"Damien?!" Damien snapped up, looking around. He turned to see Venka, only, she was older. She smiled at him.
"V…Venka?" He looked at Venka, she looked about 4-5 years older, and was a beautiful teenage girl.
"Hey sleepy head!" Venka chuckled as she flicked his forehead. "If you slept any longer, you'd miss class."
"Oh? Like I need to care about that!" Damien laughed. "I got it, I'll shower." He looked to the further side of the room, Alanna and Dusan had also grown older, and had flowered beautifully. He shook his head as they played with Ventus. He went to the restroom and looked in the mirror, seeing the face that used to stare back at him before he had died. He smiled lightly as he ran his hands through his short black curly hair. It's not like he hated looking like… like what? What was he thinking about? It wasn't important. He stepped into the back and cleaned himself. Afterwards as he toweled himself off the looking glass revealed that his dark skin was flawless, except for a terrible looking scar in his chest. As he looked at the horrid thing he wondered at its origin, yet he couldn't recall anything. The day was normal, he went to his mage classes, they were simple, Angela had taught him everything. And as a Pearl student the others finally paid him no mind. In fact, he even saw a few gestures of respect his way. He smiled to himself. As the day continued though a feeling of worry overtook him. Like he was forgetting something, or someone.
"Today's been a great day." Venka grinned. Damien smiled as he reached for Venka's hand. She took it graciously. He loved it, it had been normal, nothing eventful, nothing stressful, just normal living. He didn't have to worry about proving himself, protecting himself, Jahat…
Damien's eyes snapped open, he looked around now. "Jahat… the… enhanced children." The area around him began to fade away, looking around he was cast in great shadows. Red eyes looked upon him, malice filling them, and a bloodcurdling laugh filled the air. Damien tried to run, but found he couldn't move. The red eyes moved closer, a body of darkness materializing around it, it drew closer until he could make out the individual tendrils of smoke, intertwining like a macabre weave. Without a word the darkness consumed him. He came to, in front of a boy, with a blade stuck in his chest. Heart feeling like it was being physically torn Damien rushed up to the boy, the color drained from his face as he turned it over to see… Faris.
Faris woke up in a cold sweat. His chest hurt, it always hurt in the morning. His head was pounding, and his heart a flutter with fear. He heard rustling and turned his head sharply. As he peered into the darkness of his new lodgings, he realized it was Ventus, preening himself. Sighing Faris slumped back into bed. But he couldn't sleep, his mind still on his nightmare, the jumbled, odd, incoherent mess it started from, and the fever trip it became. In the morning, he'd be introduced to a squad, and working together they'd attempt to make it through basic training for 4 months before being able to get into the real training. Unlike when he was to be enrolled in the mage school, he had little interest in who his squad mates would be. He had no time to treat them preferentially, or with malice. He simply had to be if he wanted to excel. He frowned, staring at the ceiling for a bit before getting up and exercising. The week after being admitted he was tested to see if he met the minimum basic qualifications to becoming an imperial guard. He barely passed the physical portion, but he broke records in the written sections. Which came as no surprise. The education of the world was still hundreds of years behind the education system an average high schooler received, let alone a private schooler like him. He began to do pushups, arms creaking from the strain.
"1…2…3…" He puffed in exhaustion as he continued. Even then, it was difficult to concentrate, he almost lost count twice, even then, he persevered. As he continued his mind began to wander again. He began to think of Rembrant, then of Dr. Mendel. He gritted his teeth, redoubling his efforts with his pushups. Using his fury, he ignored the pain by thinking of all the karmic retribution he'd met out to the doctor in exchange for his pain. He was so busy thinking of that that he was still in the midst of pushups when Donovan's page knocked on the door.
"Oh! Sorry sir! It's just that it's about time, you need to head over to meet the rest of your team!" The page looked at the younger boy nervously. Faris had dyed his hair pure black to help him disguise himself, but the boy still knew of his exploits. Faris had also shown ruthlessness in the demands he made of the Page's Master, and for that reason he was wary of Faris.
"Damn…" Faris got up, slipped on a clean pair of breaches and a white tunic, 15 minutes later he rushed out of the washroom, hair still dripping wet. "So, what can I bring with me?"
"Just the clothes on your back sir." Faris nodded at the page's answer.
"Lead the way…"
The training field was nearly empty, it should have been empty but there was one squad left. Four young men and women stood impatiently, irritation evident on their faces.
