“Perhaps the most curious thing about Awakening is how it challenges us. Nearly every record that we’ve managed to gather (which isn’t many mind you, too many magi consider Awakening a very private affair) suggest that Awakening does not challenge who we are. But rather challenges our idea of who we want to be. We need more to study to be completely sure, I suggest…”
Ar’Cato “Letters to Fillador”
Emilia shielded her eyes from the burning light overhead. She didn’t know where she was, but that was alright. She knew where she was going. There was a mountain distantly in front of her, surrounded by sand that stretched as far as she could see in every direction. Something at the top called to her, and she intended to answer. So she started walking.
The land was a roiling mass of red dunes that baked under an unforgiving sun. The sand shifted easily underfoot and it was surprisingly heavy. Emilia found out quickly it was all too welcoming if she stood still for too long, threatening to bury her alive. She soldiered on,the heat and pull of the sand already sapping her strength. As she walked the sun only grew hotter and the sand beame only more inviting, trying to trap her with every step.
Emilia was stubborn, and she knew it. She didn’t know why she was, but from the very first day she could remember whatever she wanted, she needed. She never stopped once she had a direction to go. When she decided she wanted to be better than the boys her age at fighting, she grabbed a pair of practice axes and she swung them until her arms screamed and her palms bled. When Vikkar had tied her to a pole to stop her from hurting herself she’d bitten through the ropes and when he used chains the next time she’d put dents in them. And she didn’t stop now even when the sand stole the shoes from her feet, even though they burned with every step. Stopping didn’t even cross her mind.
It began to storm, rain coming down in thick heavy sheets. The ground turned into a thick sludge that worked its way up to her knees. She had to fight through it at every step and the air was still just as hot. The mountain was obscured, but the call was still there pulling her in the right direction. Emilia had beaten every single boy her age one after the other and she would beat this too. Even when the heat caused the water around her to steam, making the air so humid she had to struggle just to breathe, she didn’t stop. Her pride wouldn’t let her.
Emilia Brine was proud of who she was. When she was very young she was proud of who her parents were, Aeoren and Falin Brine the greatest pair of leaders the Flotilla had seen in centuries people said. She couldn’t leave her house without seeing the statue of her father’s likeness, and when she’d picked up that pair of axes it had been his image she was chasing. When she’d stolen and crashed her first windrunner she’d wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. And then they had disowned her. Sent her off with no warning when she was eight to live with her brother, her sister cradled in her arms. Never even told her why.
So when the storm started to howl she clawed her way forward, as relentless as she had always been. The storm broke before she did. The clouds peeled away in a neat circle over head, the sun shining down on her gently now. The sand gave way to a field of grass, swaying like seaweed caught in fighting currents. Before her stood the mountain.
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It was far from what she had expected of it when viewed from a distance. It was a mountain of swords, piled to a height she could barely see. She walked around its base, giving herself a chance to catch her breath. There was no easy path up the mountain, as if some cruel hand had placed and positioned every single sword to be a challenge. Testing her finger against the edge also destroyed any faint hope that they would be dull. She sighed, watching as the single ruby drop ran along the edge of the sword in front of her.
The climb started hard. The smooth surface of the blades made the notion of a decent grip laughable and the hilts were either missing entirely or hid beneath other blades. Every inch of her body was already complaining from the march to get here. Now they screamed as she gripped and pulled herself along the path of swords.
The air grew colder as she forced herself up the sharp incline. Condensation left the blades even harder to grip and Emilia began collecting cuts along every inch of skin. Her own blood slicked the ravenous blades she crawled on. But she didn’t stop. Every slip, every cut and every spasm of overworked muscle just became the next push forward.
So Emilia Brine pushed forward even as her breath frosted the steel in front of her and her flesh stuck to the cold metal it touched. She couldn’t give up, not now or ever. Her pride had never left but since her parents had cast her aside she had lost what she was most proud of. So she had thrown herself into everything she could with almost reckless abandon: memorizing starcharts, learning to sail, fishing, hunting, fighting and now a mountain full of swords. Her parents had been the best in centuries. So she would be the best there ever was. She could be proud of that. And a small voice hoped that her parents would be too.
Emilia’s world was reduced to the ache of her fingers on cold blades the sting of the cuts on her feet and the simple aching motion of pulling herself forward. So when she finally reached the top, the surprise of her reach catching empty air instead of the familiar steel almost caused her to fall. The final stretch was there and gone in a flash as she rolled onto the top of the mountain, blessedly free of sharp edges. She crawled forward, looking for what had called her here. She found it half buried under the swords, as if tossed away casually and forgotten. A simple hammer with a wooden handle and a head of cast iron. Emilia loved it.
It was an old thing, worn down over many years of use, but it stood firm regardless with neither cracks nor dents to be seen. It had taken the worst of everything thrown at it, and it had held firm. However this was not why Emilia loved it. She loved it because she had earned it, because her efforts all this time had not gone unrewarded or unacknowledged. She loved it simply because it was hers.
She swung her prize with the last of her strength and the mountain rang like a call to hymnal. As the sound faded a soft scraping took its place as a thousand swords rose into the air and flew. Entranced, Emilia watched them as they danced through the air like wingless birds. The largest settled before her, hovering just off the ground. An invitation that was hard to ignore. The young girl flung her tired frame across it and fell asleep as it soared into the air.
She awoke in a land of heat, space warping chaotically as if everything were just a mirage. Which, she realized, it was. She looked at her feet and there was a brick, made of the same cast iron that her hammer had been. She set it into place and many more followed it. Then once her dome was completed she carved her name into the iron obelisk at the center. And the world of magic opened before her.