As more of my intellect and wisdom are taken against my will to ponder the mysteries of Mana, I find myself with less capacity to process other physical and mundane problems, no matter how much I sharpen my mind.

  - Notes found in the quarters of Master Bertrand of the University of Quas.

  The day was cool, a mere whisper shy of warm, in the lofty heights of the Sword Ridge Mountains in the heart of the Empire. This was as hot as summer ever dared in these rugged peaks, and young Thakt of the Sara Sikuttu found comfort in it. He stood alone, taking a rare moment to pause, to simply exist. The crisp mountain air filled his lungs, laced with the delicate scent of Summer Snow blossoms that blanketed the valley of his people. They swayed gently in the breeze, loose petals caught and carried by the winds descending from the summits in a swirling flurry. It was said that in the Sword Ridge Mountains, there was always snow throughout the year.

  Thakt let his calloused fingers trail through the fresh grass, savoring the cool touch against his hardened skin. There would be training later, grueling hours of it. But for now, there was peace.

  He felt a quiet urgency to cling to this fleeting moment, for his people were a people of war.

  He rose, stretching his arms toward the sky, the scent of grass and earth still clinging to him. He reached futilely for the clouds, distant even here in the high peaks. There was a lesson in that, he thought, something about unreachable dreams, but his musings were cut short by the sight of Lawanni’s cross face.

  The young man could spend days, and often did, lost in thoughts of her. To him, everything about her was perfect: her raven-black hair cascading down to her small, pert breasts, her narrow hips, her delicate figure. Everything. As she drew closer, he willingly drowned in the brown depths of her eyes.

  "Thakt!" she called again, her voice strained as she shielded her face from the errant breeze that blew strands of hair across her cheeks. "You must come to the training grounds! Father calls for you! A messenger griffon has come from the capital."

  "I’m coming," he replied, sighing dramatically, though the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

  Thakt owed much to Lawanni's family. They had taken him in when his parents died from sickness. Cadeo, Lawanni’s father, had been his father’s closest friend. It was the way of the People of the Ridges to care for one another in times of loss, but Cadeo had treated Thakt not as a brother to Lawanni but as an honored guest. Thakt had never fully understood the older man's thoughts on the matter, had even resented him for it—until the day hairs began to sprout on his chest and he began to look at Lawanni in a very different light. And, as often happens when two young people share a roof, attraction had bloomed between them. A furtive thing at first, but it grew in the rich soil of mutual affection.

  He would always be thankful to Cadeo, the man who had become a second father to him.

  Lawanni approached, her exasperation softened by a teasing smile, and she held out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. As she came closer, Thakt could smell its contents: sweet honey bread from Hoang’s bakery, his favorite.

  "Here," she said, her mock scowl betrayed by the playfulness in her eyes. "Father doesn't want you complaining again when he beats you in front of the new trainees for being late and skipping morning practice." She pressed the bundle into his hands.

  "Hrrmmm," he mumbled, already stuffing his mouth with the sweet bread as he broke into a run, waving to her as he headed for the training grounds.

  *****

  "Again!" thundered Wise Instructor Cadeo, his voice echoing across the training grounds as he guided the new blood in the ways of their people. "Do not attack the air; attack your enemy. Picture them in your mind—see them, feel them—or all of this is pointless."

  Without warning, Cadeo swept low, his leg a blur as it aimed to topple Thakt's balance. But Thakt's reflexes were honed, his muscles responding even when his mind drifted. He anchored himself, feet planted firmly, and resisted the sudden assault.

  Cadeo gave a grudging nod of approval. "Good."

  They moved through the forms again, a complex dance of kicks and strikes enshrined over centuries. The Sara Sikuttu battle arts. For Thakt, it was routine—a series of motions etched into his very bones. Yet today, a restlessness stirred within him.

  "Kyung! Thakt!" Cadeo called out.

  The two young men stepped forward, tension crackling between them like static before a storm. Once friends, now rivals, their relationship had soured as Kyung grew increasingly hostile. Thakt was not sure what had kindled Kyung's ire, but he suspected it had something to do with Lawanni. Lately, Kyung had been spending more time with her, and Thakt could not shake the unease it brought him.

  They faced each other, bowing stiffly. Kyung's eyes were sharp, a hint of a sneer playing at the corner of his mouth.

  "Begin!" Cadeo commanded.

  Kyung moved first, launching into a series of high kicks that sliced through the air with a precision that would do the ancestors proud. Still, Thakt parried them effortlessly, his body moving on instinct. He responded with a swift roundhouse kick aimed at Kyung's midsection, but Kyung twisted away, countering with a low sweep.

  The pace quickened. Their kicks grew more elaborate, each one a calculated attempt to outdo the other. Thakt felt a familiar fire ignite within him—a competitive edge that pushed him to match Kyung blow for blow. The other trainees paused their own exercises to watch, eyes wide as the spar intensified.

  "Control your movements!" Cadeo warned, but his voice seemed distant.

  Kyung's heel came dangerously close to Thakt's face, a move that bordered on reckless. Thakt ducked just in time, a surge of anger flaring. This was no longer a simple spar; Kyung was testing him, provoking him.

  Thakt feinted left, then spun into a powerful kick aimed at Kyung's shoulder. It connected with a satisfying thud, sending Kyung stumbling backward. A murmur rippled through the onlookers.

