The silence was the first sound Reuben heard. The moment Greyson walked in the noise seemed to be sucked out of the chamber. Meanwhile Greyson walked with an air of authority as if he owned the place himself. Reuben thought maybe this was mere boldness at first, but he soon realized it was very justified.

With each step Greyson took the entire hall seemed to grow more silent. Every eye turned towards the sorcerer and his flowing dark green cloak as he walked past the guards, not giving them the slightest hint of acknowledgement. None even had the courage to feel offended by the disrespect. Even from a distance Reuben saw them tensing up and only growing more uneasy as Greyson got closer to them.

It was an impressive sight to Reuben. To have everyone stop and stare at you out of both fear and admiration. To wield that authority. He knew it was something he wished to obtain someday. He couldn't help but wonder if this was something all sorcerers experienced or if Greyson was an exception.

“Is it like this for every sorcerer? The silent awe and complete respect?” Reuben asked curiously, then remembering his defiance he said, “Or is that reserved just for the great Greyson?”

Greyson swung a thick set of wooden open and began walking outside. As he did he turned and said, “First of all, shut the hell up. Secondly, I served on the border with most of the people here. More often than not I was the only barrier they had against certain death. Each and every one of them knows what I am capable of and a few are probably only alive because of me.”

This made Reuben think back on the way he flung around beasts, the cyclone of earth he had formed in the forest, In only two instances Reuben had seen great feats from Greyson, he could scarcely imagine what it would have been like serving alongside him. Reuben understood the guard’s awe completely, yet for him he only saw it as a challenge. A level of mastery to reach and surpass, something to beat beyond a doubt. He further resolved to best Greyson.

They stood in front of the doors for a bit and watched the scene in front of them. The other end of the barracks consisted of a large field nestled inside the walls. Training dummies were lined up in a thick row and two men sparred with one another in the very center of the field. Reuben saw a faint outline of chalk drawn over a patch to designate where sparring would take place.

While they watched, the sorcerer continued, “Yet for most of us, this is how it is. Whether they served or not, sorcerers are considered in a league high above these soldiers. We’re naturally viewed as above mere humans and their swords and shields. Men who can release fire from their hands, turn into wolves, or fly through the air. Very few don’t look at us with a mix of fear and gratitude that we’re on their side.”

“Wait? People can turn into wolves?” Reuben asked in total disbelief.

This brought forth an annoyed grunt from Greyson. He grumbled, “I can rip the ground in two yet you’re interested in someone turning into an oversized dog? I swear, everything you say pisses me off. To answer your question, yes, some sorcerers have the unique ability of transforming into animals. They’re called shifters. God you really don’t know a damn thing about magic do you?”

“Well how would I?” Reuben shot back. “There wasn’t a single one in my village and it wasn’t like I had anyone to ask about it. The only one I ever met was a hydromancer and all he did was help our crops for a week during our drought.”

Greyson shrugged and said, “That’s a better use of magic then what most of these idiots put it towards. Most of them just boast their abilities for the sake of cheap food, stale wine, and gullible women who will fall for anyone who can make a bit of sparks shoot from their hands. They’re pathetic excuses of sorcerers.”

Reuben asked, “Well what should they use it for then? Killing beasts and going to war?”

“In a way, yes. They shouldn't 'use' their sorcery for anything. They should study it, develop it. Sorcery isn’t a means to some other end, it’s the entire point of our lives. People that get satisfied with a bit of flashy abilities or cling to the small bit of power they’ve gathered are pathetic,” Greyson replied with contempt.

Not entirely sure what to say, Reuben instead followed him as he got up and began walking over to a small shack on the side of the barracks.

Inside were dozens of hooks with long wooden poles hanging from each one. The poles were shaped and made in the form of the same swords the guards used or the spears the soldiers were equipped with.

“Pick a pole and meet me out in the field. It’s time for some good old fashion sparring,” Greyson declared. He reached out and grabbed a pole close to him. Before he went out he said, “I must be losing my touch. I’m even grabbing a pole I’m not used to. Shouldn't be a challenge for someone like you, ay? Someone destined to become the greatest sorcerer alive?”

Reuben looked around before grabbing a medium sized pole that didn’t feel too heavy or too light. He turned and said, “No, it won’t be.”

