The half-days trek back was much harder than the first. The warmth of the morning had long since left, and the once vibrant forest teeming with wildlife had grown quiet. Even the trees began to look as if they wept as the last trickles of the sun disappeared behind the distant hills. Past the thick forests and wind-thrown fields, the three youth and their father walked in silence mourning, as was the custom, the losses of the guardsmen who gave their lives in the name of protecting the realm.

As the four finally made their way back into the kingdom, the silence had finally been broken. Not by the composed Thom, or the energetic Baum, but rather by the father who seemed the most affected by the day's events.

"Boys, you are free of your duties for the next few days. Relax and enjoy the time off."

After a moment's pause, Cormac's father turned to face the castle, amassed Neshamah in his legs, and took a great leap, leaving behind only a small crater where he once stood. Following him was Thom, who created a large ice bridge and skated his way home, dissolving the bridge behind himself. Braum meanwhile, had amassed a small cloud on which he stood.

"Cormac, would you like a ride?" Braum asked, looking quizzically down at the orange-haired boy.

"No, I think I will take a walk through the town," Cormac replied looking up to his brother. 

Braum was brown of hair and tan of skin and only half-resembled Cormac, much like Thom, as the trio did not share one common mother. All were the result of specific breeding, designed to create a strong heir to the throne.

In fact, both Braum and Thom had been successful creations considered to be top warriors within the Kingdom. While Cormac had yet to meet that kind of success, as evidenced by his inability to even use his Neshamah for the purpose of mobility.

Walking through the fields and farms of the outskirts of the Kingdom, Cormac began to recite to himself in practice the lessons Montag had given him.

Neshamah needs to be trained every day through deep meditation. Everyone has a limit to which they can use, but the first mark of an aspiring warrior is to realize that limit. Whether it takes a few years, to a lifetime. 

The second mark of an aspiring warrior is to form that Neshamah into whatever shape comes naturally, usually through instinct. Most often this comes in the shape of an attribute, like Thom's Ice, but the shape is limitless in the possibilities of its form.

The third mark of an aspiring warrior is to adapt this shape to all facets of life, living harmoniously with their Neshamah.

Most people skip the first mark entirely, only realizing the second. Even most of the self-proclaimed warriors have never fully realized the first mark, only mastering the second and third. This fundamental first step is exactly what separates the top warriors from the rest.

Cormac, deep in a trance, meditating his Neshamah, passed through the farms and into the markets. Large stalls from which trinkets and baubles were sold lined the streets, often left unguarded due to the honorable culture instilled within the people at a young age. Past the markets, lead to the inner city, where bars and inns held nighttime patrons drinking away the joys of the day. Even further in, was the noble's quarter marked by curious spires from which men would dictate the weather of the day. Finally, in the center of the city lay the castle upon God's back, home to Cormac, only accessible by either mobility Neshamah or the King's passage administered by the Royal Gaurd. All in all, this was several hours of travel by foot from the outskirts.

By the time Cormac had finally reached the castle and had broken out of his trance, the night's hour had reached its peak. Taking off his furs and laying down in his bed, Cormac began to drift into a dreamless sleep. The only thing on his mind was getting stronger, in order to end the need for the Wall's guardsmen to sacrifice their lives.