Header image: https://i.imgur.com/nz4s4jP.jpg

Then.

Auren's training sword rapped sharply against Lang's fingers as he tried to block the attack. Lang hissed in pain, and dropped his sword onto the ground.

"Too defensive," his teacher chided. "Real battles are decided in moments. Passivity will bring you nothing but defeat. Up!"

The boy slowly got up, wincing at all the little aches the sparring had already given him. They would be bruises by tonight, he knew.

"I hate fighting," Lang mumbled. "When do we get to the magic?"

Auren sighed. "I've said this before. I will teach you the Art when, and only when I deem you...capable."

He'd wanted to say 'worthy', Lang knew. "And when will that be?" he asked, snatching his wooden sword off the ground.

"At the rate you're going? Never," Auren said sourly. "Three weeks of my best physical training, and still you fail to land a single blow."

The elf shook his head and suddenly advanced on Lang, his sword whipping an arc through the air. The boy lifted his own, and barely managed to block it in time. Auren leaned against his defense, forcing Lang to take a step backwards. The wooden swords creaked under the pressure.

"Magic does not come to the lazy, or the passive, or the weak," Auren hissed. Lang could smell Sweetroot's famous potato liquor on his breath. "If you won't take this seriously, I would much rather you gave up now, elfling. Otherwise...attack!"

"Whoa!"

The soldier ducked under Lia's swinging fist, still smiling.

"Careful! You could hurt someone, miss," he said. His eyes glittered with amusement as Lia snarled, and ran towards him. He quickly stepped to the side and stuck out his foot. Lia tripped on it, and slammed facefirst into the dirt. The soldier ran a hand through his hair, and winced in mock sympathy.

"Had enough yet?" one of the group of spectating soldiers jeered. A small group of them had gathered to watch the spectacle.

The redhead had walked into the camp this morning, asking where she went to enlist. Bryson, ever the ambassador, said that girls like her weren't made for the army. The girl asked what he'd meant by "girls like her".

He'd delicately explained that most of the girls you found in an army camp wanted to be men, or be with men, and while she didn't look like the trouser-stuffing type, she was always welcome to stuff his trousers. She'd punched him in the throat.

Adison and Brody dragged a gagging Bryson to the infirmary, and Ronan had stepped in settle things. Except the girl had still wanted to enlist, so Ronan made her a bet: hit him once, and he'd show her the way.

They'd been at it for a while, now. The girl picked herself up off the ground, and turned to face him. She wiped off the blood that dripped from her nose, and raised her fists.

"Keep it coming," she grinned.

"Don't stop!" Auren barked. "Feet apart, elbows close, keep your body at an angle. I will not let you rest."

Lang rushed forward, every blow frantic and scattered. While Auren had gone on the defensive, he didn't appear to be bothered, or even interested with Lang's attacks.

"Your movements are dull, your plan of combat uninteresting. I could find more passion in an angry duckling," Auren said darkly. One hand held easily behind his back, the elf would shift his sword ever so slightly to intercept Lang's. Once in a while, it would lash out to smack him on the parts of his body that needed to adjust their positions.

Lang gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

Sweat dripped from the boy's brow. His grip on his sword rubbed against his palms, and the training robe he wore chafed in all the wrong places. His heart thudded in his ears, and he glanced downwards to settle himself. Auren smacked him on the chin.

"Eyes up here, boy! Be present. This moment is all that matters. In a real battle-"

Before Auren could finish the sentence, Lang kicked out at the ground, sending up a small cloud of dust and dirt. Auren blinked, and took an involuntary step backwards.

Forgetting his sword, Lang felt the power begin to gather in his fingertips. Weeks of nothing but snark and swordplay. Weeks more, if his performance was any judge. And for what? This could be so much easier.

Unknown to him, the fingers of his free hand started to flex open and closed.

Ronan swept a hand through his long, black hair, gathering it into a ponytail. Sweat shone on his face, and his smile was starting to fade away.

"Had enough?" Lia mimicked, circling him. Her nose was still bleeding, and her upper lip was beginning to swell, but she was still grinning.

