Snow capped the village nestled into the mountains of the Farlands for half the year, while rain and thunder showered it for the other half. It was a humble town with wood cabins, few roads and a modest ranch. A much grander house, with ceramic tiles slanting on the roof and a stone garden where the rocks were carefully placed and stacked, stood before the cliff. Natural oil and fire braziers lit the streets in the evening.

Desdin stood in front of Jonah at thirteen, practicing the sword outside of the grand cabin in the freezing cold. Desdin remembered how well-dressed Jonah was, even when sparring. He was wearing a black robe with a cloak made from the finest wolf fur. Jonah trimmed his hair and beard for any meeting. He had the bearing of a king from the Farland. Rough yet regal in the way he carried himself.

As the days would wear on and his exhaustion grew, Jonah would push even harder. He would tell Desdin, “Disasters happen even in practice. I am a descendant. Born with the blood of the Oldest. The effort it takes to teach you without crushing you is the same as avoiding stepping on the ant to me. So, do not let me pass the edge of your weapon no matter what, Desdin. What is it you see beyond your blade? Is it certain death?”

During these early times in his life, Desdin showed nothing but fear of his master, and would answer “yes” to seeing death when Jonah appeared. The lesson would end there and Desdin would retire to the bunks. By the end of every day, Desdin was left breathing raggedly. When he finished for the night, Desdin was beaten black and blue, turning the chilling air to mist like he was breathing fire. His palms bled and his legs turned to jelly. Jonah showed patience with him, though. He smiled in a way to inspire him to do better. He was kind in his ruthless lessons. It had given Desdin purpose and meaning as expressed by the determined look on his face.

The few other descendants greeted him at the bunk. They were all adolescents. One with a shaved head walked up to Desdin with a disgusted look. “I just want you to know the first time you come back without having your shit already kicked in. We are going to make sure you get yours.” Desdin ignored him and laid down in his bed.

One girl with curly hair from the other side of the room chided the other boy. “Rone, leave him alone. None of us has managed to win against him so far with Jonah’s rules. Until we do so he is off limits.”

Rone rolled his eyes at her. “The only reason we can’t win is because Jonah spends half his day giving him lessons. The rest of us of have to split the rest of the time Catreel. It is pointless training him when he has all of us. Whose turn is it to play with him tomorrow?”

Catreel opened her journal. “By my count, it should be Esthea that is up. Jonah may not allow it because the last instance one of us sparred with her, she didn’t hold back at all and nearly killed Andi. She spent over a week recovering.”

Desdin answered them while turning against the wall covered with his blanket. “It is for that very reason that he is going to allow it.”

The next morning all of Jonah’s students followed their routine. They would all meet with the village doctor one at a time. After that they proceeded to the ranch and made their breakfast. Helping out with whatever tasks needed to be done to earn their meals. Then they would attend classes with all of the other village youths at the school. They ate lunch and then gathered at Jonah’s house in his stone garden for the lessons they all anticipated with great enthusiasm.

He had two swords set out in front of him. Desdin stepped forward first, taking one sword up and going to his side of the courtyard. A teenaged woman about the age of fifteen, with long blond hair and dark black eyes, took up the other sword. She gazed at Jonah. “I’d rather we use the practice swords, please.”

Jonah gave her a dry response. “Are you worried about your safety, Esthea?” She glared at him with her eyes forming an icy blue glow from the depths of their natural color.

“If he dies, do not hold me accountable.” Esthea stated as she took her position across Desdin.

“You are descended. He is a human being. You can break him easily if you so choose to.” Jonah said. He then looked over the Desdin. “I have trained her. You have seen all her moves. Show me that you have the potential to master your own future despite the odds. The rest of you observe this moment. I hope that whatever the outcome of this contest that it will help solidify your bonds here.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The students that were observing the match looked on nervously. Esthea wasted no time and rushed Desdin. He began his elegant footwork while skillfully rotating through his stances. He narrowly dodged each strike with the edge of his sword. His eyes darted from side to side, tracking her movements. He anticipated each advance by watching the position of her feet and the tensing of her muscles before they sprang into action. The ground beneath her cracked each time she stood her ground to attack. Desdin’s movement scarcely kicked up any dust as he danced on his toes.

