The Master of Names must be returned…” whispered Death, departing him from the dark. However, at the moment, responsibility was not the burden that weighed down Keldon’s mind.

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “I don’t want it to be my fault…”

  Put the guilt away. Tuck it in a corner. Bury it. Or you’ll never move forward.

  Keldon felt rumbling beneath him. There were soft snores and he smelt the familiar musk of the prison cart cabin; Salem must have taken him here when he had passed out. He was wrapped in blankets and the chills had subsided, but there was still a numbness at his fingertips and his body felt frost-bitten, pins, and needles poking out from his body.

  But Keldon didn’t want to open his eyes, not quite yet. He was too tired for that. He wiped away the salty crust of dried tears from his eyes and rolled over. He could face reality tomorrow, tonight he’d sleep the memories away. Just like always. He was fine. He was always fine. He has to be fine.

  He just needed some sleep.

  …

  But as fate would have it, it didn’t seem like he was getting any. He tried counting sheep in his head but after counting a herd big enough to fill up a mineshaft, he begrudgingly opened his eyes. He looked down at his body, noticing a new set of clothes.

  Nearby, Salem was fast asleep, snoring peacefully and surrounded by dirty rags, bandages, and empty bottles of ointment. He was wrapped in bandages, parts of his skin were bright-red and puffy while others were scarred. What happened to him?

  “Did I do that?” thought Keldon.

  As quietly as he could, Keldon started tidying up the empty bottles, putting the dirty rags and bandages to the side to be washed as he gathered up the rest of the trash into a bag. He folded his blankets and tucked them into the corner, taking one to cover the snoring Salem who murmured in his sleep. And then, Keldon snuck out the door, taking his bag with him.

  Fatigue clung to Keldon’s bones as he stepped outside and rubbed his arms with a shiver, greeted by a cool night's wind. The moon hung low in the sky, outlining the land in a sharp white glow. He’d been asleep long enough for the willowed forest to shift into hearty mountain terrain, as leafy trees sprouted from windswept crags. The prison cart and the caravans had taken shelter beneath the face of a cliff, shielding the sites from the wind.

  Few things could ever bring him any semblance of comfort during times like these, luckily, a bit of caffeine would sometimes numb the pain. He took a handful of coffee beans and crunched down on them, feeling the bitter grit coat his mouth. But it was soothing, like knowing that you’d feel better after taking bitter medicine. After a snack, Keldon tucked away the bag and took up a martial stance, practicing the familiar flowing forms Bertram had taught him when he first took up training.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking a neutral stance. Massage away the fatigue. Follow the forms. That was the way.

  “Slow and deliberate.” Keldon thought, “the body frees the mind, and in turn, the mind will free the body.”

  He stretched out his body, steadily lowering himself into viper stance. He slowly swept his leg out against the pebbled ground, raising his foot into the air in geyser stance before slowly bringing it down like an axe.

  The flowing-forms weren’t meant for practical combat, thinking like that would get you killed in a real fight according to Bertram. But they were a good basis for many fundamentals of different martial arts. The forms were dynamic and demanding, twisting and massaging Keldon’s body as the stiffness melted from his limbs.

  “Your center of gravity should be on your right foot, not the left,” came a voice.

  Keldon snapped to the sound of the voice, instinctively readying a defensive stance, but relaxed once he saw it was just Salem.

  “Square your shoulders some more,” said Salem, moving Keldon’s body in place. He grabbed Keldon’s wrist, weaving them through the air to Keldon’s surprise. There was so much more fluidity in Salem’s instructions than he’d expected.

  Keldon closed his eyes, taking in the slight changes Salem had taught him. The adjustments felt minor, but he noticed the improvements already.

  “You learn quickly,” said Salem, before noticing how truly immersed Keldon was in the art.

  He said nothing further, taking up a stance beside Keldon, and moved through flowing-forms beside him in solidarity. The two danced in the moonlight, twisting and attuning their bodies to repetitive harmony when Keldon finally broke the silence.

  “Thanks,” said Keldon softly, continuing his movements.

  “Nothing to it pup,” said Salem, moving in unison with Keldon. “That rough huh?”

  Keldon pursed his lips, faltering in his form as he quickly snapped back to proper stance.

  “I see,” said Salem, letting the silence linger in the air.

  Salem straightened Keldon’s back and tapped on his chest. “Your flexibility is impressive, but you lack balance,” said Salem with a gentle tap. “Strength.”

   Keldon had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about his flowing-forms. But before he had a chance to object, Salem began his own rendition of flowing-forms. He danced quickly, sparkling moonlight glistening on his brow as he performed a series of intense strikes and manipulated his body with elegant, but decisive movements. Salem winced when he moved through his forms, yet still, he maintained an air of dignity and grace.

