Ether can come in many forms, far more than any one person can count. It's the lifeblood of Titans, flowing beneath the very ground itself for much of the world. It floats through the air, though only the truly trained eye might be able to even see it there. But the truly special form would have to be the ether connection, the bond between a Driver and their Blade. Not only does power flow through this connection, but so too does emotions, thoughts and sensations. Small thoughts of when the next meal is going to be, sadness at seeing a starving child, tension in the muscles, all these sensations and more flow between Driver and Blade. And it was through this connection that Callium knew to duck right before another arrow whizzed past overhead.

The arrow quickly lodged itself into the cave wall, and Callium whipped his head around in time to see Tirkin stomping its foot at the miss. Callium snickered at the bird. Simple creatures, really, even if they were a pain in the ass to deal with. Using the momentum of the dodge, he leapt across the expanse of the cave towards the archer, overhead of the other Tirkin blocking his way. He skidded to a halt in front of the Tirkin, who scrambled to nock another arrow on its crude wooden bow.

"Scraak! Stay back! Stay back!" The Tirkin cried, pulling hard on the string of the bow.

"No hard feelings, mate" Callium said as he socked the bird right in the gut, sending it sprawling onto its back. He shook out his hand from the blow, then turned his attention back up to see the rest of the Tirkin advancing on him. He counted 10, no, 12 spears aimed at his throat and advancing quickly. He stepped backwards, only to be met with a sharp rocky wall pressing against his back. He had gotten himself cornered.

Callium started to smile to himself. He was right where he wanted to be. "Oi, old man. Pass!"

Through the connection, he could almost feel his Driver sigh. The old geezer never likes it when I improvise, Callium thought to himself. But he had faith in his Driver, and heard the man grunt as he tossed his weapon over the heads of the Tirkin, who quickly looked up in surprise. The two blades swung wildly overhead, and Callium snatched them out of the air by the handles. The twin blades were long, curved swords that extended down to Callium's elbow and curved at the edges. The hilts jutted out from about a third up each of the swords, with the sharp edge of the blades dangerously close to his arms. Not that he was worried, though. Any nicks he received would heal quickly. Builds character, his Driver would say, though Callium would always grimace at the cuts left on his Drivers arms. The blades themselves were made from finely sharpened crystals, with more cutting power than anything a human could manufacture. They shined with an orange glow whenever the light hit them right, with the hilt of dark obsidian contrasting their brightness. His Driver had dubbed them Sickled Tonfas when he first laid eyes on them. Callium thought the name sounded almost artistic.

And Callium was definitely an artist.

With a wild swing, he slashed with the left blade at several of the spears, cleanly slicing them in half. Using its momentum, he spun in the air as the second blade followed it, knocking away the remaining spears as the Tirkin squawked in surprise. Pivoting himself on his landing foot, Callium drew himself up to his full height and loomed over the birds, spreading out his sickles like some sort of crazed weaponized falcon. The Tirkin, quivering at the sight of him, scrambled to escape his gaze and retreat outside of the cave, But there blocking their way was none other than his Driver, arms firmly crossed over his bulky chest.

The Tirkin tripped over themselves in fear, searching desperately for some means of escape. Callium closed the distance quickly, encircling them with the long reach of his blades. With nowhere else to turn, the birds fell to their knees with their wings held skyward.

"Surrender! We surrender!" one of the Tirkin cried, eyes wide in panic.

"No more! We no more bad, squaaak!" said another, trying to hide itself among the crowd of its brethren.

Callium's Driver looked down at the Tirkin with cold eyes. That look always scared him shitless whenever it was directed at him; that look meant that he fucked up big time. "You shall never set foot near our trade Arduns again," his Driver finally said, the light from outside shining harshly against the scales on his shoulders. "If not, well. Next time I won't be so merciful."

"Oh yes, no more, we get real jobs," the Tirkin said, many pitching in with various affirmations to show their sincerity.

"Now get lost, ya shrimps," said his Driver, motioning with his head that they were free to go but maintaining his icy stare. The birds quickly scrambled to escape, with a few staying beside to help the archer Tirkin up to his feet and out of the cave. Callium joined his driver as they watched them scramble off down the hill, headed in the opposite direction of the city. Callium spat in their direction. He had no respect for cowards like them, who would give up with just a little intimidation. World is better off without the little thieves, he thought to himself.

His Driver then turned to him, and Callium noted with dismay that his glare had not left his eyes. "And what was that little stunt you tried to pull back there, hmm?"

"Aw, lay off, old man. I was taking care of that archer, the little bugger tried to take me out," Callium retorted, dispersing his blades back into the ether and rubbing his newly freed arms.

"Your job was to take out the backlines," the Driver said, tugging at his mustache. He had a bad habit of doing that when he was annoyed, something that Callium had quickly picked up on. "Not to put on a gymnastics performance and draw all the attention. You're lucky my throwing arm is still good."

Callium hung his head, trying to feel how his Driver really felt through their ether bond. Nothing but stoicism. His Driver had gotten good at limiting what he allowed through the connection, only using it for conveying intentions during battle or when talking to the higher ups. Years of military service would do that to a man, taking something as personal as an ether bond and making it little more than advanced hand signals. He had only felt strong emotions through the bond when he and his Driver had been starting out, back when neither really understood how the connection worked. He could still feel his driver's presence through the bond, of course, but it was tough to sense how he truly felt.

