Leif’s lungs burned as he surged forward, his sword a blur of steel. It sang true, directed at Master Vharran, but it was too predictable. Vharran’s own blade met his with a crack that rang through his skull, the force jolting through his arms. With a sharp twist, Leif’s sword was torn from his hands, and a blow stuck his ribs, sending him flying.
Leif hit the ground, rolling with the impact. Plain flared in his side, but he forced himself to his knees, coughing blood onto the ground.
“Pathetic,” Vharran’s voice was like ice. “You are too slow. Again.”
Clenching his teeth, Leif rose to his feet. He knew what his mistake was, and he knew the punishment that would come with it later.
Straightening his body, he lifted his blade again. He would book no argument, make no excuse. Vharran’s lessons were not words to be debated. Although he wished that they were. Leif considered it a gift from the Goddess when Vharran chose to discipline him with words, one did not like to see how he solved problems without them.
Staring into his instructor’s eyes, Leif went on the offensive. The clash of their blades sent tremors though his arms, Vharran opting to take a defensive stance so that he could test Leif’s footwork. However, as the duel wore on, Vharran weaved in offensive strikes. And before long, he was launching a full-on assault, every strike unyielding.
A feint led Leif to overcommit on his defenses, when suddenly a heavy boot crashed into his thigh, sending him back down to the hard earth that he’d begun to grow acquainted with. The edge of Vharran’s sword rested at Leif’s neck, causing him to inhale sharply. Once more, he had failed.
“Disgraceful. You could not even land one strike, if I had been your enemy, you would be a dead man. How can you fail so much and yet learn nothing from them?”
Vharran pulled his blade away, continuing to lecture his pupil.
“Do you not care for your life? Do you think just swinging this sword, again and again without direction, will make you stronger? You are weak, yes. Truly weak. But I will make you strong. Go eat and clean yourself up, report back here. We will not stop until you’ve managed to land a single strike on me.”
His limbs felt like lead, his breath ragged. He knew Vharran was a monster in combat, but this – this was impossible. He was only 10, after all. “Master,” he breathed, “it cannot be done.”
Vharran whirled around without hesitation, his target clear. Leif barely had time to raise his arm in defense before a crack rang out. Flesh tore and blood poured as agony exploded through him. He gasped, anguish escaping him as his arm hung limp at his side.
Tears streamed from his eyes as Vharran walked over and crouched above him. He gripped Leif’s hair and jerked his head up to meet his eyes.
“If you waste your breath on what cannot be done, you will never achieve what must be done,” Vharran snarled. “You are weak because you do not believe you can be strong. Pain is your teacher, and you will listen.”
Footsteps echoed in the distance and a new voice cut through the training room.
“Pain is a state of mind,” Eldrin said, his tone calm. “And this one is close to letting it claim him.”
Vharran released his grip, standing as Eldrin approached. His golden eyes flickered over Leif’s wounded figure before he turned back to the Grandmaster. “That’s enough, Vharran. A broken arm is not conducive to effective swordplay.”
Vharran’s lips curled in displeasure, but he did not argue. Eldrin knelt beside Leif, offering a hand. “Come. You’ve endured enough for today. Let’s get you mended.”
Leif swallowed his pain and nodded. He gripped Eldrin’s hand before standing and walking to the infirmary, cradling his broken arm.
Leif stared out at the open plains; his allies fanned to either side of him. Orin to his right, wielded a halberd, a long staff tipped by an axe-head. If not for Leif, he would undoubtedly be the strongest warrior that the fortress had produced. Despite his ripe age of 14, he had killed tens of men in armed combat, boasting the highest kill count out of their class. To his left was Siv, a similarly brutish girl. She wielded a sword and shield, opting for a more defensive weapon due to her passive fighting style. And to her left was Bren, the most nimble of them all. If Leif was an all-rounder between speed, strength, and resilience, wielding a great sword with more control than should be reasonable, Bren might be considered a speedster. He dual-wielded two daggers and kept an array of shanks secreted about his person. He sported a lithe frame and thin chainmail, juxtaposed against the thick armor that the other three wore.
Bren shifted on his feet, cracking his knuckles. “Anyone fancy a wager? I bet I take out more of these poor bastards than any one of you.”