"We've been at this for half an hour," Ronan huffed. "But you haven't hit me yet." He tapped his chin for emphasis, and put his fists back up. "Time to toddle home, I should think?"

"Had to ease you in, didn't I?" Lia said, her hands outstretched as she hunched down, and set her feet apart. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle." She charged forward.

Ronan rolled his eyes, and leaned back.

By now, quite a large crowd of soldiers and townspeople had gathered around the two fighters. Bets were quietly being placed, the odds slowly shifting from Ronan to the redhead.

Ronan dodged her charge again, but as he did, he shoved her forward, and straight into the fence behind him. She landed with a crunch as the wooden posts shattered from the impact. Ronan wearily raised his hands again, expecting another attack. Lia didn't rise.

Auren took a step back, trying to blink away the dust Lang had kicked up at him. His hand wiped at his face, and came away dirty.

Quickly, as if he'd planned it, Lang stretched his hand out towards his master, and jerked his fingers wide open."Niran!" he roared. A wave of force exploded out from him, shoving Auren head over heels, and roughly tossing him backwards into a bush. As soon as the word left his lips, Lang gasped, and covered his mouth. His fingers were hot to the touch.

"I am so sorry," the boy stammered, the vindication of fighting back quickly replaced by a growing dread. He ran forward to help his teacher up, but Auren slapped his hand away.

He extracted himself from the bush, his gray robes now rumpled and dusty, his long, golden hair tangled with small branches and rocks. His carefully composed face now twisted into a sketch of frustration.

"I promise I won't do it again, I know you shouldn't--I'm really, really sorry--" Lang started.

"You would use your crude, little magic on me--on me! " Auren bellowed, his eyes wide in anger. "Botuu! Egotti! Kuu Datto!" the elf cursed forcefully, the venom in his words making Lang take several steps backwards. "We are finished here. Finished."

Auren pushed Lang aside, and stomped off, mumbling as he did.

The boy stood there, silent. After a little while, he wiped at his eyes, and nodded, as if arriving at a conclusion. He was, after all that, still hungry. Lia had gone into town today to do some errands. Maybe she would want to get something to eat, too.

The bystanders looked on, their worry slowly growing as they watched the girl lie in a pile of broken wood. She still hadn't moved.

Ronan scratched his head, and crouched next to her.

"Is she breathing?" one of the soldiers asked, worried. This could be trouble for them, having a villager kid beat up on army grounds. Ronan nodded, and gently shook the girl by the shoulder.

"Hey, good fight, missy," he whispered. "You alright?"

Lia's hand tightened on a plank of wood, and she spun around, smashing it straight into Ronan's face. He fell backwards. Lia fell on top of him, screaming.

Worry immediately turned into anger. The soldiers ran forward as a group, viciously kicking and dragging her away from their captain, who lay back on the ground, stunned by the attack.

Ronan slowly stood back up. He pressed on the side of his nose, and snorted out some blood. He raised a hand, and the soldiers immediately let Lia go. Confused, she looked at Ronan.

"Crazy bitch," he said, grinning, walking over to her and reaching out his hand. "I like that. Welcome to the 63rd Battalion."

Lang ran through the town's streets, ignoring the aches in his body and the stares of the townspeople. On the way here, he'd heard about a crazy redhead challenging the captain of the army outpost to a fistfight, and he knew there was only one redhead who was crazy enough.

Weeks of training had made him faster than he'd thought, and in minutes he found himself outside the gates of the army camp. The crowd was already beginning to break up, but they stopped to look at the young, battered half-elf.

Lang scanned the grounds for her sister, and found her in the distance, gripping the hand of a soldier with a ponytail. He waved at her, worried.

Out the corner of her eye, Lia saw her brother, and froze. Ronan looked at her, and raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?" he asked, looking around. He frowned. "Fairy boy over there's waving at you. Friend of yours?"

Was she alright? She seemed hurt. Lang strained his ears to hear her.

Lia snorted. "Who, him?" she said derisively. "'Course not."