Kane awoke abruptly, groaning as a sliver of morning sunlight slipped through the cracks in his curtains and illuminated the modest room. Rubbing his bleary eyes, his head felt heavy and his thoughts sluggish, as if someone had filled it with wool. Glancing at the clock perched precariously atop his wardrobe, he sighed. It seemed there was no rest for the wicked. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and forced himself to stand. The full-time security job was taking its toll on him; he had believed the assurances that he would be able to balance work with attending class, and that they would make every accommodation for him. He felt like a fool for trusting them.
Starting with a low stretch, touching his toes, Kane methodically stretched the rest of his body and limbs. Once he felt warm and limber, he donned his harness. Stepping back over to his bed, he reached under his pillow for his sword. Unsheathing it, he caught his reflection in the blade. His appearance showed more fatigue than he expected. His hair was cropped close to his skull— not his preference, but he had little choice. The visible stubble would have to go as well. Another sigh escaped him.
Kane's room was small, with what little furniture he owned pushed against the available wall space, clearing an area in the middle for his practice.
Swiftly, he swung the sword in an overhead strike, then shifted his weight back onto the balls of his feet and settled into position. The first stance of the sword dance described in his book was "Stillness". Although he wasn't a proficient translator, the College of War didn't seem to mind; they had accepted him immediately based on his height and build. They weren't concerned that translating his grimoire would take him twice as long, as long as he used it in the North once he was finished. He had chosen his book for a simple reason: it bore the image of a sword on its cover. It wasn't a special sword like an odachi or flamberge, but a gladius—a short, double-edged weapon. It was the very sword soldiers had used to carve out the Astreyan Empire from the warlords who had once ruled the land.
Kane adjusted the harness, so his grimoire made skin contact. Then he spoke softly:
“In the silent heart of stillness,
Where the whispers cease to be,
A dance of steel and shadow,
Unfolds for all to see.
The sword, it arcs through twilight,
A silvered streak of grace,
Its wielder moves in harmony,
Each step a measured pace.”
As Kane recited the stanzas, he followed the dance he had long since memorized, working through the pictures and diagrams he had figured out well before translating the text.
The manifestation of Stillness was subtle for Kane; he felt as though the world resisted him, each arc his sword described and every measured step he took felt like pushing through water. For anyone else caught in the manifestation, the effects were tripled. His instructors were thrilled with it, even more so when Kane revealed the names of the other chapters: Stillness was the first, followed by Silence, Motion, and Equilibrium. He hadn't managed to translate any further than that. Each chapter came with a sword dance to accompany its manifestation, a common feature in battle codexes. His instructors had theories about what he could expect, but nothing definitive.
Kane practiced the katas for Silence, Motion, and Equilibrium, even without knowing the words for their manifestations. Silence had a staccato feeling, full of abrupt stops that felt unnatural to his body. Motion was fluid, never stopping, incorporating whirls of the blade, kicks, and jumps. It required a larger space than his room allowed, so he couldn't perform its full range of movements. Equilibrium, a balance of defence and aggression, was a fitting place to end; it felt less risky and more grounded than the other styles.
After finishing, Kane ate, showered, and shaved. He rented a small place in the Outers, near enough to the station for a short walk but far enough to avoid hearing every service. Before leaving and locking up, he glanced at the gift he had been too timid to give Amiri the previous night: a pendant necklace with a piece of amber set in the centre, the same colour as her eyes. She had looked radiant last night, illuminated by the joy of achieving her dreams. Even with puffy eyes from crying, he found her captivating.
"Coward," he chided himself softly. Tearing his eyes away from the box, he moved toward the door, only to notice an envelope that had been slipped underneath it. He recognized the handwriting. Roughly tearing it open, he pulled out the contents.
“Kane” it read, "I know we haven't always been the best parents to you, but we deserve better than the way you are treating us. Your mother is sick, and we need money for medicine. We provided for you for eighteen years, and it is time you accepted your responsibility to provide for the family.”
The note was signed by his father. Kane ripped the paper in half and let the pieces fall behind him. He locked his door and started walking.
Groggy and bleary-eyed, Kane stood on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive. The morning sun had barely risen, casting an unpleasant, pale light on the station. He wished he had stopped for a coffee on the way. A new shop had opened nearby, and its sweet and bitter aroma wafted past him each time he walked by. He stifled a yawn, and hearing the train's whistle in the distance, he stretched before straightening up to board.
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He found an empty compartment and closed his eyes, hoping to catch some sleep. The last station on this service was Scholars, so he didn't need to worry about missing his stop.
The day passed in a hazy blur. His classes were interesting—still in his first year, he had chosen a diverse range of subjects: Scouting and Reconnaissance, Foraging and Wilderness Survival, Strategy and Tactics, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Leadership and Command, and Physical Conditioning. He had decided against taking other first-year classes like Military History, First Aid and Battlefield Medicine, and Military Engineering and Logistics, Siege, and Battle wide Manifestations.