Orin smirked. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Siv rolled her eyes. “You two and your stupid wagers.”
“Focus. This isn’t a game,” Leif said.
Bren chuckled. “Then why am I having so much fun?”
A signal sounded. The four warriors stopped their banter, gripped the hilts of their weapons and stared out into the plains, where a cloud of dust had erupted from nowhere. They each surveyed the battlefield, primed for combat. They had all begun to realize that something was wrong, though. They were expecting to trade blows with four other trainees, so why did everything feel so ominous? Instead, a figure emerged from the swirling dust – imposing and exuding an aura of death so powerful that the air had grown heavy.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Orin whispered under his breath, within earshot of everyone else. They mirrored his sentiment.
He didn’t need to say more, Leif knew who this was. Everyone did.
Eldrin “the Shattered”.
He was a broken man. His staggered gait betrayed the injuries he suffered after taking a hit from a siege weapon in his final battle, where he subsequently tore through an entire battalion of Imperial soldiers before returning from the combat zone for treatment.
As a Grandmaster, his Bloodline had long been awakened and refined to the highest tier. Eldrin stood before them, clad in a simple, rugged armor. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.
“Four against one?” He said, amused. “That seems… unfair.”
Bren swallowed hard. “For us or for you?”
Eldrin grinned.
Then he moved.
Leif barely saw it – a blur, and then Orin was gone. His halberd was sent spinning through the air before embedding itself in the dirt yards away. A dull thud followed as Orin hit the ground, unmoving.
Siv reacted instantly, raising her shield, but Eldrin was already there. A single palm-strike sent her flying back, when Bren lunged at the Grandmaster. Eldrin twisted, sidestepping the attack before driving his elbow into Bren’s ribs. He staggered back before recovering and then moved back in to attack. Leif had no time to think, only react. He swung his greatsword in a sweeping arc, aiming for Eldrin’s exposed side. He had expected a dodge, maybe a block, but the Grandmaster was unarmed so he discounted the possibility. Instead, Eldrin caught the blade.
Leif’s eyes widened.
Before he could wrench it free, Eldrin slammed his hand into his chest, sending him tumbling backwards. In the same motion, he swept low and kicked the charging Bren’s feet out from under him. He had disarmed their entire party in mere moments. Without even using his Bloodline.
Eldrin watched with a bored expression; arms crossed. “If that is all you have, I daresay we failed to teach you anything.”
Leif barely had time to process what was said before Orin roared, recovering first. He charged at Eldrin with his halberd, which he had recovered partway through his dash towards the Grandmaster. Upon arrival, he launched a downward strike aimed at Eldrin’s skull.
Eldrin casually sidestepped the strike as Orin’s halberd buried itself into the dirt, splitting the ground apart. Suddenly, Eldrin was behind him, striking out and sending Orin careening forward.
Bren saw his moment; he lunged from the side aiming at Eldrin’s ribs. His blades struck true, only to halt against what felt like steel.
A grin flickered across Eldrin’s face as a surge of energy crackled over his body, and lightning erupted outward. Bren’s eyes shot wide before he was sent flying, his body rolling like a ragdoll before he crashed into the base of a tree. Smoke rose from his seared armor.
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Siv didn’t hesitate. After Bren had gone down, she too thrust forward. She fainted high, before twisting low, aiming at Eldrin’s legs in an attempt to crumple his foundation.
Eldrin cleanly jumped her sweeping strike, dashing towards her and moving within her guard. He firmly gripped her collar and put his face beside hers.
“Predictable,” he muttered.
With a single, effortless motion, he spun around and hurled her overhead, slamming her into the dirt. She was left gasping for breath, stunned.
That left Leif.
He was already moving before the slam had completed, hoping to use the temporary distraction to close the distance and find an opening. Once more, he struck at Eldrin’s exposed flank, but it was caught by a vambrace.
Despite putting his entire weight behind the attack, the metal held. A deafening boom rang out, and arcs of electricity ran up Leif’s sword and into his arms. His muscles seized, and his legs buckled as his world turned white with pain. He couldn’t breathe, and he fell to his knees as smoke rose from his body.
Eldrin stood over him, unimpressed. “Is this all you have to offer?” he asked. “Where is your defiance? Your fire?”