Esthea’s assault was bouncing off an invisible wall of furious sparks as their swords connected briefly many times. He continued to parry from the extent of his range. The sound was as sharp as their blows. She began laughing. “Are you not taking this seriously? I will kill you!” She overextended with a wide slash, leaving herself open. Desdin did not take the opportunity. Instead, catching his breath and standing back at the ready. “You won’t take the bait! Is that it! Did you read it? Could you tell the moment that you even try to attack I would take you down?”

Growing frustrated, she plunged her weapon into the ground. “This is only holding me back. I will take you down with my bare hands.” Esthea savagely leaped at Desdin. Utilizing her raw speed, without having to worry about form. Her hands nearly reached his throat. He pivoted back and a powerful forward kick landed cleanly in the middle of her body. She reeled back, and he rushed past her. He cut her across the chest sending a spray of her blood across the air. Esthea gritted her teeth as she clutched at her wound. He moved to grab her blade. She spun around as he was deftly maneuvering into her blind spots. He was wielding both swords to create superficial wounds on her arms and legs. She lunged in vain one last time and Desdin slid to a stop away from her after having executed a blinding strike. Her left hand bled profusely as she saw her pinky finger cascading through the air.

Desdin sheathed his sword and sat it down before Jonah along with Esthea’s. She crumpled to her knees, her hair obscuring her face as she stared blankly at the ground. The rest of Jonah’s students looked on in disbelief. Jonah himself complimented Desdin, “Well done. Your lesson is finished for the day.” Desdin bowed before returning towards the village.

Catreel elbowed Rone. “Didn’t you say the next time he showed up without being all beat up you would take care of that for him?”

Rone glanced at Catreel worried. “Don’t put me out there like that. The lesson here is obvious. Without discipline our power is a waste. I don’t think Jonah will be giving more lessons tonight. I’m going to practice on my own. You can join me if you want Catreel. We have room to grow.” The remaining students departed with Jonah’s approving nod.

Esthea remained on her knees while Jonah motioned for the doctor to tend to her wounds. She looked over at Jonah with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, father. Please don’t stop teaching me.”

Jonah approached her and bent down next to her giving her a firm hug. “My proud and strong daughter. We will all grow and improve together.” She fell into him sobbing.

Later that night, Esthea came back to the bunk and made a straight line towards Desdin’s bed. Rone, Catreel, and a few other students gathered in front of her. She looked away before addressing them coldly. “If I wanted to actually do anything, there isn’t a damn thing any of you could possibly hope to do.” She then looked at them with an honest look of sorrow in her eyes. “I only wish to speak with our dear comrade.”

Desdin got up and walked outside with her. They sat beneath the clear stars, high in the mountains. The winds whistled sharply through the village flickering the fire set in the lamps. “Sparring with you was terrifying this time, Esthea.”

Esthea answered, “I’m sorry. It was not sparring for me. I wanted to hurt you. Your presence and prowess gave me goosebumps. My instincts didn’t allow me to hold back. I want the skill that you have. I want to protect everything Jonah wants to protect. Including you. I will temper myself from this point on.”

“I also want to do what I can for father. I was lucky he took me in. You were the first descendant he sought out. We were both children. Your mother had died in childbirth and your father was content to let you starve. Jonah would never tell you that. But it was an important moment for me. I saw him as kind in that moment. You are very much like Jonah. He is ruthless in his work, but the authentic Jonah is selfless and has such feeling for people.” Desdin beamed at Esthea.

Esthea gave him a warm smile and looked up at the sky. “I want you to know something, Desdin. I love you. You are the only person here I can’t control with my power. I trust you. So please help me achieve all of our dreams.” She leaned her head on his shoulder innocently.

The next day, Desdin’s normal training resumed. He positioned himself before Jonah, who asked him the question again. “What is it that you see beyond the edge of your blade? Is it certain death?”

Desdin ultimately understood the message. He replied, “No. Life is beyond the edge of my sword and through you. Whether I wound you, slay you, or escape you. I will live.” Desdin’s eyes simmered, and the lesson still ended in typical fashion, with him on his backside. As time went on, there were a few occasions when he would astound Jonah. It may have been luck at first, and through endless practice as the seasons passed, it became because of his skill. The stroke of the sword was like a meticulous stroke of a brush that was performed hundreds of thousands of times. Until wasted movements did not exist and the practice became an effortless and instinctual dance.