Training was no fun at all; exhausting from the first moments with what seemed like no rest before it started all over again. Drautos barked orders at them each morning and Crowe dozed off as soon as her head hit the pillow at night. When Drautos was elsewhere, his second in command - a man named Luche - shouted orders instead. Long runs every morning and a succession of pull-ups, push-ups and even more running.
Her free time was close to nothing and even sleep time was soon eaten into. Over and over again they trained; the same few exercises week in, week out. Unbearable at first, but over time somehow it became at least easier - and merely deeply unpleasant.
Over time they began basic sword-fighting drills, followed by knife-fighting drills and then knife-throwing. Crowe bit her tongue, resisting the impulse to demand answers. Had she - and everyone else - somehow wound up in the wrong unit? What even had been the point of their specific recruitment by the King if their training was such mundane combat? When would they do any magical training?
Dropping out was an option of course, but if she did - what then? To quit now - it would leave her rudderless and separated from the friends she had made here. The only friends she had any longer. So no option really; she would fight for the King regardless.
And then everything changed. They had started the day with a run - as always. The chill air sapped Crowe's strength but she persevered - just as she had every morning. Rather than moving on to another form of exercise Luche ordered the Kingsglaive recruits into the training hall where Drautos awaited them.
"Line up," Drautos barked. The recruits arranged themselves into neat columns. "Okay recruits. You have all shown some degree of magic-based aptitude. A rare few have already demonstrated an ability to wield the King's magic; others we detected the latent spark within." His gaze swept across the room. "In either case your training will now be to ensure you can draw upon this ability as necessary. We begin with meditation."
The long morning runs - even in the driving rain - had a new found appeal compared to the long, long hours of meditation. Maybe the others preferred it, or at least felt they gained something from the focus, but to Crowe everything seemed to come far too easily. Their sole hint of actual magical training now was to sense the pulsing flicker of magic inside themselves.
Drautos soon admitted that the roots of magic were beyond the limits of scientific research and many were reluctant to delve too deeply into the mysterious connections between the King, the crystal and the ability the Kingsglaive would draw on. Nor could he adequately explain how the King could imbue others with his abilities. "A matter of will I have heard it described," Drautos said. "The King desires protection or grants someone leave to act on his behalf. As his agents, you can all tap into this ability."
"Sir?" Crowe put her hand up.
"Altius," Drautos glanced at her. "A question?"
"Sir, why can't our enemy - why can't Niflheim use the same ability, sir?"
Drautos smiled. "A question that has perplexed even the King's closest advisors and their predecessors through-out the history of the Lucii." He turned to address the room. "The King's will is the only explanation we have - that and the wielder's faith in the King. We have been fortunate to not encounter sedition and I hope to never see a demonstration of such a thing." Not an answer - did no one know? "Anything further Altius?"
"Sir, no, sir." She shook her head.
"Keep your faith in your King, recruit. Believe that he grants you the power to wield magic." Drautos settled onto the floor, the recruits mirroring his action a moment later - each one of them facing a candle as Drautos ran through the instructions once again. "Close your eyes and focus on the candle flame." Crowe did as she was bid, following his directives to the letter. The candle burned brightly in her mind's eye.
"Once you can see the flame look beyond it," Drautos murmured from close by. The prickling sensation washed over her a moment later; it penetrated her skin, moving deeper inside her until it was like a pulse vibrating her whole body. It grew stronger with each training session. "Good," Drautos said. "Ulric, Khara, Altius; perfect. The rest of you - focus on the flame first."
Meditation continued for two weeks, and each time the pulse became stronger and the amount of focus she needed to direct on it reduced. In the third week they meditated without the candles and in the fourth Drautos encouraged each of the Kingsglaive to 'grasp' the pulse within themselves.
In the fifth week, an array of knives with metal hilts awaited them in the training room. "Each of you take a blade and touch the hilt with your bare hand." Crowe followed the instruction, sharing a bemused look with Undyne. "Lay it on the floor and prepare to meditate. Your task today is to grasp the King's magic and then direct it at the blade. If you do this correctly you will feel a tug. Resist this impulse. Under no circumstances give into the sensation. That is an order."
The instruction was strange, confusing and more than a little odd. Several perplexed expressions from the other recruits. Crowe did as directed, surprised by how strong the force Drautos described turned out to be. She concentrated, putting more and more effort into resisting temptation. The knife was a vivid sensation in front of her drawing all her attention down onto it like a singularity. Far harder to resist than expected; she needed to reach out with magic and touch the blade-
A burst of light somewhere to her left and Crowe opened her eyes in confusion, her concentration disrupted. Bellum was whimpering, his teeth clenched tight, his left hand clutching his right. The knife- Crowe blinked. The knife intersected with his hand in an odd way. As if it had moved through it? Drautos hurried over to him. "Khara, call for the medics. Ulric gather up the blades; the rest resume basic meditation."
