🎵: Dash of the Daring, Rise of the Iron Will, Babel's Harmony, Whispers of the Unseen

I faced my opponents in the training yard: Mac, Vic, and a practice dummy in a frilly dress labelled "Property of Captain Reed" in familiar handwriting.

"Really?" I glared at Mac, who maintained an expression of absolute innocence, his eyes wide and a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he shrugged casually.

"Focus on the training," Koren called from his usual spot. "We need to work on your dodge timing and dual-wielding coordination. The dummy's... artistic enhancement is merely added motivation."

I gripped my practice blades, trying to find that familiar rhythm. The weapons felt more natural now, though my off-hand still had a tendency to do whatever it wanted - much like my throwing knives, but with less property damage.

"Remember," Mac called out as he and Vic circled me, "anticipate the attacks. Feel the flow of combat. And try not to get hit by anything area-of-effect this time."

"That fire blast wasn't my fault," I protested. "Who keeps fire crystals in their practice gear, anyway?"

"Anyone who's seen you fight," Vic grinned, launching into his first attack.

I let the music guide me, sidestepping his initial thrust while bringing my off-hand blade up to parry Mac's follow-up strike. The familiar blue glow flickered around my weapons as I found the rhythm.

Sidestep successful!

Off-hand attack is successful!

"Better!" Koren approved. "Now maintain that flow. They're going to coordinate their attacks."

Mac and Vic moved in perfect sync, their blades creating a deadly pattern I needed to navigate. I wove between their attacks, letting my body move to the internal melody that seemed to grow stronger with each successful dodge.

Rhythmic Strike executed successfully!

Off-hand attack is successful!

The blue glow intensified as I landed a solid hit with my off-hand blade, followed immediately by a main-hand strike that forced Vic back. The rhythm was building, each movement flowing naturally into the next.

"Time to make things interesting," Koren called out. "Area attack incoming!"

I barely had time to register his words before both Mac and Vic struck the ground with training crystals, sending a wave of force rippling across the practice area. The music in my head shifted, becoming faster, more urgent.

Area-effect dodge successful!

Dissonant Defence activated!

I leaped, twisting in mid-air as the wave passed beneath me. Landing smoothly, I immediately had to deal with Mac's follow-up assault while Vic tried to flank me.

"Now you're getting it!" Mac encouraged as I deflected his strike with my off-hand weapon while my main blade kept Vic at bay. "Use that unpredictability to your advantage!"

The next few minutes were a blur of motion and music. My movements danced through forms that shouldn't have worked, but somehow did.

Rhythmic Strike executed successfully!

Quick Jab executed successfully!

Off-hand attack is successful!

By the time we finished, I was drenched in sweat but grinning. Even the dummy seemed to judge me less harshly.

"Decent progress," Koren nodded. "Though we still need to work on your tendency to accidentally pirouette during complex maneuvers."

"I thought the spinning added style," I defended myself.

"Style isn't much use if you make yourself dizzy," Mac pointed out. "Though I have to admit, watching you try to fight while stumbling around was entertaining."

Something was definitely changing in my training. The music flowed more naturally now, and even my infamous unpredictability seemed to benefit me. Though I still couldn't shake the feeling that Mac's dramatic dive had less to do with my improving skills and more to do with some hidden aspect of my abilities that everyone but me seemed to understand.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, I'd count today as a win. Even if that win came with a side of mystified trainees and one very muddy, very unamused Mac.

"Same time tomorrow," Koren announced. "And Brendan? Try to keep the accidental dance moves to a minimum. We're training warriors, not performing a ballet."

After finishing my usual post-training stretch, I noticed a compact figure darting through the scattered groups of trainees. It was the boy who'd bet his allowance on me in the competition, clutching something in his arms as he approached.

"Mister!" He thrust a sack of apples into my hands, beaming with pride. "This is for making me all that money!" Before I could even thank him, he'd disappeared into the crowd with the mysterious talent all children seem to have for vanishing acts.

I glanced at the fruit, then at the few trainees lounging nearby. "Here," I offered, tossing apples their way. The simple act of sharing somehow felt right after the boy's gesture.

Then Mac rounded the corner.

"Hey Mac, catch!" I called out, noticing a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, as if he sensed something amiss. I made what should have been a perfectly normal underhand toss with one of the remaining apples.

Time seemed to slow.

Mac's eyes went wide with a primal fear I'd never seen before. "NO... DON'T—" he bellowed, launching himself over a nearby barrel in a desperate dive that would have impressed an acrobatic instructor.

The apple landed with a gentle thump exactly where he'd been standing.

Harmlessly.

