“You think you have a chance with this piss-poor performance? Pick it up!”

Alex scrambled to move faster, dredging up whatever remaining exertion his body could afford to transform his trudging jog into a proper run, forcefully dragging himself forward in an effort to meet expectation. He was long past being caked with sweat, each extra second spent pushing his body beyond his limits only adding additional layers of rapidly drying liquid. It was work enough to keep his eyes open, and his pumping arms had turned sluggish and reluctant, kept aloft solely through the miniscule amount of power the instructor allowed him to draw.

“That’s what I want to see, recruit! That’s now your minimum pace. If you haven’t finished another ten laps by sun-down, I’ll see that you run another twenty before breakfast, understand?” Arrius barked, following Alex’s progress with a stern, unrelenting expression. The man had donned more formal attire than his standard fare, an outdated yet well-maintained dress uniform of the Royal Army. The black fabric with gold embroidery had faded somewhat with time, but the age of the uniform did little to reduce the intimidating aura it helped project.

The temptation to draw upon his internal reservoir, to imbue his boots with air - hell, even fire - attuned energy was nearly irresistible. He’d been permitted to lean on such crutches at the outset, when his body encountered the very first true exertion Alex had ever experienced in his life, but the training wheels had come off rather soon into this new ‘training regime’. He was now permitted to draw on only a scant amount of power, just enough to impart a flicker of augmentation to his limbs, and it was solely that energy which kept him standing toward the end of this particular evening.

The Coastcross Waystation hosted an impressive training yard to the rear of the building, complete with a sparring arena and half-sized running track. That said, the track itself was little more than a circular area marked by wooden posts, each denoting a particular distance travelled from the starting line. As his efforts took him flying past the three-hundred metre post, Alex was forced to dig ever deeper to maintain his momentum.

His training had begun only four days prior, when he had risen at dawn equipped with the determination and resolve to complete whatever tasks Arrius saw fit to dispense. He hadn’t known. The gruff, occasionally friendly Arrius had undergone an overnight transformation into Sergeant Barker, the merciless and unforgiving soldier who had taken it upon himself to whip Alex into something resembling fighting shape. Apparently, his primary focus with Alex was physical conditioning.

The man’s words from the day before burrowed into Alex’s thoughts. “Your main problem, lad, is you lack endurance.” he’d said, inspecting him as a tradesman would his goods. “We’ll work on your skills, of course, but can’t build nothin’ on bad foundations.” The soldier had followed these words of wisdom with an instruction; every night, his day was to be completed with fifty laps around the track, a feat which had grown progressively difficult as the days wore on. What had initially been a difficult, yet manageable effort had slowly transformed to a truly herculean task as his body’s accumulated fatigue made itself known.

As the sun threatened to set with every passing moment, his willpower was tested to its absolute limit. It wasn’t fear that drove him forward, though he certainly held a healthy amount of unnerved respect for Arrius, or Sergeant Barker. No, it was the understanding that this, ultimately, was the convincing that needed to be done. Words wouldn’t suffice to pass whatever bar the older man was using to judge him. This experience, this training was necessary to advance their plans: to find a place to rest, to reflect on the past week, and to make sure nothing like this could happen to them again. He had to protect Ellie, and himself, from the world. He knew that now. A tiny flash of determination resettled in his weary limbs.

Passing the starting line, and the beginning of his penultimate pass through the course, he caught a glimpse of his younger sister, Ellie, sitting on the sidelines. She looked exhausted. Sergeant Barker was intent on training not just him, but also his sister, though he certainly saved the most tender of his ministrations for Alex. The young girl had run twenty laps this evening, and as she had all previous evenings, now watched the remainder of his toil while nursing a cup of fresh water. She didn’t reserve any amusement at Alex’s suffering.

“Nearly there, brother! Only two more laps!” she shouted, snickering.