What happened? Much chatter between the Glaives that night but no answers. Training resumed the next day and there were no further incidents. Bellum returned the day after and suffered no more mishaps. Like the candle meditation, seeking out but resisting the draw of the knife became second nature. In the seventh week Drautos strode to the front of the room holding one of the knives. "I want you to all remember that other than the weighting, there is nothing special about these blades. There is no trickery to their metalwork or design. None of them have been imbued with any kind of magic. Your abilities reside entirely within yourselves."
He shifted his grip on the blade. "With increased practice, the range at which you can sense your blade will increase. And you will use this ability to cross the space between yourself and your blade without physically moving." Crowe was not alone in the confusion; every other recruit was exchanging perplexed glances. "These are anchor points," Drautos continued hefting the knife. "Use them to maneuver behind your opponent. Like so." He hurled the blade over their heads and with a flash of light he exploded into shower of sparks.
A corresponding flash erupted behind them and the Kingsglaive recruits turned as one. Drautos stood at the other end of the hall holding the same knife. "You will all master this technique." Drautos spoke over their outbursts. "You will all ensure that no enemy can touch you in the field. You will be faster than them, more evasive. And you will learn to chain this movement into a longer attack." He strode forward. "Each of you will place your knife on the ground and back off a meter from it. Find the blade, draw yourself to it. Focus on grasping the handle." The recruits scrambled to position themselves. "Begin."
Drautos called the movement warping; two weeks after they started practicing, it was second nature for Crowe. The week after she could fling her heavy blade away and warp to it without another thought. The week after she flitted through the air, barely touching the ground as she warped to the blade and hurled it to a new destination. She flung the blade high or wide; alternating direction, angle and speed. She fumbled the knife every now and again, but all the practice helped her find the grip reliably.
No one liked sparring with her now; she would vanish from aggressive attacks and appear right behind her opponent, her blade at their throats in the blink of an eye. And if they tried the same with her - she was usually on the other side of the room before they could think and she would warp back behind them again. Luche soon seemed to be the only other member of the Kingsglaive with close to a comparative skill; benefiting as he did from early training before the major recruitment.
The warp was effortless by the fifth week. A natural extension of combat, or movement. Some days Crowe reached for a knife not on her belt to cross a room. Probably as well she did not have the weapon; she would wind up never walking again. The sixth week saw an increasing amount of experimentation as the other recruits still perfected chaining warps. The knife was nothing special - Drautos had made that clear - and yet Crowe's fellow recruits stuck rigidly to the idea they could only ever warp to the location the blade wound up. But metal was the key; not the knife. All it took was one touch on something; a metal beam, a wall, a piece of armor-
Undyne kept begging her for additional training, more practice at the fantastical and convoluted moves Crowe was now employing, and Crowe told her everything she could. Keeping up with Crowe became an exercise in frustration to many. She accepted the praise without fuss and tried to stress the specifics to her skills as best she could. Undyne and Stella started to get her thought process, but still clung to the knives like lifelines. Luche looked less than impressed when recruits flocked to her for advice - and soon after, he challenged her.
"C'mon, Glaive," he said cock-sure smile just about eclipsing the look of frustration on his face mere moments before. "Let's see how you do in a real fight. No rules; we'll see who can warp the best."
Crowe sighed. "You want a race or something?"
"A fight."
"Not wild about dying just so you can show off." She eyed him nervously. That earned her a low chorus of comments from the nearby Glaives. Luche smirked at her.
"Because the Niffs will hold back when you fight them, right?" He shook his head. "You think you're so good at it, then should be easy to beat me."
"Not going to let this go are you?" Crowe said. Luche held her gaze and drew his knife. "Fine. Never said I was the best." She drew her own blade. "But can we fight until first blood? Or when the Commander finds out?"
"Commander's not going to interrupt," Luche replied, her sidewards glance confirming his words and her suspicion; Drautos was nowhere near the training ground.
Crowe shrugged. "First blood then." She dropped into a ready stance, waiting. Luche's smile widened a fraction and his hand moved. The blade shot over her head in a blur as he vanished in the familiar, tell-tale flicker of light. An obvious tactic. Her hand was already moving upwards, her own blade sailing high into the air.
The duel was faintly absurd; combat drills always did feel less useful when two Glaives could warp freely. Little chance of Niflheim mimicking warping; current projections of the Empire's magitek development as reported by various spies and informants put them at best two decades from replicating anything like the magical technique. Still - it forced a re-appraisal of tactics if an opponent could use the same moves.