"Dammit, who'd dare keep their squad mates waiting?!" The first one said, he was the tallest boy, with blond lightly curly hair and deep blue eyes. He looked like the stock noble knight who rescued the princess. He clenched his fist angrily. "And the instructor saying we had to wait for him?!"
"It is weird I agree." Another student spoke up. "But it was the instructor's words. We have no choice but to obey."
"Well of course you'd brown nose wouldn't you Cynthia, have everything to prove, don't you?" The boy smiled, the student scowled at his smile.
"Shut up John."
"What?" John grinned, flicking a bit of his blond hair off his brow. "Are you saying we should put up with this?" He spread his hands wide. "We're here because we're their best recruits, we're the top squad." He looked around, "We're all here because we've been the best, and we've consistently been the best." He grinned, "Hell, we were allowed to attend that Wandering Blade Guild Training session, where we aided in instruction for hand-to-hand and fencing combat. None of those so-called elite student "warrior" mages could even touch us."
"Well, except one." One of the students, the shortest child, a young teen spoke up. He had tan skin and deep freckles. "That one girl, their Guild Master's little sister, she was extremely skilled."
"She doesn't count Vern, she's related to their leader, of course she gets the best training."
"She fought differently, and she's part of that infamous group." Vern sighed, "Though, I am getting a bit weary, where are they…"
Before they could begin to bicker two figures began to enter their peripherals in the field. They recognized Donovan, the Head Master of their academy, standing in attention they waited for him to approach. Luckily things had cooled down due to a large bit of cloud cover over the bright sun.
"I see you brats have the decency to follow orders."
"Sir Yes Sir!"
"Alright, so, you'll be dumped with this brat right here…" Donovan gestured to the youth, who removed his hood.
Cynthia held her breath, the other students had their eyes glued on the boy, he had lanky black hair, and clear, ghostly eyes. He looked at each of the students, glancing across each one before looking to the left almost dismissively. This struck an immediate nerve.
"Permission to speak sir?"
"Of course."
"While I don't mean to be disrespectful, this 'child' doesn't look like he'd be able to keep up with our training regimen."
"True enough, you may be right." John turned to the boy, who sounded as young as he looked. "Yeah, I'm not as tall, or strong, or fast, I'm probably less skilled and less experienced." He smiles as he said "experienced". "But I don't believe I'm so far behind that I'd lose to someone as short sighted as you."
John smiled patronizing, "Care to test those words?"
The boy turned to Donovan, who shrugged. "Fine, fine, you both want to fight? Alright, standard rules, don't aim to kill your opponent, and don't aim for maiming attacks, but you can knock out your opponent."
What's his connection? John thought, Sir Donovan was very stoic, he seldom spoke to any students, and when he did only to correct their form or offer critique, or to tear them a new one for some form of misconduct. To allow that boy to speak so casually, is he family, like, his grandson? John shook his head as he unsheathed his training sword. Unlike the mages who could use magic to dull the edges, knights in training had both a real sword and a training sword, the training sword was by no means a useless implement, it carried the same weight and attributes of a normal sword, but it's edges were dulled, the tip of the blade rounded, and its already dulled and rounded edges lined with thick leather, it could still break bones, but now it was as effective as a somewhat thin, somewhat flexible club, it was still a lethal implement, but less so. And it was of course a greater status symbol than the simple wooden swords less efficient trainees received. The boy smirked at John's weapon, irking him greatly.
"Alright then…" John began, brandishing his sword, "Take your weapon and face me."
"Hmmm…" The boy pondered for a bit, "I don't have a training sword." He smiled at John's incredulous face as he widened his stance and put his fists out, like he was getting ready for a boxing match.
"You must be kidding me!"
"What? Should I get that stick over there?" The boy walks slowly, siding around John until he was behind his original position, John turned abruptly as he readied his sword cautiously, but the boy merely picked up a thin looking wicker stick that likely blew unto the field.
"Why don't you take this seriously y-" John stopped, squinting as the cloud travelled its full length and no longer covered the midday sun's blinding light. John sensed the boy's movement and felt his feet shift the dirt as he charged the older boy. John, though blinded swung his blade widely but expertly towards his assailant, only to feel a fast and hard blow sweeping him off his feet and landing him on his back. Before he could catch his breath, his training sword slipped out of his grasp and he felt it against his throat. It had been a matter of seconds, yet the boy had knocked him down with methodical precision.