Alex bit back a snarky reply, intent on completing the course as instructed. He didn’t really have any air to waste, anyway. While his physicality and fitness had certainly improved over the past few days, the final stretch of these exercises always saw him fighting for the right to breathe, forced to maintain a pace beyond which his body felt comfortable. Part of him was aware that the dividends would take more time than a week to show, but that wasn’t what spurred him on.

“Suffering breeds excellence, recruit! One more lap and we can all call it for the night!”

He tuned out the complaints of his physical form, drifting into the faceless void of his exhaustion, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. Then, as if the gods saw fit to spare him further agony, he crossed the starting line for the final time. This evening. Collapsing onto his back, he fought the world for blessed air, battling to bring his heartbeat down to a more manageable level. A grunt sounded to his right.

“Good work. You’re starting to experience the real burn now, lad. That’ll do for tonight.” Arrius said, staring down at him from above. Those eyes seemed to be evaluating Alex, assessing him on his performance, and for a single moment he thought he glimpsed approval in the other man’s dark orbs. If he did, it passed in a blink, leaving only the expectant gaze he had come to consider Arrius’ default expression.

Another night down. Three more to go.

***

If there were any immediate benefits to his daily exertions, it would be the respite from his nightmares. The conclusion of his first conscious night at the Waystation had seen him wracked with terrifying visions of Seaport, following in the same vein as those twisted caricatures he witnessed on the night of his flight from the invasion. In the following days since, however, his exhausted body spared little energy for such nightmares. His slumber was powerfully deep and near impossible to disturb, until the first light of the morning heralded the beginnings of nightly torment.

Fortunately, that same light marked the beginning of the day’s training. This was by far the most enjoyable part of the training, and arguably the day overall. Alex didn’t quite leap out of bed, fatigued as he was, but there was certainly stellar motivation to be quick about dressing out. Throwing on a set of borrowed clothing he’d been handed-down from Arrius’ son, simple garments which matched his own, he scurried down the familiar stairs and into the kitchen. A powerful aroma of meat and spices invigorated him.

“Ah, Alex. Good morning to you.” Tyra said, measuring out portion sizes onto a thick slab of wood. “A little late today, but I won’t tell my husband.”

“You’re very kind, Mrs. Barker.” Alex said, salivating at the presentation of this morning’s fare. In his brief time under the care of the two veterans, he had come to understand that Tyra was one of the most gifted cooks he had ever met. She could turn ordinary dishes into gourmet cuisine, and roasted the best chicken he’d ever had the privilege of tasting. It looked like salted pork cutlets occupied the breakfast menu.

“How did you sleep?” Tyra asked.

“Ah, fine, I suppose.” Alex murmured, the memory of his most recent nightmare flashing to mind. “Better, anyway.”

She nodded knowingly, pressing a warm ceramic plate loaded with meat, bread and vegetables into his hand. “I see. They will pass, young man, trust me. The Gods dispense misery and good fortune in equal measure, given the proper time.”

“I hope so.” he said, staring down at the plate with a smile. Tyra chuckled and waved him on, and Alex darted into the common area, taking a seat at one of the many unoccupied tables and beginning to attack his breakfast. As usual, it topped his personal charts for one of the most delicious things he’d ever eaten. Cooking had been Alex’s responsibility at home, and he possessed no talent for the art, not that they’d ever had enough money to buy high-quality ingredients like these.

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The thought of home caused him a twinge of sadness, turning his jubilant mood a touch more sombre. He tried to avoid thinking about the events of the last week, when he could. His ascension to Bronze-rank had somehow smoothed out his mind, relieving much of the immediate pain associated with recent events, but he knew once life had fallen back into some kind of routine that it would all come rushing back. For now, there were more important things to do. Grieving would have to wait for as long as he could force the issue. The more effort he put into being excited for the morning’s activities, the longer he could hold off the storm.

