Training was early and daily. Practice was available at each Holy Order's academy stations, but training was strict and mandatory for all students. Training began just before dawn and another in late afternoon. Ky, now fifteen, personally preferred the morning sessions when his body and mind was fresh and ready. But he couldn't pick and choose; he had to expect anything—as the Masters proved. It was only fair; they had to be prepared for their final knighthood. And battle.

Many in his class were climbing higher into the possibilities, though, he had seen some declined, not because they were unskilled but because their lives would be cut short. They cast them away if they showed a flaw, if their magic lacked potential. . .or they just weren't cut out to be holy knights.

Ky mastered his magic fast but sometimes it felt like yesterday he discovered it. It was more startling than exciting.

It wasn't every day a thunder-user was found. A rare and powerful type of magic. Perhaps it was a plan of God.

He was another orphan of the war, who did not remember or know his parents or his origin, except he was pure French. He wasn't just any orphan, he was allowed into the Order without an initiation. The Order was all he knew. It was like he was born there. There was always the holy walls, magic—and warriors. Perhaps they knew it. Perhaps they knew his magic would show one day. Or was it all just a surprise?

Ky had been eleven. Or was it twelve?

He had been given a large saber to take to a memorial room where weapons were mounted after their owners were killed or retired. The saber had lost its owner in battle and he had been given the task to take it to its resting spot, like the fallen knight who had once held it. But he didn't make it to the memorial room. A trio of young and cocky knights had been set out on their own adventure when they caught the young blonde lugging the sword. He didn't see them as a threat, and to them, the sight of him was too curious.

Curiosity killed the cat.

One snuck up on him (although Ky heard him) and hit the blade of his sword on the ground behind his heels, creating a loud and sharp sound against the marble floor. Ky immediately spun, startled by it.

"Don't be scared," the other had said, grinning. "I was only playing. You got to keep on your toes these days." He reached out, but the movement was too fast for Ky. He held the sword out, broad-side, to defend himself, and that was when it happened. A spark of electricity ran across the blade and shot at the opposing knight. It hit him, but it was a small charge. It only knocked him on his rear end like a shove. When Ky looked at him, the other boy was staring at him with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open as if he were some monster. The others did the same.

A freshly trained knight, scared of a boy a few years shy of his age.

Ky had stood on guard for a long moment, with all of them silent.

Now he stood on his guard again, holding a stance across his trainer. Around him, swordsmen were practicing against one another while archers were sending their arrows far into the grassy field nearby. Some fighters who preferred no weapon at all fought against ones who did.

The Order's academy did not segregate.

The Master, Kron, was focused on him. He was a stocky and gruff man. He was beginning to gray but he didn't show his age. He was armed with a large staff that looked like it could send Ky's light frame flying clear off his feet. In honesty, he was a falconer. He was often seen with his loyal bird on his shoulder, watching over the knights in training with yellow, observant eyes. It was like it was Kron's second pair of eyes. Sometimes he spotted it inside the building, roaming free. But the bird did no harm—only when someone got too close or tried to touch it. He remembered one of the other young knights dared to touch it. When it landed on a sill, watching the outside like a lonely dog, one cocky knight snuck up and grabbed it, but it flew out of his grip. It left scratches on his face. Unfortunately, the Master found out and scolded the boy.

Kron's punishments weren't limited to speeches or yelling. One day, the youth came to them, panting and with a few light bruises on the face. He still had the healed scratches on his face from the bird, now scarred.

Ky centered his attention on Master Kron with his dull-edged sword raised. The two were in a short stand-off. Ky studied his body, and once he saw his muscles move, he prepared himself. The Master arched his arms back and swung the end of the staff at his side. He dodged it, though, and defended himself with a slash of his sword. They hit, with both returning to their owner's sides.

The Master slashed again and again. Ky ducked each one, then a few more until his opponent stopped and looked across him.

"Make your move," his Master said.

"No."

"I said make your move!"

Ky said nothing and blinked at him. The refusal made the Master sneer and jabbed the end of his staff at his face. It was nearly a blur but Ky leaned away just in time to escape it and watch it retreat back to the Master.

"I will not fight against someone who wishes to fight me without just cause," Ky said calmly.

The Master tilted his head while sneering. After a few seconds, he charged, but Ky dodged out of the way, spinning smoothly. The Master passed him like a raging bull.

The Master approached him again. He jabbed again and again with Ky avoiding both strikes. He returned an attack with a hit to his staff, bumping it. He hit it twice, but he didn't free it.

"Stop being defensive and be more offensive!" the Master said.

Ky steadied himself on his feet. He stayed where he stood and kept his eyes firmly on the Master. He waited.

"Do something!" the Master said.

"Am I here to learn or to be egged-on? Perhaps I have lost the objective here."

Enraged, the Master charged again. He raised his long staff over his head and brought it down. Ky leapt back with the staff hitting the ground where he stood. The moment it met ground, Ky swung his sword. It knocked the staff from under the Master. He landed on the ground on his stomach with his weapon.

Around him, it was quiet. At the corner of his eye, he saw the others watching. Ky did not return any glances and just stood and watched the Master stand up slowly.

"You bastard. Good shot."

Hearing such words was rare from this Master. Praise, that was. It was the best one he could get out of him.

The Master wasn't through with him yet, though. He wanted more out of this student. He jabbed at the air in front of Ky, who did not flinch. After he didn't, he swung. Ky ducked it and took a fast step forward. He leapt and performed a backwards flip. He charged the practicing sword with his magic as both of their weapons, and hit.

Ky landed in a crouch and saw the Master on the ground. The others were laughing.

Ky wasn't laughing. His hands were hurting like hell. He pulled his hand from the handle of his sword and looked at his palm. It was painfully red. If his hands hadn't already toughened up, he was going to get blisters, if worse.

The lesson of the day: don't forget your gloves.