"Hey, we got them didn't we? Sent 'em running with their tails… er, their feathers between their legs. And I knew you had me covered."

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder whose job it is to protect who." His driver muttered, shaking his head in disapproval. "One of these days you're going to have to learn actual strategy. Architect knows I've tried. Come on, let's report to the general."

"Yes, sir," Callium said, sarcastically, but fell into stride with his Driver as they began making their way back to the barracks. He kept his pace slow as they followed the path from the cave back to the main trade path, knowing that his Driver would push himself to match pace if he didn't. The old goat was stubborn, he knew that well. He would never admit it, but even Callium could tell that old age was beginning to creep up on the man. The soldier was still fit for the battlefield, sure, but the Blade had noticed that his hands had begun to shake when he held his weapons about a month ago. This was something that had never really occurred to Callium until recently, this aging that all humans had to face eventually. Some could live truly long lives, like those Indoline he had seen in the city a while back. Those almost lizard-like men had claimed they had lived for over 80 years without hardly a sign of age, and Callium had no reason to doubt them. But his Driver was an Urayan through and through, and he wouldn't get to live nearly as long…

Callium shook those thoughts out of his head. He could think about life being fragile and all that nonsense when he returned to his core. He breathed in deeply, relishing the soft breeze that flowed every so often through the grand expanese of Uraya's stomach. He walked across the hills surrounding the city nearly every day, but he always took time to appreciate the view from the hill. His Driver wasn't one for sightseeing, but maybe it was something about being an Earth Blade. Or maybe he just liked a good vista. He liked to think it was the latter.

"So, what do you think got those guys into such a frenzy?" Callium asked, eager to change the subject from earlier. "They gotta be either bold or desperate to start attacking our trade routes."

"Hmph. Something to do with food, I'd say." Replied the old man, his eyes no longer cold and set firmly on the city ahead.

"Yeah, yeah, it's always food with those guys. But they got plenty of territory, no? Not like we're trying to step on their toes or anything. Can't they, I dunno… fish or something?"

His Driver chuckled. "Have you ever seen a Tirkin fish before? Trust me, boy, those poor fools have the patience of a flea. They give up in seconds."

"Well, something else then." Callium replied, something sticking to the back of his mind. He recalled hearing something about the Tirkin getting antsy over something in one of the briefings he had ignored in favor of dozing off. He got chewed out for that one pretty bad by the general. His Driver had apparently done the same, but he usually got a pass due to his seniority.

"Don't worry too much about it. They're monsters, probably weren't thinking straight. Knowing them, they're probably gonna try again within the month, the little sneaks."

Callium felt the ground beneath his feet grow softer as they reached the Gwenith Paddies, fields of gromrice spreading out on either side of them. The canals that were dug for the fields do wonders for the crops, but everyone who comes and goes from Uraya's main gate knows painfully well how unstable it can make the path through the fields. Callium felt his armored boots sink into the mud with each step, and took care not to fall.

As they walked, he spotted the dozen or so farmers who were harvesting this year's crop. This year seemed like it would be treating them well, and Callium marveled at how much gromrice one of the farmers had slung over his shoulder. More food for the people meant more work for them, and his Driver always admired the hard, sometimes backbreaking labor that the farmers had to deal with, especially around harvest time. He had told Callium one night after the two had exchanged a few drinks with some of the other soldiers that his father had worked in the gromrice fields when he was a boy, and he had always looked up to his image. Callium could understand why. He also held respect for the simpler way of life, though he could not imagine it for himself.

"Good evening, captain!" Cried a voice from a field to his right. Callium turned to see one of the farmers standing in a rigid salute, her other arm carrying a couple bundles of gromrice. The younger boy working next to her slowly looked up from pulling a handful of weeds, then quickly scrambled to match the salute.

"Good to see you, captain!" Yelled another voice, this one coming from a man pushing a large wheelbarrow full of gromrice down a hill on the right who waved lazily at the two of them. "And you too, Callium!"

"Gonna be a good haul this year, captain!" Hollered yet another voice, this time from a young woman spreading seeds to the pair's left.

His Driver simply nodded in response, and kept up his pace down the path. But Callium didn't need his ether connection to know that his Driver felt a pulse of pride in the fact that the farmers respected him. And he could understand why they did. He had risen to his station from the bottom, having earned his rank of captain through years and years of training and dedication. His Driver represented these people, these common folk. He was their golden boy, even if this generation only knew so from their parents and grandparents. Of course, they didn't know everything about the old geezer. Callium recalled one time when they had been out on a scouting mis-

He felt it through their connection almost instantaneously. The old man's boot had caught in the mud, and his knee had begun to buckle. Callium sensed the rising panic in the man as lost his balance, and he reached out an arm to his side. In a flash, Callium grabbed his Driver's arm and steadied the man on his feet, faster than anyone around them might have noticed. He opened his mouth to say something, but his Driver gave him a quick look. Not a harsh one, though, but rather one of resignation. Callium felt the man's intentions through their bond.

Keep walking, boy. Don't let them see me like this.

Callium wanted to counter, to tell him to slow down, but he knew how much the old goat cared about his dumb pride. He let go of the man's arm with worry still clouding his mind, and the two continued their walk past the gromrice fields and towards the glittering stone of the gate to the city. Fonsa Myma.

Home.