The next morning arrived much too quickly, the weak dawn light a pale gray cast against Kairen's window. He woke up with an aching knot of shame still in his gut, but now, a fragile, somewhat unbelievable warmth was pushing at it. Kellan's words, his surprise belief, implanted a tiny germ of something akin to hope.
He lifted himself out of bed, his muscles complaining from the attempted practice in vain; he pulled his sleep shirt over his head and, by force of habit, caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
The mark on his back was worse. The intricate, glowing blue lines seemed brighter--more vivid--against his pale skin, and it was bigger. Not by much, but the refined shape of wings on his shoulder blades seemed to stretch (barely) a hair's breadth more than last time, and the assorted textures within the shapes were far more complicated than he remembered. He leaned in closer, cold dread creeping down his spine. He was so focused on the size of the difference that he skimmed right past the center of the design and completely missed the nearly-invisible hairline crack that split the marking five or six inches from his spine--spider silk thin. It's getting worse. I think, as the chills crawled down his back.He rapidly put on a t-shirt and buttoned it up, holding the thought just a bit apart from him.
Down in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and toast thoroughly filled the air. Elara was already there humming softly to herself. She placed a plate of eggs down in front of him, her eyes scanning his face, her customary worry.
"You were out late," she said gently.
"I was… practicing," he mumbled, poking at his food.
"Kairen." Her voice was soft but firm. "You don't have to destroy yourself over this."
He looked up. Kellan's voice, strong and sure, echoed in his mind. Your father's greatest weapon was never his magic. It was his heart. "I know," he said, and for the first time, he almost believed it.
His mother watched him for a long moment. "What are you thinking about?"
Kairen put his fork down. He took a deep breath. "Yesterday, at the assembly… we had to choose our Path."
"Oh, dear." Her humming stopped. She was sat across from him, now fully focused on him. "That is a big decision!"
"Yeah," Kairen said, his heart starting to beat a little faster. "I have."
"What is it?" she said, her voice both anxious and interested.
He finally looked up, drifting his attention strongly into her eyes."I want to be a swordsman."
The surprise on her face was immediate. Not disappointment, just… shock. "A swordsman? In the Vanguard? But Kairen, that's such a dangerous life. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure Mom," he said, with more energy in his voice than he was expecting. "I can't do magic. I tried. I failed in the casting hall, in front of everyone. It's just not in me." He saw the pain flash in her eyes for him, and he hurried on. "But Magister Kellan talked to me. He said… he said I have Dad's courage. And that a person's strength isn't just about spells. I want to be strong, Mom. Strong enough to protect people, like he did. I think this is a path I can actually walk."
Elara stared at him, really stared, seeing the new fire of determination in his eyes. At last, a bittersweet, full of pride smile flickered on her lips. "Your father always said he was so busy living up to his father's expectations to be a great mage that he almost forgot who he was. Your father figured out who he was and what he was capable of when he stopped trying to be the hero and started fighting for his people and the people he loved." She reached over the table to take his hand. "The sharpest sword is a strong heart, Kairen. If this is the path you believe is right for you… then I believe in you."
When he reached the academy gates, Dain and Ilya were already waiting. Dain was juggling an apple, and Ilya was, as usual, reading.
"He is here!" Dain shouted, catching the apple with a triumphant grin.
Kairen ran the last few steps, a real, unforced smile on his face. "Hey."
"So, today's the day!" Dain boomed, taking a huge bite of his apple. "The day we choose our future! I'm going Berserker, obviously! Big axe, big smash! What about you, Ilya?"
"Mage," she said simply, closing her book.
"Yeah, but what kind?" Dain pressed. "Elementalist? You could freeze monsters with a single look!"
"My path requires a deeper understanding of the fundamental nature of magic," she replied, as precise and mysterious as ever.
"What about you, Kairen?" Dain asked, his mouth full of apple.
"I'm with you in the Vanguard," Kairen said. "I chose swordsman."
Finally, Dain smiled so wide his face nearly hurt. He finished his apple and gulped loudly. "YES! I knew it! This is gonna be amazing! We're gonna be training partners! Vanguard-bros!" He threw a heavy arm around Kairen's shoulder.
"Well, well. If it isn't the three misfits."
The voice was like ice down Kairen's spine. Kaelan Brightblade and his two lackeys were standing a few feet away, sneering.