A grand yawn announced Arrius’ arrival, equipped with his own loaded plate. The man scratched at his chest as he meandered over to Alex’s table, plopping down in the opposite chair and beginning to dig in. Alex suppressed a grin at the sight. The terrifying Sergeant Barker was undoubtedly not a morning person, and he had at least a quarter-hour before the man fully woke. As a morning person himself, he liked to take this opportunity to be especially bright, irritating the other man as small revenge for the evening’s intensity.

“Good morning, Arrius!” he said, grinning at the man.

Grumbling, Arrius waved off-handedly in his direction. “G’mornin’, ye cheerful git. We’ll hit the ring in a quarter hour.”

Nodding, Alex turned his thoughts inwards. There was a simple reason their morning training was so much more fulfilling than the evening - it was the time of day where Arrius taught him the basics of the weapon arts, sparring, and the applications of power in combat. On the first day, it had come as some surprise that he thoroughly enjoyed the work. His first terrifying experience of combat, armed with nothing more than a dagger, had developed into a driving will to learn the techniques to defend himself. Add to that the element of learning to use his affinity in more flexible, direct methods, and you had a set of activities that were interesting, engaging and practically useful. Already, he felt much more confident if faced with another Feirwolf, though it would still be a challenge.

As he stood to clean his plate and tend to his chores under Tyra, he contemplated what Sergeant Barker might see fit to teach him today.

***

“Alright, lad. Standard Form.” Arrius said, flourishing a wooden longsword with practised ease. He had changed into his Royal Army dress uniform once again, which Alex had acutely identified as the dividing line between his friend ‘Arrius’, and the demanding ‘Sergeant Barker’. The uniform lent the man a military authority, something which in his reckoning had to do with falling back on experience. He was no expert, though.

Bringing his own practice sword before him, Alex grasped the weapon with two hands, levelling the blunted tip toward Sergeant Barker. He adjusted his feet into the proper position; one foot forward, one slightly behind, a position he had been told would ‘anchor’ himself in place. It was the opening stance of Standard Form, the most common weapon art associated with the sword, and something Barker had delighted in drilling into Alex over the past days.

Immediately, his instructor made several adjustments with his own sword. He pushed Alex’s back leg back a step, raised his hands half an inch, and repositioned the sword point slightly lower. With a glance over his form, Barker gave a small nod, stepping back into position directly opposite him in the sparring ring.

“Not great, but acceptable for a novice. Tell me, recruit, what is the function of Standard Form?”

“Sir. Standard Form is the most general weapon art for the sword. It, uh, doesn’t focus on any single aspect of swordsmanship, and… doesn’t require any aspected energy, whether through augmentation or imbuement.”

“Very good. Why would you use Standard Form?”

At this, Alex shrugged, cringing slightly at the disapproving stare from Sergeant Barker.

“Sorry, sir. Standard Form is a good beginner stance, and a strong option for opening a fight against an unfamiliar opponent. It’s the easiest stance to transition to and from, so mastery makes everything else more… fluid?”

“It’s also the least energy intensive stance, recruit. The rest is broadly correct.” Barker said, stepping into Standard Form himself. It wasn’t especially clear what the difference was, but he instinctively knew the older man’s stance was far more potent than Alex’s own. Devil’s in the details, he thought. It would come with time.

“As usual, you will attack me using Standard Form. I will defend. If at any point your form deteriorates, I will strike and the bout is over. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Begin.”

Alex rushed in, pivoting his upper body to swing the sword from the left toward Barker’s right side. With the force of his torso committed to the blow, Barker’s deft parry merely adjusted the blade’s course, causing it to swing over the man’s head. Standard Form as a style revolved around a balance of offence and defence, with moderate commitment to strikes.

Digging in with his heels, Alex corrected the blade’s course, shifting the deflection into a downward strike toward Barker’s exposed head; a feint. Barker, of course, neatly sidestepped the blow, returning his blade to neutral position in preparation for the next push.

Recentering his sword, Alex jabbed forward with the sword point, testing the other man’s defences but refusing to commit to a strike. Each stab was expertly nudged off-target, striking air, but the maneuver wasn’t intended to land a concrete blow. He pressed the attack, stabbing forward with rapid motions, until Barker deflected one stab with greater force than the others, leaving the man’s sword primed to defend his upper left side.