The base warp tactic was to assume that an opponent had moved behind the Glaive. In this case Luche's aim would be to appear behind her and have his blade against her throat before she could blink. The typical counter-move was to anticipate such a trajectory and aim to land the blade further back then the anticipated destination.
Second, triple and even quadruple-guessing of an opponent quickly became the norm; any hint of movement scrutinized for evidence of the true intent of a warp. The moment the blade left a Glaive's hand was often the moment the outcome of the battle was set. Luche as the most experienced of the group was by far the hardest to predict - his expression often remained blank and his movements guarded. But like most of the Glaives the air seemed to trouble him. Speed and quick reactions were most vital when warping as gravity hastily tried to assert it's grip on her. Luche had presumably watched her so could deduce her intentions - but then the second-guessing would begin.
Her move then; Crowe warped, grabbed the blade and used her momentum to roll her over mid-air. Luche was on almost the same spot she vacated. Foolish; follow the knife not the person as the mantra ran. Do not count on the blade coming to rest before the warp began. But above all do not warp into the same space as another - they had seen Bellum's accident and no one wished to end up in that or a worse state.
That Luche would take such a risk indicated either a cavalier attitude or a certainty about her own reactions. A flick of his wrist and Luche's knife hurtled through the air towards her. Nothing to worry about. Crowe threw the knife higher - up and towards the tower in the centre of the training grounds. Another warp, a tumble in mid-air and she slapped her hand against one of the metal support beams. Luche had reached her previous position. Perfect.
Crowe threw her knife towards the ground, and warped to it the moment it struck stone. Grab, roll, look-up. Luche flung his knife down and Crowe threw her own towards the canteen confident Luche caught the motion. She warped up to the metal beam. A few panicked moments to get her hand-hold - something to prepare for future stunts like this. Luche was below her on the ground, suddenly confused. He paced forward, looking past her knife and into the room beyond. Another step; Crowe warped to her knife, sprang up and threw a kick into his side.
"Just where did you learn that?" Luche spat as he whirled to confront her, one hand against his side, the other gripping the hilt of his blade tightly. The smirk was gone now.
"Applied magic." Crowe shrugged and threw her knife right at him. He ducked - naturally - and she warped. Wait. Her movement was all wrong; she was heading up to the ceiling rather than into the open space between the tables. She hit the ceiling and fell back. Her knife slipped from her fingers and skittered away across the floor as she crashed down, Luche advancing all too quickly. Sloppy mistake; the man's reflexes were notorious and often devastating. Her knife was nowhere in sight, and a blind warp had all manner of risks. Her opponent was smirking again as she scrambled to her feet and retreated.
The chairs in the canteen were partly metal, not great but enough. She grabbed for the nearest and hurled it over her head. The warp was bad and she stumbled into the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the canteen. Too panicked. Pain she could deal with however - now she needed space. Crowe jumped over the divide and onto the tiled floor. Out of sight for now, but weaponless. Her knife was still out there but where? There had to be something- Hundreds of somethings here; pots and pans, more than enough blades in the knife blocks. "I am willing to accept your defeat Altius," Luche called, his footsteps getting closer. "You're disarmed. Yield."
Deep breath - and move. She darted to the other side of the work surfaces and grabbed the pots. A succession of over-arm throws sent them over the counter and into the canteen at - or rather past - Luche. He ducked and avoided the pots she flung, never taking his eyes off her. Never even anticipating her plan. Some of her throws hit their marks and wobbled on tables, others clattered to the floor - needed to remember which was which. She pulled a knife from the nearest knife block. Luche leant against the doorway into the kitchen, staring at the knife she held. "Wouldn't advise throwing that at me, Altius." He grinned.
Telegraph the look at the blade, appraising its weighting. "Might still nick you." The nearest pot was right behind him.
"And here I thought you were meant to be good. All I hear is about how no one can beat you. But looks like you're nothing." Luche studied her for another moment. "Tell you what; take your best shot with that carving knife. Hit me at this range and I'll concede."
"My best shot?" Crowe tightened her hand. Wrong grip for throwing but Luche didn't seem to notice. "Okay." She raised her hand ready, crouched and warped. Less than a second to orient herself; she was on the table holding a pot with her other hand. Luche was still staring down at the floor where she had been a second ago. Move, grab Luche and press her knife to his throat. "How's this?" she panted as he froze. The heavy tinkling of his blade falling was confirmation enough.
"I yield," he muttered. The watching Glaives erupted into applause as she dropped her hand and stepped back. She offered her hand; Luche seemed reluctant to shake it, but with a grimace he did and stalked away as she bowed to her fellow recruits.