Mac's head slowly poked up from behind the barrel, mud dripping from his previously clean training clothes. His eyes darted between me and the innocent fruit lying in the dirt, as if one or both of us might suddenly sprout fangs.

We all stood there in confused silence as Mac carefully extracted himself from the mud puddle he'd landed in. Without a word, he began walking toward the showers, shooting me the look usually reserved for people who'd just threatened to burn down your house while wearing your favourite boots.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"What was that about?" one trainee asked, staring at the perfectly intact apple.

"I'm as lost as you are," I replied honestly, watching Mac squelch away. "It was just an apple."

Another trainee picked up the fruit, examining it from all angles. "Seems normal enough to me."

"Maybe he really doesn't like apples?" someone suggested.

But there was something about Mac's reaction–that split-second look of absolute certainty that diving into the mud was the only sensible response to a gently tossed piece of fruit. It was as if he'd seen something coming that none of us had.

"Should we... should we warn people about flying apples now?" one of the newer trainees asked uncertainly.

I looked down at my remaining apple, suddenly questioning everything I knew about fruit. "I think Mac might need a minute before we ask him about it."

As we stood there, puzzling over this new mystery, none of us noticed the slight shimmer in the air where Mac had been standing, or the way the shadows seemed to shift just a little differently around that innocent-looking apple in the dirt. The entire scene felt like one of those moments where you're missing something obvious, but can't quite put your finger on what it is.

With the afternoon's mysteries and muscle aches weighing on me, I headed for the barracks. Behind me, I could have sworn I heard the practice dummy sigh in disappointment–though that might have just been my imagination playing tricks after too many spins. Or maybe the dummy shared Mac's apparent distrust of my fruit-throwing capabilities. Either way, I'd learned two valuable lessons today: my progress in dual-wielding was coming along nicely, and apparently, I could make even the simple act of sharing apples into some sort of mystical event.

The music of battle still hummed in my veins as I mentally tallied today's progress:

Training Summary

Dual Wield Progress:

* Experience Gained: 85 EXP (At this rate, I might actually survive my next encounter)

* Off-hand attacks landed: 8 (My left hand is finally cooperating... mostly)

* Rhythmic Strikes executed: 6 (Getting better at that whole "combat harmony" thing)

* Combat encounters completed: 1 (destroying no property!)

* Notable Achievements: Made Mac dive into mud without throwing a single knife

Dodge Progress:

* Experience Gained: 75 EXP (Learning to dance away from danger)

* Consecutive Battle Count: 1/5 (Small steps... very small steps)

* Critical Hit Sidesteps: 1/3 (That last attack from Mac definitely counted)

* Different Enemy Types: 2/5

* Special Note: Apparently my apple-throwing reputation precedes me

Total Property Damage: Minimal

Unintentional Dance Moves: Several

Confused Onlookers: Many

At least I was making progress. Slowly, awkwardly, and with an unnecessary amount of twirling—but hey, progress was progress. Though I couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere in the fortress, Mac was probably instituting a new "no fruit within throwing distance of Brendan" policy. Can't say I blamed him, even if I was still completely mystified by what had spooked him so badly about a simple apple toss.

----------------------------------------

I entered the dining hall, my muscles still aching from the morning's training. Through the crowd of recruits and staff, I spotted Lady Moira sitting alone in the corner, her silver hair catching the afternoon light. When she noticed me, she raised a hand in greeting and gestured to the empty seat across from her.

Lady Moira's presence made the corner of the dining hall feel like its own private realm, her energy creating a barrier between us and the bustling activity. I told her about that final night on Earth; the words spilling out before I could stop them.

"The gangs controlled most of the portals," I explained, absently rubbing my arm where I could still sometimes feel the phantom grip of the guard who'd caught me. "Charged everything you had just for a chance to cross over. Some people gave up their wedding rings, family heirlooms—anything to buy passage."

"But you didn't pay their toll," she observed, those luminous eyes studying me with unnerving intensity.

"Couldn't. Everything we had burned when they attacked our farm." My fingers traced patterns on the table's surface, remembering the weight of Dad's guitar on my back as I'd faced that swirling gateway. "I tried waiting for the right moment, thought I could slip through while they were distracted. Almost made it too."

"Almost?" The surrounding light seemed to pulse with interest.

"One of them caught me at the last second. Big guy, mean. The portal was destabilizing—I could see it starting to collapse." I swallowed hard, the memory still vivid. "I had nothing left except Dad's guitar. He taught me my first chords on it, used to say music could save my life someday." A bitter laugh scraped past my lips. "Guess he was right, just not in the way he meant."

"I hit the guard holding me with it, causing it to break..." I trailed off, remembering the horrible crack of wood and bone. "They started shooting as I ran for the portal. I could feel the bullets passing by, see the gateway starting to unravel. Didn't know if I'd make it through in time, or what would happen if I did."