Leif gritted his teeth, when a sudden shift in the air made Eldrin pause. Bren had vanished. He was no longer lying against the trunk of the tree. His presence was gone, no sound, no movement. Then, from the shadows, he struck once more, his daggers aimed at the Grandmaster’s throat. Eldrin moved to block with his forearms in the same manner he had blocked Leif’s strike, but Orin was also moving. His halberd swung in tandem with the daggers.
The assault forced Eldrin to dodge, and his body twisted to avoid both attacks. It seemed as though he had escaped, but caught in his motion, Siv slammed into his back, wrapping her arms around his torso in an iron grip.
Leif stood up, pain searing through every fiber of his being, as he lunged forward with everything he had left. It was a perfect blow. Or it should have been. For a moment, all was still.
“Better,” Eldrin sighed.
Lightning exploded outward, a shockwave sent all four warriors flying, skidding across the ground.
Through his ringing ears, Leif heard footsteps. Slow, but steady. Unshaken.
Eldrin loomed over them all. “That,” he said, “was the first proper attack you have landed. And it will be the last, unless you continue to learn.”
He turned to walk away. “Your trial is over.”
And with that, he was gone. The young man welcomed the cold embrace of darkness as unconsciousness took him.
Leif stood silently within the atrium of Blackthorn Keep as the three Grandmasters stared him down. Leif’s peers surrounded the dais as he did, with tension in the air palpable. Today was the Day of the Rite of Embers. Everyone stood in silence as Althea lectured on the Rite of Embers, and of course, Bloodlines. Althea was a slender, beautiful woman that gave off an air of superiority.
All the onlookers were captivated by both her and the content of her message, especially some of the weaker students of the fortress. They probably hoped that they could supplement their lacking combat strength with a strong Bloodline.
Leif looked around, making eye contact with some of the other uninterested students. After all, if you’d paid attention during the lessons you’d already know everything that was being said.
“ – your Bloodline will shape and define the warrior that you become. Not a single one of you knows what may manifest here today. After all, you have had no guidance from blood or kin. None of you know what blood flows through your veins because you were cast aside at birth – abandoned by those who didn’t want you or sent here as an infant to be forged into a warrior.
What matters is what awakens within you today. Until now, you have trained relentlessly, honing the skills we have imparted to you. But once your Bloodline manifests, your path will truly begin to take shape. We will refine your training, sharpen your strengths. You think that your journey has been difficult? It has only just begun. Now, stand tall, and prepare for the Rite of Embers.”
At the end of her sentence, she slammed down the scepter that she’d been holding, and a loud thud echoed through the room.
As practiced, everyone surrounding the dais unsheathed the sacrificial blade that had been given to them before the ceremony, and held their non-dominant hand above the dais, perpendicular to the ground.
Vharran stepped forward, speaking up. “This is not simply a ceremony… The Rite of Embers is a covenant. If you are ready, we will proceed.”
No one spoke up.
“Steel bites flesh, and the ember of your ancestry ignites,” Vharran continued.
The gathered warriors pressed the edges of their sacrificial blades against their palms.
“Those who are worthy, will awaken.”
With a slice, the initiates drug their blades across their palms.
“Those who are not… will remain as they are, standing in the shadows of those who rise above.”
Blood spilled onto the dais, absorbing into the ancient stone.
Everyone stood still with bated breath, not knowing what to expect. Leif stood in awe as the blood spilled from everyone’s palms and began pooling within the carved symbols of the stone.
1 second passed. 5 seconds passed. 10 seconds. No one dared to move. No one felt compelled to be the first to question how long it would take for them to feel something, when suddenly, one by one, their bodies stiffened. Leif felt an overwhelming power surge within, and he noticed those around him feeling similarly. This was it; he had a Bloodline. Some of the trainees noticed that they were not being filled by the same power that the others were. Disappointment clouded their faces as they watched the others grit their teeth in acceptance of their newfound power.
Leif felt somewhat bad for them, but what could he do? He was blessed; he had a Bloodline. He knew it. As the feeling ebbed, he noticed a fierce contrast between the moods of those that had awakened and those that hadn’t.
