apprentices. “We already went through this last time with Master Ginzu,” someone grumbled.

“It is important to review what you’ve learned regularly,” Yeven drawled in his characteristic style. “You might reach new understandings each time from a different perspective.”

The apprentices exchanged bored looks with one another and quieted.

“Shamans need to make a few very important decisions during First Stage,” Yeven continued. “The most crucial of them all is to choose the path of training. There are three major paths at the Temples: sword, talisman, and medicine. Each one focuses on fundamentally different skills, so there’s no switching once you make your choice. How do you decide which out of the three to pick?”

“We pick what matches our capabilities best,” a boy in the front answered. “Sword is the most powerful when engaging enemies, but not everyone has the strength to wield it to the fullest. Talisman does less damage but is better at defense and boosts, so those with weaker Ichor might achieve a better balance with talismans than swords. Medicine goes together with poison and can take opponents by surprise, so they are ideal for people stronger in the mind than the body.”

Kan agreed silently. Those were the same options given at the Shrine, and the best apprentices would always pledge the path of the sword. It was the strongest of the three without question—at the same stage, priests of the other two paths wouldn't stand a chance against a sword wielder.

Yeven frowned, however. “Ginzu taught you that?” he asked.

The boy nodded.

Yeven sighed. “This is what happens when people don’t read books … What he taught you is the most utilitarian view: to judge everything’s value by how much stronger it makes you. But why so caught up on strength? Have you ever considered what is the path that suits you?”

For a moment, Kan thought he felt Yeven’s gaze brushing over him again. I’d like to find a path that suits me, he’d said the day before. Was Yeven turning the question back on him?

“Isn’t the path that suits our capabilities the one that suits us?” the boy asked.

Yeven shook his head. “Strength and capabilities are only a fraction of what you’ll find along the road. Remember, the way of the Temples relies on harmony. Where is the source of your strength? What do you wield it for? A different philosophy lies behind each of the three paths: the sword summons power, the talisman awakens power, and medicine creates power. They reflect different understandings of the universe, and the path that suits you is the one that resonates with your true beliefs.”

The room turned dead silent. The boy stared at Yeven at a loss.

“Of course, you might be too young for topics like this,” Yeven let out a half yawn. “This is the problem with starting your training when you are still a child: you are forced to make decisions on what you don’t even comprehend.”

An apprentice sitting in front of Kan whispered to his friend next to him, “I’ve always heard Master Yeven is a bit eccentric … I believe it now, and I trust Master Ginzu’s lessons more.”

His friend glanced at the dais, made sure Yeven wasn’t paying attention to them, and whispered back, “They said he should’ve been a Grand Master long ago if he didn’t waste all his time on those folktales and trinkets. Maybe strange hobbies make people weird? No other masters talk like him.”

The class went on about First Stage martial techniques and Ichor control basics. But Kan was absentminded, turning Yeven’s words over and over in his head.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Temple of Python.

Nish scuttled through the thickets of pines, checking behind him every few steps. Luck was finally on his side now: the discipline enforcer missed Yeven on the way up the mountain, and Nish managed to slip away while she went around the temple looking for other masters willing to deal with misdemeanors. Still, he had to be careful finding a good place to hide.

“You can’t run forever,” a voice called to him.

Nish started and whirled. There was no one around him, only trees and shadows.

“And running is not for the brave,” the voice continued.

“Who are you?” Nish asked.

“Someone who can help you. Someone who can give you power.”

Nish considered. He needed power—with power, he would be able to cut down the Southerner, redeem himself, and avenge his friend. But he was dubious. “You can give me power?” he asked. “How much power are we talking?”

The voice chuckled from the shadows, “Beyond your imagination.”