So the two stepped back out and onto the field somewhere away from the other two duelers. Greyson had Reuben stand still as he walked twenty paces away then turned and stared the small boy down. Reuben had never felt more like a punching bag then in that moment. He knew the sorcerer was going to beat him down till he couldn’t get back up. He had never touched a weapon before, and he had seen how proficient Greyson was with his saber. At that moment Reuben saw that beast again. It was snarling at him with its teeth wide open and ready to rip him in half. It was going to kill him, slaughter him. He saw the chief telling him what to do everyday. Toiling away at the field because he had been born some meager peasant. He looked at Greyson and saw how weak he was, how helpless he had been to the world around him.

Then he saw Louise. He couldn’t run again. He couldn’t hide. He had to do this. Being a sorcerer was about control, about dominating the world itself. Maybe he didn’t know magic yet, but he still had control. He had a weapon in his hands. He could fight.

“I will be a sorcerer. I will be a fighter,” Reuben declared as he gripped the pole so tight his knuckles were turning white. He got into an offensive stance and yelled, “Bring it on you pathetic bastard! I’ll beat you down until you decide to teach me, you got that? So give me your best and quit standing around!”

The words felt like venom coming from Reuben’s mouth, yet they also felt inspiring. He hid behind his arrogance and shielded himself with rage as he prepared for Greyson to charge.

Greyson let out a deep excited laugh. He couldn’t wait to beat the cockiness out of the meager boy in front of him. He was going to have so much fun breaking his spirit until he crawled away from him and never came back.

“What was that name of your friend who died? Lewis or something, right?” Greyson called out, stunning Reuben.

Reuben stammered and half whispered, “Louise…his name was-” but before he could finish the sorcerer had crossed the entire distance between them. His weapon was raised high and poised to strike down with a terrifying amount of power.

As the wood swung down, Reuben could only manage to weakly throw his sword up and half fall backwards as he tried dodging out of the way. Greyson's sword smashed into his, broke through it, and collided into Reuben's shoulder. Reuben let out a cry of pain as he fell to his knees, clutching his pole with a shaking hand and resisting the urge to clutch his throbbing shoulder.

“I don’t care what his name was. Didn’t I already tell you? None of this is my problem. Your dream, your friend, none of it. All of this is ending right here and right now. So stand back up so I can knock your peasant ass back down," Greyson said, kneeling down and hissing in Reuben's ear.

“Try me then!” Reuben roared and pulled his pole back. He went to swing for Greyson’s side but the man was too fast. He dodged Reuben’s blows effortlessly and continued countering and assaulting him with wave after wave of smacks and jabs. No matter which way Reuben moved or how much he tried to block, Greyson's pole was always somewhere else, somewhere he was most vulnerable. Over and over Reuben was hit and countered.

“You know…” Greyson began as he effortlessly smacked Reuben’s pole from his lame, battered arm. It flung a few feet out of reach and Greyson took another step towards him. As the boy stood there defenseless, Greyson said, “I honestly expected more.”

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The words stung more than the blows. Reuben knew he was being honest. Reuben had failed to get a single hit in, and barely managed to block the few hits he had. Despite his tough talk he had given a pathetic display and had been reduced to a wounded and beaten opponent.

No. It couldn't end like this. Reuben had to get one hit in, just one it. Before Greyson could swing for his next attack, Reuben punched forward with everything he could. He landed a blow into Greyson’s gut and the sorcerer let out an oomph which soon became his signature laugh.

He rubbed his gut and said, “That was a good shot, kid. Now how about you go and grab your pole so that way I can return the favor?"

By now Reuben had caught wind of his tricks. He backed up quickly, keeping his eyes on the sorcerer. Even as he backed up he could feel the fresh pain tingling on his skin. He picked up his pole and gripped it tighter, then charged at Greyson, ignoring the pain.

His charge was intercepted with a swift uppercut to his stomach. Spit flew out of Reuben’s mouth and he felt a fist push into his shoulder. Reuben fell backwards and reeled in pain as the stick slammed down on his back.

Yet he refused to surrender. Greyson went to slam again, and this time Reuben had no delusions of blocking it with his pole. In a last ditch attempt, he reached outwards and grabbed the pole with both hands as it swung towards him. The wood smacked against his fingertips causing him to bite his lip, but he held the pole tight, dragging it between his armpits.

