“Again!”


    “Wait—”


    A deathly whistle silenced Taní’s plea, so he instinctively raised his trembling sword and blocked. His arms bulged beneath the weight of her swift sword stroke, summoning one thousand fires that lanced through his weary muscles.


    Eleanor slipped past his guard with a scrape of her waster, striking him upon his wrist and winning the exchange. She withdrew her blade with a sweeping flourish, her lips dipping with the slightest of disapproval.


    “Why did you block?” she asked.


    “Cuz you were going to hit me?” Taní said in between pants.


    “No. It is one thing to block, but doing so while idle? You offer no flow of retaliation. Your assailant will take advantage of that.”


    “What…? But if I don’t block, then I’ll get hit.”


    A twist of her wrist, a blur of motion. Something flashed beside Taní’s head. Eleanor’s sword. Good blood, how come she moved so far? He’d practiced for years, too, yet all she did was give the slightest twitch of her arm, and now permanent brain damage hovered but a hair''s breadth away?


    “Tell me, D’Histell: What could you have done to avoid this smart?” Eleanor asked, her authoritative tone devoid of any previous warmth.


    “Block it.”


    “Meet it.”


    He did as she commanded, pressing his sword against its side.


    “A block is but one of three steps in a dance you’ve no tempo to. One can simply sweep it aside like so.” She pressed the edge of her blade against his and, with a flick of her wrist, knocked his waster aside. “Travel down its length.” She did so. “Or simply feint. Now, what could you have done to avoid this fate?”


    Taní glanced at the door leading into the greater Art room. The occasional yelp of a student as they failed to guard struck the air like a startling chord. Was Lavisa faring better? No, of course she was.


    “D’Histell, focus!” Eleanor ordered, startling him.


    “Er, right… Well, I guess I could’ve pushed back?”


    “No. You do not simply respond without knowing where to flow; doing so only invites a counterattack. When guarding, one must not only keep in mind where best to meet but also where to redirect. How does one do this, you might ask? Through refined technique and proper footwork. Abstaining from the latter not only limits your defenses but eliminates your ability to counterattack effectively. You become static, predictable.”


    Eleanor drew her sword through the air, crossing blades with an invisible opponent. “Shifting, however, alters your course. Yielding cuts whose angles defy the stiffness of a static guard.” She adjusted her weight to her right foot, leaned to the side, and delivered a deceptively low slash. “Meeting a blade isn’t about brute force. Otherwise, we’d all be wielding clubs. You must remain active and aware. Prepared to meet their stroke with a brush of your own. These are weapons of leverage, not strength. Now, again!”


    The tireless instructor flashed forward in a ripple-less streak of black, waster aimed at his skull. Taní readied himself. His body, however, was beyond exhausted from the hour of endless training. Try as he might, he could not get his jelly-filled arms to respond.


    Colors flashed as a searing pain bled from his temple. It throbbed like all aches did, but with the constant abuse he suffered, he didn’t bother groaning about it.


    The matted floors cushioned his landing, leaving him with just enough oxygen to recuperate. Actively breathing, on the other hand, became somewhat trying as the thick red haze dispelled all thought. Pockets formed in the blood-soaked field, revealing Eleanor’s distinguishable—though panic-stricken—features. She hovered over him, lips racing with soundless words. God, she hit harder than the brick wall did.


    Eleanor raised his head off the floor and tenderly stroked his stricken temple, briefly reigniting the pain.


    “…Are you okay?” she asked, her voice finally piercing through the deafening shrill in his ears.


    The words came to Taní, though his lips uttered them far slower than he’d like to admit. “Yeah. I’m good. Just give me a minute.”


    Eleanor doted over him; his desired privacy denied. Try as he might, his attention couldn’t help but linger on her calloused hands. Despite her occupation, she possessed all the nobility and grace of a Lady. A stark contrast to the rough, scarred palms that effortlessly wielded a saber. What kind of life would she have led if she didn’t possess Tygenna’s blood?


    After Taní had ample time to recover, he sat up, jerked halfway through, then laid flat on the floor again.


    “Master,” Taní said.


    “Yes?”


    “Can you please let me go? I gotta train.”


    “And risk overexerting you? I wouldn’t dare!”


    Taní’s frown deepened. “Master. You do this every day.”


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    Eleanor’s pale cheeks burned red. “I most certainly do not!”


    Taní stared at the ceiling, resigned to his fate. Ever since she had taken him under her wing, it had been the same thing day in and day out. She’d work him like a horse until he could barely feel his arms and then slip up and smash him on the side of the head. He’d be fine with it, too, if she admitted to her wrongs, but no.


    The woman just deflected until he relented.


    Taní wasn’t certain what he found more impressive: Her inability to internalize blame or her physical endurance. Nothing they did tired her. He could go on the offensive for as long as he wished, and she’d simply brush aside his attacks or step out of the way. Sweat never marred her features. Was her limitless stamina a result of her Lunarkin origins?


    “Master?” Taní called.


    “Yes?”


    “Why’re you always so rough with me? I get you don’t like me, but still.”


    Eleanor’s thin brows knit with concern. The cold contempt of her saffron-chambray pools fostering a tender glow. “How ever did you come to that conclusion?”


    “You’re always frowning or yelling at me, but now? It’s like all you want to do is work me to the bone.” Taní traced the senseless light flickering from the ceiling. A sun yet not. How tiresome. “You can just say you hate me. Not like it’ll make a difference.”