"I heard you were choosing your Paths today," Kaelan said, his eyes locking onto Kairen. "Let me guess, Zephyrwind. They've opened up a new Path just for the talentless? Professional dishwasher, perhaps?"
Dain's arm dropped from Kairen's shoulder. His happy expression hardened, and he took a half-step forward. "Say that again, Brightblade. I dare you."
However, Kairen put a hand on his arm which stopped him. He then looked directly at Kaelan, and for the first time, he did not feel that same familiar, nauseating shame. He simply felt... tired of him.
"It's okay, Dain," he said with surprising calm. He kept looking at Kaelan. "To me, my path is about what I may do, Kaelan, not what my name is supposed to imply."
Kaelan's smirk faded from his face as surprise filled his eyes. It was clear Kairen had caught him off-guard because he had expected the Kairen to buckle and cower. Before Kaelan could come up with another mean remark, the bell rang for the morning assembly. He turned, gave Kairen one last look of hatred, then walked away.
In the Class A classroom, Professor Valerius stood before them. "You have all submitted your chosen Paths. From this day forward, your practical training will be divided. When I call your specialization, you will gather with your group and follow your assigned instructor."
He began calling the lists. "Mages… with Instructor Serena. Guardians… with Instructor Harken. Healers… with the Saintess Lyraelle." Dain let out a small, wistful sigh.
"Swordsmen," Valerius called out, "you will proceed to the main training grounds." As Kairen stood up, Valerius's cold eyes met his. "An interesting choice, Mr. Zephyrwind. Let us hope your aptitude with a blade is not as… absent… as your aptitude for the arcane."
Kairen just nodded, refusing to let the words find a home. He followed Dain out of the classroom.
The primary training area was a large area of dirt, with racks of wooden training swords and dummies along the walls. The dozen students who opted to train with the sword stood nervously. Then, Rayan walked out of the armory, not in battle armor, but simple, practical training clothing. Even so, he manifested an air of calm confidence. The students fell silent.
Dain gasped, a tiny, squeaky sound from such a big guy. "Okay, act cool," he whispered frantically to Kairen. "He's so cool."
Rayan halted before them, unabashedly smiling. "Okay, recruits. Welcome to the yard. My name is Rayan, and for the foreseeable future, I'm going to be your biggest nightmare." His smile persisted. "You chose this path. That means you chose sweat, pain, and bruises. Forget everything you think you know. Today, you are all children holding a stick for the first time. Your first lesson: respect the blade. Your second lesson: how not to trip over your own feet. Now grab a practice sword. Let's begin."
As Kairen picked up the simple, heavy wooden sword, the solid weight of it in his hand felt more real, more right, than any magic spell ever had. He took his first clumsy stance, a new and difficult journey beginning with the simple weight of wood in his hands.
All across the academy, other paths were being forged.
In the west courtyard, Instructor Harken, a mountain of a man with a scarred face, roared at the new Guardians. "The shield is not a wall you hide behind! It is an extension of your will! It is a promise! Now plant your feet! Become the mountain! DO NOT MOVE!"
In a quiet, sunken garden, the aspiring Healers stood around Lyraelle. "The first step to mending is not to cast a spell," she said, her voice gentle and clear as she touched a wilting flower. "It is to listen. Life has its own voice. Don't force it. Just… encourage it." A faint green warmth bloomed from a student's fingertips.
The splintering sound of wood reverberated through the reinforced training pit. The Berserkers lifted huge wooden axes and slammed them against iron-banded posts. "More!" their instructor, a fierce woman with wild red hair, shouted, smiling. "Don't just swing the axe, be the axe! You are the storm that breaks the shield wall! AGAIN!"
And in a quiet, sunlit room, Ilya and the other mages sat in silent meditation before their instructor, Serena. "Magic is not in the words you shout," Serena said, her voice a calm murmur. "It is in the silence between them. It is not a force to be commanded, but a current to be guided. Close your eyes. Feel the air, the stone, the light. It is all connected by a web of energy. Now… try to move just one of those floating motes of dust with your will. Nothing more."
While the others perspired, faces contorted with thought, Ilya sat motionless indeed. With one thought and a single particle of dust had begun to dance in a slow, perfect circle in the sunbeam in front of her. She was right where she needed to be.
Loud and quiet, physical and mental, all a hundred journeys had just commenced.