  Keldon struggled to match his movements, stepping in line as the two exchanged poetic blows underneath the starry night, according to the traditions. His mind told him to push Salem away, to tell him that he was fine, he didn’t need consoling. He was going to be a hero after all. Who’d ever heard of a hero that wanted to cry instead of getting up to move forward? But he couldn’t, his selfish heart wouldn’t let him. Instead, he let himself bask in the warmth of the moment, moving in unison with his friend, under the pale brightness of the night. The longer he moved in flowing-forms, the more he just felt… right.

  An hour later, Keldon collapsed on the ground, panting as he stared up into the dazzling infinity and beyond. He looked at Salem who sat on a boulder nearby, pulling a flask of water out from Keldon’s backpack.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Was that my fault?” asked Keldon.

  Salem finished the flask of water, tucking it back into Keldon’s backpack.

  “I should be thanking you,” said Salem. “I’ve gained a level in greater fire resistance because of you.”

  “I’m glad someone benefits from my mistakes then,” thought Keldon.

  “Where’d you learn flowing-forms from?” asked Keldon.

  “An old mentor,”

  “Was that mentor Bertram?” asked Keldon.

  “Bertram? HAH, not quite.”

  “Bertram was more of a distant acquaintance back then, but we both learned it from the same person.”

  “You really don’t have to be so cryptic all the time,” said Keldon.

  Salem shrugged his shoulders. “When you get married, you tend to pick up your partner’s habits. I picked up her cryptic talk, and she picked up the bottles I put down.”

  “Did you ever put them down?” asked Keldon,

  “Down the hatch maybe.”

  Keldon couldn’t help but let a hint of a smile creep across his face. “Did I sleep in long?”

  “Thirty hours or so, what with both physical training exhaustion and your magical reawakening.”

  Damn. He had barely over a day left with Salem.

  “So what now?” asked Keldon.

  “We train,” said Salem. “Carefully, but quickly. Honestly, I had debated stopping, but it’d be a disservice to you to not see you through. It’s less time than I’m comfortable with frankly, but unfortunately, time is a luxury we can’t afford.”

  “I promised to prepare you. I intend to keep my word,” said Salem. “But now that you’ve had a taste of magic, think you’re ready for a full course meal?”

  “Well I haven’t had dinner yet, so I’m a bit peckish,” Keldon said.

  “Cheeky pup.”

  “No seriously, I’m actually fuc-…. I mean, forking starving,” said Keldon.

  Salem nodded in approval. “We’ll talk while you eat. I’ve got a theory and I want to know about your reawakening.”

#

  Salem stroked the stubble on his chin as Keldon devoured a loaf of dark grainy bread, cutting himself a wedge of ripe hardened cheese and a bit of lovely garlicky sausage. Nothing beats good food and exercise when it came to picking up a mood at least. He’d told Salem about bearing his soul to the Name of Fire and how much momentum mattered to it but left out the part about meeting death. If he could help it, no one would have to know.

  “Then if what you’ve told me is true, I have a theory to the cost of your magic,” said Salem.

  “Really? Lay it on me,” said Keldon with a mouthful of bread.

  “Depending on the name your magic uses; I think the cost changes. Back during the aberrant fight when you first invoked Name magic, you said your arm burst into pain and blood right?”

  Keldon shuddered, nodding his head.

  “And back when you first called upon the name of fire, you said there was a chill when you called on Karyx. But after your awakening, you lost consciousness, and when I went to bring you back to be treated, you were ice cold to the touch,” said Salem. “I believe it’s no coincidence.”

  “I’m still a bit numb, to be honest.”

  “Makes sense considering you turned our resting spot into a glassblower’s wet dream,” said Salem. “You’ve got some powerful magic pup. But it won’t do you any good if you fall dead on the floor after the first hit.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down Keldon’s forehead. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing… that thing again.

  “The Name of Fire is about momentum, right? Momentum doesn’t mean you fire off your entire load in the first punch. Build up your momentum and use your energy when you need it.”

  “M-makes s-sense,” said Keldon, his breathing erratic.

  Salem gave Keldon a sympathetic look. He walked over, crouching down to eye level.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. No matter what,” said Salem. “Trust me.”

  Keldon flashed him a weak smile. “T-thanks.”

  “Come on, let’s train. You’re going to be a true hero right?”

  The phrase seemed to breathe life into Keldon’s body as he sat up a bit straighter. He took a deep breath, slapping his cheeks and shaking his head as he steeled his gaze. Popping a coffee bean into his mouth, he raised his fists above his head in wildstance, bouncing on his heels as he turned to Salem.