    “And for what reason would I have to detest you?”


    “Lots, I guess. My other teachers don’t like me. Think I’m dumb or disruptive. I don’t really get it, but they’re not wrong, either. Learning’s just not my thing.”


    Eleanor ceased her ministrations and guided him to his knees. For a Cycle-thinning second, her brooding silence hung like a cloud, her lips drawn taut. Finally, she shook her head. “I’ve no ill will towards you, Taní. Quite the opposite. You may be far from a gifted student, but your heart is in the right place, and I think that the greatest strength any Juneac?o—nay—any person can possess. It is Tygenna’s power made manifest. A gift so pure it is as incorruptible as it is bright. And you, above all else, have proven yourself worthy of wielding it.”


    Taní tilted his head. “I don’t feel like that’s true… There’re other Juneac?o a lot better than me. Probably even with bigger hearts or whatever. Like the founders, or maybe even the Headmaster. Whoever they are.”


    “Perhaps…but exhibiting such a strength is no easy feat. Believe me, kindness is not without its challenges, and oft times, it would be simpler to forego blind sacrifice. Most Juneac?o go all their lives struggling with right and wrong, pursuing their needs above the many. Even the mightiest were not without this fault.” Eleanor paused as a wistful smile graced her lips. “Yes, even the mightiest fell prey to their base desires. Their hearts as shriveled as a rotten vasavendue…”


    “Master?”


    Eleanor’s lips tightened. “Might has nothing to do with a Juneac?o’s strength, Taní. Remember that. You can wield as many relics as you please, but this will not resolve the world’s issues. Death will remain, and with it, failure. Violence begets violence. I wish it weren’t so, and I wish this a sermon to impart a fragment of my values, but it is not. I’ve not much to cling to. That is why we must wield a blade as wisely as we are to enact our judgment. Because once it falls, it is difficult to stop.”


    Taní rubbed his head. “You aren’t kidding…”


    A scattering blush painted her cheeks. “Y-Yes, well. Training is necessary, and pain is but a crucial aspect of growth. As my squire—”


    “I thought you were just my teacher?” Taní asked, confused.


    “Then why were you quick to call me Master?”


    As Taní prepared to explain, the miserable, dejected glint in her eyes beset him, shutting off his brain. God, how stupid did he have to be? Anyone would be lucky to have someone half as amazing and cool as her, and here he was saying he didn’t want her help? After all she did for him?


    “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just…” Taní leaned away from her. “Y’know, it’s hard to believe you’d choose me. I’m not really special. People like ?zar, or maybe Lavisa, yeah. But me? I’m the type of person you keep around just to laugh at. That’s not really special.”


    Eleanor’s eyes softened. “I’d love to laugh, if you could spare me the time.”


    He blinked. Though it took some time to get his mind running again, he flashed her his best (sheepish) smile. “Well…if you’re sure about it, yeah. I’d like you to be my Master. I’d like that a lot.”


    Eleanor bowed her head. “You honor me, Tan?o. Truly. As Tygenna is my witness, I vow to not only uphold the values of my forerunners but to protect and guide you in this life. As you are one day destined to do for another.” She reached forward, tapping once over his heart. “May the Lord grant you sanctuary in his dreams, shielding you from the Desolator’s malice.” She tapped again, a lighter, tender touch. One that delivered a spike of gentle heat through his veins. “And may the Slumbering Maiden afford me strength during your plights. Wherever and whenever they might occur.” Drawing away, reached into her Blood-Loader and produced a phial of her essence.


    “What’s this?” Taní breathed.


    “My gift to you.”


    “For what?”


    “For granting me a blessing greater than my blood. It is tradition for Masters to bestow their squires with a token. You may consider it a promise. Why? Has your Master never give you as much?”


    I remember him giving me a dumb horse. “Ye—eah. He did.”


    Smiling, she dipped her head. “I beg of you, take it.” She extended the phial towards him. The crimson brilliance sloshed, but its hue shone with a sickly gleam. The light within…it twinkled a radiant green. Just like the moon. “You may believe it modest, but His Majesty drew this phial upon my induction into the royal guard. That was sixteen years ago.”


    Taní’s eyes fluttered in complete disbelief. “Wait…you mean?”


    “Yes. It’s been enriched.”


    “But sixteen years… Sixteen years.” He just stared, hoping the words would finally click. They never did. “Y-You won’t have it back. And you just wanna give it to me?”


    Eleanor transferred the phial into his palm, but she didn’t retreat. Her hand clasped over his, reassuring.


    Taní wordlessly accepted the gift. Something this amazing was being carelessly gifted to him. Blood this rich could go for entire fortunes! Not only that, but it was from a Lunarkin of all people. He could afford lands, titles! Everything he needed to prove that he’d been here. That he had lived.


    Yet even then, the fantasy left a sour taste in his mouth. This felt precious, too precious. The warmth, the hopeful twinkle that accompanied the slight swishes. Tygenna given form. She believed in him.


    She didn’t have to, but she believed in him. Was that good enough for her? For anyone.


    “What about you?” Taní whispered, despite his astonishment. “What do you want?”


    Eleanor inclined her head. “Pardon?”


    “It’s a lot… Don’t you want something back?”


    “Child, I can never repay you for the gifts you’ve granted me.”


    “Gifts? What were the others?”


    Eleanor gently closed his fist around the phial. “Shall we away? I’ve yet to introduce you to my childhood rigors. Sierez never was one for patience.”