Two: The Fighting Program 

Nine Years Later... 

The God Palace can be seen from any point in Solmeris. So much so that it has haunted Layre for the entire duration of his teenage years. This day marked the end of those years, however, as he was about to be sworn into the Iyelian Fighting Program, where he would start as an apprentice to a skilled warrior. On average, it took two years to train to advance through the entire program. 

Layre planned to complete his training much faster than that. 

His parents were incredibly proud of him, but they had their concerns. Fighting for Iyelion was a dangerous profession; it was rare that warriors lived long lives. They all died young; the proof of this lied in the Remembrance Stone.  

The Remembrance Stone sat proudly in the Iyelion town square, bordered by fancy-colored glass stones. Layre liked to spend his afternoons around it, watching as the moving sun changed the way in which the rainbow light was reflected. His favorite time was mid-day, right when the light dispersed in a complete circle around the square. It was truly a marvelous sight.  

He would spend some time running his fingers along the stone. He touched each name etched deep into it. He wanted it so that no warrior who died for Iyelion could be forgotten; he would keep them in his memories if nobody else did.  

“Can you stop moping? It’s ruining my mood.” An irritated voice grabs Layre’s attention. He fears for a second it is someone who takes offense to him touching the stone, but it is just Adreian and Olive.  

He met them both when he was twelve. Adreian and Olive both wanted to become warriors like him, so they got along well in school.  

“I am sorry my moping bothers you so, Adreian.” Layre smirks, leaping off the little platform the stone sets on. He joins them at the edge of the square. 

“It is almost time for induction ceremonies, so we need to hurry now.” Olive says, wrapping her arm around Layre’s shoulder. They all three walk down the brown, weathered brick streets of Iyelion and towards the training school. The walk is short, so there is not much to say between them. It is obvious to each other that they all share the same wicked nerves. 

The building is not expansive, as the population of Iyelion is small. It is a modest building made of red oak with a silver flat roof, rusted with age. On this day there is a pale overcast, and Layre hopes his long sleeve is enough to keep him from burning. He had learned his lesson that overcast days were just as bothersome as a day full of sun.  

Inside the building, a small party is being held. There are circular wooden tables dotted here and there, draped in detailed tablecloths. They look like they came straight from the God Palace. The ceremony room is darkened, only lit by lanterns lining each wall. Layre glances around, taking it all in; it all feels surreal. 

 Layre then easily spots his parents along the far wall. He greets them and gives them a hug each.  

“Oh, my son. I never thought this day would come.” Elisen frowns, taking in just how tall Layre has gotten. He is just as tall as his father and just as handsome. His shoulders had gotten broad, his hair a swooping dark brown now, contrasted greatly by his amber colored eyes. He was a true beaut, proven by all his romantic letters he had received over the years. He had replied to none of them, of course.  

Layre knew his parents worried, but now looking at them, he can tell they are terrified by this idea. Layre was the couple’s only son, as they struggled to have another child after they had Layre. It would crush their spirits beyond repair if anything ever happened to him.  

But they were not restrictive parents by any means. They let Layre explore his options, allowed him to determine his place in this world on his own. 

“I will make you both proud.” Layre declares, meaning every word of it.  

“You already have, son.” Silvyr offers him a genuine smile, and Layre finds himself plagued by their pride. He felt he did not deserve such supportive parents. 

The ceremony starts shortly after. Layre grabs himself a small glass of red wine and takes a seat before the old wooden stage. An older man is stood behind a podium, looking abashed by himself and the growing crowd of future Iyelian warriors. Olive and Adreian take the seats next to Layre. He notices Olive’s leg bounce with nerves. 

“I’m so excited!” she says, throwing her head back and glancing up at the ceiling. It is obvious to Layre that she does this to avoid looking at the stage. If she does not look, it is not real. Adreian is grinning at her, and Layre lets out a little laugh too. The excitement is palpable between the three friends.  

“I hope I get Izlaer Aeden as my mentor. He’s the strongest warrior Iyelion has ever seen!” Adrelian calls out, and Layre shakes his head. His friends were a little eccentric, definitely more outspoken than himself, but he would not trade them for the world.  

The man on the stage fidgets with the list in his hands, takes a long, staggering inhale, and then speaks. 

“Welcome to the Iyelian Fighting Program, young warriors. I am here today to assign each and every one of your bright souls to a skilled mentor who shall help you rise through the ranks of our program. Give us the time, and we shall make warriors out of you!”  

The crowd cheers. Layre shifts in his seat, a pure bundle of anxiety.  

The man reads out a long list of names, a few Layre had heard before, but most he has not. Iyelion typically received an influx of people during this time. The fighting program was a sought-after program in Solmeris. People would often ship off their children here in hopes they made it as an Iyelian warrior.  

“Layre Iarberos is to be mentored by Izlaer Aeden.” The man announces some time later, and both Olive and Adreian spin to face Layre in utter shock. 

“That’s so not fair!” Adreian groans. 

“I’m happy for you, Layre!” Olive says at the same time, and they both glare at one another. Layre bites down on a wide smile.  

This was good. He needed the best if he was to free Solmeris from the Gods. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ 

Izlaer Aeden was overwhelming, Layre had come to learn. 

It was only his third day in the program, but Izlaer had him on a strenuous schedule. Layre spent the mornings training with the more general, larger fighting group, and while the others split into individualized studying groups, Layre met with Izlaer in the battle rooms. They would train hard until night fall; Layre would go home then and sleep for six hours. He’d wake up, come back to the school, and repeat the same thing each day.  

The battle rooms they trained in spanned across the entire training school, but Izlaer would take him to the furthest one, all the way down the hall. Layre would peak into each room as he followed his mentor. Izlaer claimed he chose the farthest ones for concentration, but Layre was not sure and did not care to ask further. 

Izlaer did not spend a lot of time talking to Layre, in fact, he was mostly silent.  

Two weeks into the program, after a long night of sparring, Izlaer grasped him by his shoulder, grinning wide into his face. Izlaer was not one who knew how to respect personal space, Layre had also come to learn. He could feel the hot, vicious breath of Izlaer each time he addressed him like this. He had gotten used to it. 

“You will be the strongest warrior Iyelion has ever seen, Iarberos.” He told him. “Promise me you will continue to train your hardest.”  

“I promise.” He told Izlaer, who pushed him away and reached for his sword. There was no rest for an Iyelian warrior.