  “Karyx” he whispered, as his fists began to glow.

#

  Rather than firing out inconsistent projectiles, the two found that the easiest way for Keldon to regulate the power of momentum was to store the heat in his fists and legs. In the first few hours the two of them had spent trying to figure out Keldon’s movement abilities, if he needed to refrain from using projectiles, he had to be able to close the distance efficiently somehow.

  “Salem!!” yelled Keldon, blazing across the field. He had launched himself into the air, using too much power as he was sent soaring

  “On it!”

Activate Skill: Greater Heat Suppression

  He launched forward in a blazing fury as Salem turned a gleaming bronze and braced himself, leaping in front of him. He tried to mentally pull back, but he already knew, no chance. The training ground exploded into a fiery light as a shockwave of heat rippled out from the two, as Salem took a step backward, digging his heels into the ground.

  A chill nipped him in the shoulder as the momentum was sucked from his body upon impact, dropping to the floor in front of Salem.

  Salem dispersed the skill as whistling steam poured from his ears.

  “Too big of a step up. You use the right side of your body predominantly, so putting in the same amount of power on your right leg as your left will overshoot you.”

  “*tch*, thought I finally got the hang of it,” said Keldon.

  “You aren’t awful,”

  “…but?”

  “but what?” asked Salem

  “Aren’t you supposed to give me some kind of compliment now or something?” asked Keldon.

  “I did,”

  “Really? That's it? You aren’t awful?”

  “More than I can say for a good portion of brats your age.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  Salem rubbed his wrists from the impact of Keldon’s blow, “Cold?”

  “A bit,” said Keldon.

  “Let’s break for lunch then.”

#

  The two headed back to the prison cart crew where they were welcomed back enthusiastically by Mitch who hurried Keldon over to help Pudge with the cooking while He and Ernie egged on Salem to have a drink but surprisingly declined.

  “Didn’t take you as a man for the brotherhood, what with those bulging muscles of yours,” said Mitch.

  “Think if we develop ourselves a fitness routine, we’d have as sharp of a jaw as wise-guy over here?” asked Ernie.

  “That’d involve self-reflection, and that’s a lot more mature than I think I care to be,” said Mitch. “I'll take my chances with the chisle.”

  “Very funny, now fuck off Mitch. Just give me the leather oil,” said Salem.

  The campsite quieted to a hush, as Keldon’s jaw went slack. Did… did Salem just swear? But as stunned as Keldon was, Mitch and Ernie looked downright flabbergasted.

  “Ernie, am I dreaming, or did I just hear brother Salem swear?” asked Mitch with a straight face.

  Ernie turned to Mitch deadpanned. “Aye,” he said.

  Mitch and Ernie silently turned to Salem, raising an eyebrow, and waiting for an explanation.

  Salem rolled his eyes. “I’ve had my mindset changed a bit recently,”

  “Thought it’d take an apocalypse to change your mindset,” said Mitch.

  Salem scoffed. “Something like that.”

  As the three of them bantered, Pudge came back from a nearby pond and was boiling any impurities out of the water. Keldon peeled rutabagas and diced radishes as Pudge pulled a small brick of blue cheese and butter out of the cart. They cooked the mixture on a pan over the open flame. A little while later, they were joined by Mitch, Ernie, and Salem who were debating the nuances of the children’s game “tag” as they joined Pudge and Keldon for their meal.

  “I’m telling you, we should establish rules and penalties for tag. Rename and brand. It’ll make a fortune I tell you!” said Mitch.

  Ernie wrinkled his nose. “Dumbass, that violates the purity of “tag” in the first place!” he said.

  “All I’m saying is adding penalties to the game would make it a lot more interesting,” said Mitch, digging his spoon into his food.

  Salem met Keldon’s gaze and gave him a smirk, rolling his eyes. But then, Salem wrinkled his nose, dropping all semblance of amusement from his face as he tensed up, eyes quickly darting around.

  “Gentlemen, can I have your attention please?” said a voice, from behind the caravans.

  It was the man titled Jorhund, dressed tip-to-toe in what looked like a full military uniform. He walked into the campsite with confidence, a stark contrast to the impish skulking he did back in the caverns when Keldon had first met him. He adjusted his dark silver beret to the side as Mitch, Ernie, and Pudge’s face soured. However, they stood up and saluted him.

  “Salem Faughlt, you are under arrest for unauthorized use of the Peacekeeper’s status and titles, trespassing, and are under suspect of further treason against the state and body of the Divine granted under the authority of First Emperor Sun-K’aal-Sun. What do you have to say for yourself?”