While it was a good effort, Greyson overpowered him and merely ripped the pole from his fatigued hands. Greyson grunted and said, "You try that in a real fight and you'll lose all your damn fingers. You're beaten, just stay down and give up already."

Yet Reuben begin getting back up. He was shoving his pole into the ground to use it as a walking stick, praying to be able to use his last bit of strength to get back on his feet. Slowly he did, he stood back up. He held his pull out shakily and groaned, "Again..."

By now the guards who had previously been sparring were watching the spectacle. The town sorcerer dueling some random kid? What had led to this? Who was he?

More than that they were watching the way the sorcerer kept beating down on him, the way he kept collapsing. The ruthlessness the sorcerer treated him with as Greyson threw him, beat him, kicked him.

Yet each time Reuben got back up. Even as blood shot from his nose, as his lip cut open, as his arm turned purple from being hit over and over. Each time he crawled back onto his feet, shaking so hard they expected him to fall any moment.

They could see Greyson’s face turning red with anger. He shouted, “Why won’t you stay down, damn it! Give up! Give up!”

Greyson sprinted towards Reuben, his pole raised high. One more hit and Reuben likely would have cracked in half. Everyone could see that including Greyson as his eyes danced with delight. Reuben dropped his pole, unable to even hold it any longer. He tried to get into a boxer's stance, and by now even that was exhausting and painful. One more hit and the guards weren’t sure if he would ever get up. Whatever drove this kid, it had run out. He had found his limit.

One of them stood between the two. Greyson halted, and half considered whacking the guard out of his way, but he knew he had to compose himself. He took a breath and asked, “What are you doing interfering with our session?”

Keeping his composure, the guard said, “Well, it’s your session but on my training ground, Greyson. How about we take it from here and show the kid a few maneuvers? Might make it… more of a challenge for you. I know you enjoy a good fight, right?”

“Very well, Captain,” Greyson replied, trying to hide his disdain at the interruption. He walked over to a table by the doors, and angrily threw his pole on the ground. He said, “He’s all yours then. Or whatever the hell's left of him.”

Reuben looked between the two with blurred vision. He had to blink away black dots in his vision and try to steady himself against the waves of nausea assaulting him. Before he could fall over himself and likely fade into unconsciousness, the Captain quickly reached under him and held him up.

Rather than thanking him, Reuben croaked, "I'm.. I"m fine. I don't need any help." As he said this, he bent down and gripped his pole, tucking it under his elbow. Despite what he said, he let the Captain hold onto him the entire time he did this.

“Alright, alright. Well, how about I show you a few drills then? Might give you a bit more to do then get your ass handed down to you,” The Captain offered.

“Alright,” Reuben said through slow deep breaths. He went to grab his pole and immediately it fell from his weak, wounded hands. As the Captain went to grab it, Reuben once again nearly fell over.

Seeing how weak of a state he was in, the Captain advised, "How about first we take a break? Maybe get some bandages on those hands and some water in your stomach?"

Even if Reuben had wanted to protest, it felt like too much effort to do so. He just gave a weak nod and fell down on a table opposite of Greyson. The sorcerer said nothing but his scowl deepened as more guards came out to ice some of Reuben's worst injuries and wrap his bloody fingertips. Finally once an hour had passed and Reuben was pushing everyone away and declaring he was fine, the Captain figured he was fit for some lessons.

Over another hour and a half the Captain began showing Reuben basic maneuvers. He taught him the proper way to hold a sword, how to swing it for the most power, and kept running him through the few footwork drills he wasn't too exhausted to do. The whole time the Captain was grateful to finally have someone who didn't whine about being put to work, and the kid constantly demanded he be shown the next drill even if he had barely practiced the previous one. He was as impatient as he was determined.

When the lessons ended, Reuben said very little. The Captain had hoped for at least a thank you, but he decided not to push it. He walked over to Greyson and warned, "That kid is damn near broken. I'm strongly going to advise you to give him a few days of rest."

Greyson laughed and said, "I'd advise you not to overstep, soldier. Besides, come morning tomorrow the kid will be begging for more. You saw it yourself. Since you stopped before I could finish my lesson, and patched him up no less, I'd say he's fine for twice as much tomorrow."