Next year, he would specialize and narrow down his focus. He was definitely going to continue with Foraging and Wilderness Survival and Hand-to-Hand Combat, as he found them enjoyable, challenging, and incredibly useful. Although he didn't particularly enjoy Physical Conditioning, he was good at it. He needed to choose one more subject from the remaining options, and he planned to give himself time to decide.
Strategy and Tactics seemed like a safe path—armies protected their strategists and employed various subterfuges to keep them alive. However, there were some brilliant minds in the class more deserving of the role, and an army didn't need more than one or two strategists. Conflicting opinions could be disastrous when every moment mattered.
Leadership and Command was another good choice—it led to officer positions like lieutenant and captain. Kane had never given orders before taking the class, and while it still felt uncomfortable, he could envision himself doing it.
Scouting and Reconnaissance was the final option, and while it intrigued Kane as a high-risk, high-value solo role, he didn't think he was particularly suited for it. He was tall and muscular, with his manifestations leaning more towards combat than agility. Most scouts were smaller and lighter than he was, possessing wiry muscles—the kind of person a horse wouldn't shy away from when they jumped on its back. The sort of individual who could tirelessly run hundreds of miles without stopping. Ideal manifestations for scouts typically fell into three categories: the first focused on speed and manoeuvrability, allowing them to get in, observe, and get out before anyone raised the alarm, making them virtually impossible to catch. The second revolved around stealth, concealing their tracks and erasing all signs of their presence. The last type generally involved sensory enhancement or divination, enabling them to see further and more clearly, eavesdrop from a safe distance, and even read the pages of a closed book from afar or survey a map to discern battlefield positions.
Kane’s thoughts were stopped in their tracks by a messenger - one of the corps’ prospective scouts. The messengers for the College of War were always students of the college, proving their speed by how quickly they could find someone and deliver a message. In this case it was a young man who moved so fast he was just a crimson blur, before arriving to a halt in a breathless “Hi I’m Anodyn, I have a message for you, can you please sign here to confirm you have received it - thanks!” Anodyn left immediately after receiving his signature, taking a couple of long steps that turned into a graceful loping run, becoming a blur of motion before vanishing down a hallway and up a staircase.
"Definitely not fit to be a scout," Kane mumbled to himself, breaking the seal on the letter.
The wax seal bore the letters "SS" and an imprint of a shield—Sentinel Security, the outfit he worked for. He began to read. His boss was changing his assignment. For the past two months, he had provided security at a lesser noble's house, but now he was being reassigned to protect Lord Maximillian of House D'Angelo. Kane blinked. Most of his previous jobs had been as a sentry or house guard. This new assignment not only involved personal security, but also granted him the authority to make recommendations for his ward's safety, change routines, deny events with associated risks, and other minor powers. He even had a budget. As he continued reading, he felt lightheaded—there was a significant amount of money allocated for security purposes.
"I have to report for orientation at the 6th bell tonight," Kane scowled. He had informed his boss that classes could run that late. "Well, at least the pay is better, and more responsibility is good, right?" He tried to convince himself of the positives, but he knew he was facing several more months of early mornings and late nights.
“All for the cause” he said softly.
The final class of the day was Strategy and Tactics, which involved analysing famous battles from history and conducting wargames with pieces representing armies. Despite his best efforts, Kane lost to one of the more talented students. He shook his opponent's hand, exchanged pleasantries, and was saved another loss as the bell rang - signifying the end of his day.
Kane grabbed his backpack, put all his notebooks and textbooks away, double checked his security uniform was there and started to head out the door. He was stopped by another messenger. This time it was one of the Imperial messengers, not one from the college.
“Are you Kane Ranginui?” the mans voice was quiet. He wore the black and silver uniform of House Imperial, he was a lot shorter than Kane and had salt and pepper speckled through his hair and neatly trimmed beard.
“That I am” Kane said, shrugging his backpack back onto the floor “How can I help you?” he felt a little nervous, Imperial notice was seldom a good thing.
“I have a letter for you, Kane” the messenger said softly, taking out a burgundy-coloured envelope and passing it to him. Kane took it and looked down at it. He knew what it was, everyone did.
“Do I need to sign for it, or anything?” Kane asked. He felt a little hollow, but his voice was steady;
The messenger shook his head. “My witness is all that’s needed. I wish you a good day.” The messenger took a step back, and gave a small, polite bow. Then he turned and walked away.
Kane looked at the letter, then ran a fingernail under the Emperors seal, flicked it up, cracking it. Opening the page, he read the words to himself.
“Kane Ranginui, you have been drafted into his Imperial Majesties army. On the completion of your training at the College of the War you have two weeks to report to…”
Kane closed the letter and put it back in the envelope, then put it into his bag, shouldering it he walked out. He walked to the station, consulted his new job brief about which train to take, and hopped into the correct line.
He looked up at the sky, at the sun setting slowly behind cloudbanks, then raised his hand to cover it.
“Fucking letters”.