"Is that serious enough for you?" The boy grinned. John scowled, unsheathing his real sword and swinging, the boy rolled out of the way then slid to the side as John unleashed a downward cut at his previous location. Donovan made no comment, simply watching as the boy looked at the blade, swinging it a bit, "pretty well balanced." He stopped smiling as he looked at John, who was regarding him with seriousness.
John would not allow the boy to distract him, he angled himself, using his size and presence to edge the boy so that John would be the one who's back was to the sun. Play you tricks now yo- John was interrupted as he was blinded again, this time by the boy angling the sunlight into his face using the blade. John at that moment regretted the times he slaved over giving his blades such well-polished sheens. The young boy went on the offensive, swinging hard and wide, cutting a few furrows into the ground as John evaded him erratically, soon John regained his groove, and began to take the offensive, he was faster than the boy, stronger than the boy, and, proud to admit it, more skilled, the boy had battle experience it seemed, but he fought in a somewhat unrefined matter. The boy began to retreat slightly with every swing, and John doubled his offensive, capitalizing on his power. But even as he pressed on, he began feeling nagging doubts, the boy's face didn't betray any emotion, in fact, it was he getting unnerved, that child's ghostly white eyes, and his dead expression, it made it feel like he truly was facing an apparition.
John's going to lose. Cynthia admitted John was the most skilled duelist she knew. He had proven the martial superiority of the knights and soldiers over combat mages in a hard-fought duel with the Wandering Blade's Guild Leader's little sister. This boy fought somewhat similarly to that girl, his shuffling movements somewhat matched the way she had moved, but with a different tempo, and a much different overall pattern. Like looking at a hawk and a falcon, both were similar, yet very different at the same time. John was fighting harder and faster than he had back then, yet despite the boy retreating more than the mage girl had, John was the one who seemed exhausted. The boy's face unchanging, his eyes on John.
The boy, Faris, analyzed John's movements, on his way to the field Donovan was matter-of-fact with him.
"You've done well enough in the tests that I'd have admitted you without your threats."
Faris hadn't replied to that.
"Child, you need to learn humility, you aren't some ultimate power."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"The group I'm putting you in is highly skilled, and missing a fifth member. If anyone were to earn the sigil, it would be one of them, but they each have trouble associating with other trainees they don't respect."
"And so… what, do I have to earn their respect? Just put me on some other team."
"I believe they are the best fit for you, they were students who demanded justice for you."
"What?" Faris turned to look at Donovan with bemusement, "What do you mean?"
"They wanted the officials known for being connected to your misfortune found and detained, and they pressed their parents to take action and demand your release."
Faris didn't answer, though Donovan saw almost the hint of a smile on his face.
"So… are you saying I should tell them who I am?"
"Well, yes, it will save grief on my end, and they don't seem too interested in gaining magical abilities, though at the end of the day, they'd have to determine that themselves…"
Faris was impressed, he had heard that this teen had defeated all of the Wandering Blade Trainees and a large number of their adults in fencing, even Nya had proven unable to best him, but from what he saw, she should have at least given him a close fight. Despite his outward appearance, each block he couldn't skillfully parry rattled his bones, but he tensed his muscles each time, allowing them to collapse and bounce out to emulate the feeling of resilience. He prefers cuts followed by a thrust then side cut, and he likes circular flowing motions. Even if he understood John's preferences, it didn't mean he could rely on this knowledge. The teen lived up to his name as the best student in that year. Faris continued to fall back as they danced their deadly dance, he didn't try to go for any cheap touches, any openings he perceived were likely feints and traps. Unlike John, the blade Faris was using wasn't immediately able to kill with a standard cut to the midriff, and wasn't likely to draw blood unless he removed the hardened leather, which was surprising resilient even while facing the punishment of John's real blade. He's skilled, but he hasn't faced real action yet.
John kept pressing the boy, he could feel victory in his hands. A powerful swing knocked the boy's sword out of the way, opening him up for a sharp thrust. His smile of victory was dashed by the boy's smile, then he fell forward, tripping on one of the many furrows the boy had made when first pressing the offensive. As he lost balance the boy reached out his hand, inches from the blade he flicked his wrist, striking John hard on the finger causing the teen to let go of his blade. As he fell the sword landed to the side, but out of reach.
Faris kept his blade at his side, tensing just enough and regulating his breathing to hide his exhaustion which without his adrenaline came at him in waves. "…That was impressive." He didn't lie as he held out his had to John, who after staring hard took it, rising.
"…You, you were impressive." John admitted. "You're skilled enough to join us…" He cocked his head, "What's your name?"
"…Faris…"