The Captain hissed, "Greyson-," then stopped. He knew he had no power here. He just sighed and said, "Fine." As much as he hated the idea of the sorcerer beating on some random kid, there was only so much a man could do against the forces of magic. So the Captain went back in the building and Greyson silently beckoned for Reuben to follow him back home.

At the end of the day Reuben found he was unable to open his hands without feeling a lot of pain and resistance. His fingers seemed heavier and the joints were tighter. Likewise his very bones felt like they had somehow been bruised. Where before his skin hurt to touch, now it was like his very skeleton and organs were sore.

In a rare stroke of pity, Greyson had allowed the boy to take his pole with him and to use it as a walking stick. With every step he leaned all his weight on it and clung to it.

“So,” Greyson said as they walked across the darkening town, “Are you ready for me to take you back to a village? Or if you want you can take up work in a local business. Makes no difference to me.”

“Go to hell…” Reuben grunted as he dug his pole into the space in front of him. He slowly pushed himself forward.

Greyson sighed and said, “Don’t say I didn’t try to be nice. Tomorrow will be harder on you, I hope you realize that. This time I’ll be sparring with you outside the city so no one is there to save your ass. Likewise, hen we get home, those bandages will be coming off.”

The thought of losing the small amount of relief given to him made pain danced across Reuben’s consciousness. Lately it was like his own body was begging him and pleading that he give up. Instead he turned and stared at Greyson before reiterating, “Go to hell…”

A small, annoying, part of Greyson couldn’t help but be impressed. He could see Reuben was covered head to toe in welts from one day. He could barely stand up yet he refused to fall down. Lip cut open, eye blackened, and the skin on his fingers raw from holding his pole. He knew soldiers who would have given in. Yet this random farm boy was sticking it out. For what? What drove him? Was it his friend dying? Was it his exile? Damn if he wasn't curious to find out. But again he shook off the thoughts. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow he would go harder. He would break him down more. He would shake him.

“Why don’t you want me around so bad?” Reuben asked as they walked.

Baffled by the question, Greyson asked, “Why the hell would I want you? Truly, why? First of all I never had interest in taking an apprenticeship. None, whatsoever. You forced yourself into my life and won’t leave me alone. You're like some beggar who follows me to every store, every mission, every person I talk to crying out, 'Teach me, teach me!' Secondly, I hate everything about you. Your dream is shallow and empty with no real purpose or goal. You only cling to it because it’s all you have. You have no family, no friends, and you’re an outcast to your village. You don’t have a real motivation or reason behind this, you just don’t know what else to do with your situation, with all your damn grief. I think that’s pathetic. Really that's the ultimate root of it. I think you're pathetic, Reuben.”

Fury filled Reuben as Greyson had spoken. Greyson had no idea what he was talking about, no idea what he had been through. He wanted to pounce on the sorcerer but the aching deep within his bones begged him otherwise. Instead he laughed and said the only thing he knew could ever get under his skin, “You’re probably just scared I’ll surpass you. Worried if you do train me I’ll become better than you ever were.”

Now the fury was in Greyson. He wanted to break Reuben in two right then and there, but when he looked he just saw that frail weak little farm boy. Punching him wasn’t even a sport at that point. Instead he asked, “So what about you, huh? Why are you doing this? Strongest sorcerer alive? Fighting so hard for some dream you seemingly made up on the spot? What the hell is it all for if not arrogance and delusion?”

Reuben clenched his hand and declared, “Everything. You say I have no motive. That I picked this dream on a whim, but you’re wrong. You don’t know a damn thing. Everything went up in flames in front of me. I could do nothing to stop it. My whole life I’ve been at the mercy of this world, of those around me, of the beasts lurking outside our village. I refuse to live like that. Like an insect stomped underneath everyone else. No, I’m going to climb to the top. Above all the others. I’m going to escape who I was.”

A grin formed across Greyson’s face as he listened to those delusional ramblings. Who the hell was this kid? What had been ignited inside him and refused to go out? A small part of Greyson wanted to see what would become of him, what he could grow into if given the proper training and guidance

Yet an equal part wanted to see that dream shattered in two.