Alex shifted his footwork, bringing his back leg forward to enable him to quickly bring his own sword down and to the right. The rapid repositioning opened up an opportunity, prompting Alex to slash diagonally upward in opposition to the position of Barker’s own blade: yet the experienced soldier simply grabbed his own blade in a half-sword grip and thrusted down to parry yet another strike.

The unfortunate downside to Standard Form was its predictability. In the face of a more experienced swordsman, the motions that made up the stance were incredibly telegraphed, leaving every avenue of attack open to being read. In the short time he had been training with Sergeant Barker, he hadn’t managed to land a single clean blow. He knew that shouldn’t surprise him.

Barker’s commitment to full defence made it difficult to counterattack, one of the staple techniques of Standard Form. Fortunately, that opened up another strategy to Alex. Tensing his body, he unleashed a flurry of blows against the other man, weaving probing stabs within short slashes, varying his attack pattern and yet unleashing an unrelenting string of attacks.

Finally, Barker’s defence weakened. Solely on the defence, Alex’s accelerating pattern of attack forced the man to respond to an escalating series of blows, Barker’s own parries deflecting Alex’s blade into more advantageous windows from which to attack. His momentum was building.

It was possible to land a hit, so long as he continued to overwhelm his opponent’s defences. Finally, Barker failed to parry a devastating horizontal slash, their swords colliding head-on and forcing the other man’s blade off-kilter. This was his opportunity.

He stepped in, drawing the blade over his head and preparing to bring it down in a fight-winning blow. His shoulders tensed, he recruited the entire lower chain of his body, and as the blade began to descend he could see his first victory flash before his eyes.

Then, before he knew it, he was on the ground. Barker had lashed out with a roundhouse kick to his ribs, leveraging Alex’s lapse in footwork to break his guard entirely and send him tumbling to the floor, practice sword flying from his grasp. Alex knelt, breathing rapidly from the exertion of the last few moments, and looked up into Barker’s eyes.

“You were doing well, recruit,” he said, gesturing for Alex to retrieve his sword. “You just got cocky. Seeing a blow and executing upon it are two different things. If the price is your stance, death will swiftly follow.”

Grabbing his sword, Alex scrambled to stand, taking a stance in Standard Form yet again.

“I understand. Let’s go again, I can do better.” I have to do better, he thought, if I want that chance at joining the Royal Army.

Barker merely shook his head, lowering his own sword, but grinning at the younger man. He tapped his own sword.

“Recognising the weakness in my defensive strategy was a good move. I’m glad to see you picking up on an idea like that, which speaks well to your potential as a novice.” At this, he lifted an eyebrow. “That said, you’ll have to do better to hit me. Striking like a berserker is all well and good, if you do so within the fundamentals of the form.”

His ribs twinged with the pain of Barker’s earlier kick. That’ll bruise, he thought, wincing at the thought of later pain. A necessary sacrifice in the ‘pursuit of excellence’.

The pair drilled for roughly an hour, Alex’s understanding of the complex movements involved growing by the minute. It was a long way off from anything Barker would consider good, but part of Alex adored the experience; the feeling of improving at something, bit by bit, traversing a path toward mastery that required hard work, effort and understanding. It was a feeling he hadn’t truly experienced since the early days of his training as a tinker.

At daybreak, their exercise came to a halt, marked by the moment Ellie meandered her way out into the training yard. She wasn’t obligated to join them until the true beginning of the day, an act of mercy that he suspected Barker extended due to Ellie’s young age, but when she did appear she was made sure to attend with her full effort. Ellie usually showed nothing less, no matter the task.

At this, Alex smiled. Not just due to the excited look in his sister’s eyes, but also the brewing excitement in his own gut. This was his favourite part of the day; the moment they would experiment with their affinities, and work out exactly just how much potential could be found within their reservoirs of power.