"Yet here you sit," she noted, "still playing songs." She gestured to where the blue glow had manifested around my hands without my noticing.

"I didn't expect to find music here," I admitted. "Back home, it was just... music. Here it's alive somehow. It moves things, changes things." I thought about Mac's desperate dive away from the apple. "Sometimes in ways I don't understand."

"The night you crossed over," she said carefully, "did you hear it? The song of the portal?"

I closed my eyes, remembering that final desperate moment. "Just before I jumped through—everything was chaos, gunfire, shouting, but underneath it all... there was this harmony. Like the world itself was humming, pulling me forward." I opened my eyes, meeting her gaze. "I hear it here too, but different. Clearer somehow."

"Because this world's music recognizes what you are," she said, her voice taking on an odd resonance. "Even if you don't yet understand it yourself."

Lady Moira's radiance dimmed slightly, her expression growing distant. "I was barely older than you when the Black Scale Brigade attacked my village," she said softly. "Back then, they were just another mercenary company, hired to protect trading caravans. No one saw the darkness growing in their ranks."

The surrounding light pulsed, and for a moment I could almost see what she was describing—like watching ripples spread across still water.

"My village sat at the crossroads of three major trade routes," she continued. "Simple place, but we had a small Light Weaver temple where they trained promising students. I was... unremarkable. Could barely manage the most basic illuminations." A faint smile touched her lips. "Until the night everything changed."

"What happened?" I asked, drawn into her story despite myself.

"The Brigade turned on us without warning. No demands, no negotiation—just fire and steel in the night." Her voice hardened. "But we had a defender—a Light Weaver master named Celara who specialized in battle magic. The way she wielded light..." She shook her head in remembered awe. "I'd seen nothing like it."

"She turned their own shadows against them, crafted barriers of pure light that their weapons couldn't penetrate. She held off dozens of armed men by herself, buying time for the villagers to escape." Lady Moira's hands traced patterns in the air, light following her fingertips. "But the Brigade... they had secrets even then. Dark magic that corrupted everything it touched."

"When they finally brought her down, I saw something in their leader's eyes—a hunger. They'd witnessed the true power of light magic, and they wanted to twist it to their own ends."

"What did you do?" I leaned forward, caught up in her tale despite myself.

"I ran, like any scared young apprentice would. But before Celara fell, she showed me something extraordinary. She took their corruption, their discord, and transformed it into pure light. Even as their darkness consumed her, she used it to illuminate the escape route for others." Her eyes met mine, that inner light blazing. "That's when I truly understood what it meant to be a Light Weaver. It's not just about creating light—it's about finding brightness in the darkest places."

The surrounding air grew thick with her energy as she continued. "I dedicated myself to mastering every form of light magic after that—illumination, healing, combat weaving. The Brigade never understood the true nature of our power. They try to control, to dominate. But real strength..."

She gestured, and suddenly the surrounding shadows seemed to dance. "Actual strength comes from learning to transform darkness into light."

"And that's why you joined the military?" I asked. "To fight them?"

"To protect others from them," she corrected. "And to ensure the light of knowledge isn't lost. The Brigade corrupts everything they touch, but they'll never understand that true power comes from transformation, not destruction."

Her words stayed with me long after she swept away, leaving that lingering radiance in her wake. The way she spoke about light and darkness, about finding brightness in shadow—it reminded me of how music had been my light in the darkest moments back on Earth.

"Then you'll train me?" I asked, hope rising in my chest. After everything she'd shared, it seemed natural that she'd want to help develop my abilities.

But Lady Moira shook her head, a gentle smile playing at her lips. "No, Brendan. Your magic... it's different from anything we Light Weavers practice. The way you hear the world's music, how you move with it—it's something entirely new." She gestured to where the blue glow still pulsed around my hands. "Or perhaps something ancient, reborn in a new way."

"But—"

"I'll look forward to your report in a few days," she said, rising with that fluid grace all Light Weavers seemed to possess. "I suspect it will be... illuminating." There was something knowing in her smile, as if she could already see what was coming.

As her radiance faded into the general bustle of the dining hall, I sat there processing our conversation. The blue glow flickered around my fingers like a reminder that my path would have to be my own—no ancient teachings to follow, no traditional techniques to master. Just me, the music, and whatever chaos that combination might bring.

Though I couldn't shake the feeling that Lady Moira had told me her story, not as an offer of training, but as a reminder that sometimes the most powerful magic comes from finding your own way through the darkness.

That, and perhaps as a subtle warning about what the Brigade might do if they ever discovered what I could really do with an apple.