“Now.” Eldrin also stepped forward. His voice had grown rough over the years. Every time he spoke it sounded almost like he was accomplishing a feat of strength. “We have ensured that everyone within this room is of age. If your Bloodline did not come to you, let it be known that there is no mistake. We have done all that we can for you, and you may now leave.” Eldrin paused at the crushed looks on the faces of his pupils.
“But Master,” someone spoke up. “What is there for us? This fortress is all that we’ve known. And now you just cast us out like dogs?”
“No, not like dogs. Each and every one of you has been trained to be an elite warrior. There is a place for each of you in the King’s army. You will rise through the ranks at breakneck pace because of your combat talent,” replied Eldrin. “In the context of your peers, some of you may feel inadequate, but do not question your teacher. You are capable.”
While the answer seemed to dissatisfy him, the young warrior neglected to speak again.
Leif looked on as Eldrin prepared to speak once more. He was trying to focus on what his Master was saying, but knowledge of his Bloodline was filling his mind and the shuffle of feet as his former peers left made it difficult to focus.
“For those that will remain,” Eldrin started, “you will learn the truth of what is within you.”
Leif stood slightly taller and squared his shoulders. The others – the ones who had felt nothing – walked in silence toward the exit. The doors shut behind them, leaving eight trainees who had been blessed by the Rite.
A woman robed in crimson stepped out from behind the shadows at the front of the room. She held a leather-bound tome covered in runes that pulsed faintly.
“Approach,” she commanded. “One by one.”
Leif made to move, but someone had already stepped forward. The old woman placed a hand on his forehead and closed her eyes. The runes on the tome glowed as she muttered under her breath.
“Infernal. You will gain mastery over flames. Your power is destructive so wield it with care.”
The boy’s face remained rigid. He stepped back, but Leif noticed that the boy was barely able to contain his pride.
Bren stepped forward.
“Stormborn. Lightning will dance across your body and your speed will be like a tempest.”
More names followed. Leviathan. Terrabane. Orin’s Bloodline was Titanblooded, granting him enhanced strength, tougher skin and resilience, improved stamina, and the ability to gain bursts of strength as he sustains damage.
Dreadmarrow. Paleking. Siv stepped forward, and the woman’s eyes widened.
“A Primus”
Siv looked up, her eyes bright. These were exceedingly rare.
“Monolithic Titan. You possess the qualities of both the Titanblooded, and the Terrabane. Hold you head high and be proud, your heritage has guaranteed you immense power.”
Siv beamed as she stood up. Leif noticed jealousy flash across some of the other trainee’s faces, but only for a moment.
It was finally his turn. His fingers twitched in anticipation. He slowly ascended the steps to the old woman. He kneeled before her when she laid her hand on his forehead as she had with the others.
Vharran stood to the side with his hands clasped in front of him. The ritual was predictable – students stepped forward, the woman claimed their birthright, and they stepped down. He had seen it countless times before.
And then Siv stepped forward. Ah, a Primus, he thought.
Now that was something that was worth his attention. Rarer still, she possessed the Monolithic Titan Bloodline. He himself was a Titanblooded, so he began weighing the implications of training her when Leif finally approached.
Vharran had noted him before. He was an odd one, he had a very no-nonsense personality, something that he quite frankly respected. He was also the one that withstood their intense sparring sessions the best.
Despite his brutal teaching method, Leif quickly learned to withstand the taunts and torment that Vharran seemed to love to inflict.
The old woman placed her hand on his forehead, and her tome reacted at once. Instead of lighting the requisite rune that coincided with the present Bloodline, there was nothing. No light. The book only rumbled, as if yearning to burst open.
Vharran leaned forward.
The old woman hesitated, before stowing the book away. She withdrew a second tome, this one a dark obsidian instead of the soft brown leather that bound the other one. That, more than anything, piqued his interest. He had seen this tome once before. And its implication was significant.
She opened the obsidian tome. A single rune burned into the page. When she finally spoke, her voice was uncertain.
“Hollow Crown.”
Vharran’s fingers tapped against the arm of his char. He had never heard this name before. His gaze narrowed as he observed Leif closely. The boy did not react with fear or confusion. No. Simply acceptance.
He rose, and the room still silent.
“Then let us see what he can do,” Vharran muttered under his breath.