  Kyung's eyes flashed with fury. He lunged forward, abandoning form for aggression. Thakt met him head-on, their kicks and strikes intertwining in a blur of motion. The world narrowed to just the two of them—their rivalry, their unspoken grievances, all coming to a head.

  "Enough!" Cadeo's voice cut through the haze, but they didn't stop.

  Kyung attempted a daring aerial kick, leaping high with the intent to overwhelm. Thakt anticipated it, sidestepping and delivering a swift kick to Kyung's supporting leg as he landed. Kyung cried out as he fell hard onto the packed earth.

  Before Thakt could react, Cadeo was between them, his stern gaze fixing them both in place.

  "I said enough," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

  Kyung clutched his leg, a grimace of pain contorting his features. Blood trickled from a scrape where he'd hit the ground.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Cadeo looked between them, disappointment etched on his face. "This is not the way of our people. Discipline. Respect. Without these, you're no better than wild beasts."

  Thakt's anger cooled, replaced by a sinking feeling of shame. He hadn't meant to hurt Kyung—not like this. But a part of him couldn't ignore the satisfaction that lingered.

  "Apologize," Cadeo ordered. “In the spar you must bring all of skill but a tenth of the power.”

  “I barely touched him,” Thakt muttered as he looked across at Kyung’s face. Seeing his once-friend like however, he felt a twinge of guilt.

  For a moment, Thakt hesitated, then offered a hand to Kyung. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

  Kyung slapped his hand away, struggling to stand on his own. "Save your apologies," he spat, hobbling off toward the healer's.

  Cadeo sighed heavily. "Thakt of you will walk a while with me after training. We have much to discuss."

  *****

  "You've brought a shadow of shame upon yourself today, Thakt na Le," Wise Instructor Cadeo admonished.

  Cadeo was growing old. His movements were a touch slower, more deliberate; his reflexes not as sharp as they once were. Yet he remained a formidable opponent, defeating Thakt in sparring matches more often than not. To Thakt, the man was like a mountain oak, growing stronger despite the weight of years and the storms he had weathered.

  "I'll bear a bit of shame if it means knocking Kyung down a few pegs," Thakt retorted, though regret tugged at him the moment the words left his mouth. Even to his own ears, they sounded small and petty.

  Cadeo chuckled unexpectedly, eyes distant as if recalling a memory from long ago. When his laughter faded, he fixed Thakt with a steady gaze. "That is not the way of Consensus. The Sara Sikuttu are strong because we stand as one. One of us is worth five lowlanders, ten of us a hundred of them, a hundred of us can face two legions. So the histories of the Empire tell us. You must find peace with Kyung. His shield and sword may soon stand beside your own," the older man chided. "Perhaps there's too much of your mother's blood in you."

  "My mother was a battle-wife, taken as spoil from distant lands," Thakt snapped, a flare of pride igniting within him. "By custom, she did not speak of her ways or her homeland. I am Sara Sikuttu, and I challenge anyone to say otherwise."

  He had heard such whispers all his life in the valley—jealous murmurs from peers and their prideful parents. By any measure, Thakt was the finest of his generation.

  Cadeo stroked his silver beard, studying the young man. "Some things are written in blood," he said softly. "Make peace with Kyung. Your father and I were once like you two, but we found our peace. There are matters that transcend youthful pride. I hope you understand before you face your first battle."

  "First battle, Wise Instructor?" Thakt's eyes narrowed. "Then the messenger griffon has brought word of the tithe for the Praetorian Guard..."

  "Just so, trainee Thakt na Le. No—Labirukai na La," Cadeo corrected himself, a hint of wistfulness in his tone. "You will descend from the Swords to join the ranks of the Unbroken. An honor above all others."

  "I will come down from the Swords, but I will not join the Unbroken ranks—not yet. I am not worthy."

  "Again with this foolishness?" Cadeo exclaimed, spittle flying. "You read an old book and now wish to follow the footsteps of a man long dead? If you're not worthy to join the ranks, then none of the trainees are fit to become Labirukai. Shed this false humility you wear like a beggar's rags."

  "You would disrespect the one who shaped our very way of life? Who gave us the Way of the Living Sword?" Thakt retorted, incredulous. "All I wish is to follow in the steps of the great man Fen."

  "You have a duty!" Cadeo roared, before mastering himself.

  "I have a duty to the Empire to become the best I can be before joining the Praetorian Guard," Thakt insisted. "Kyung will take my place as senior; I will journey to the City of Dust and crown myself with honor and glory at the Contest of Saints..."

  "You naive fool..." said the Wise Instructor, shaking his head.

  "Fool or not, you cannot stop me. A blade of the Sara Sikuttu chooses his own path. There are no conscripts on the Swords, the Treaty of the Gorge makes it so."

  “Do not think to lecture me on the histories, boy!” snapped Cadeo. The teacher’s gaze hardened. "...And Lawanni? Must you keep her waiting even longer?"

  That gave Thakt pause. It was the only thing that could.

  "She will love me all the more when I've lived up to my name and my father's legacy," he declared, a touch of foolish pride in his voice. "One day, I promise, I'll make her the happiest woman and call you father."

  "It seems your mind is set," Cadeo said, his voice laden with regret.

  "Indeed, it is," Thakt replied firmly, full of the confidence of youth.

  "Then I will press you no further for that is a woman’s way. All I can offer is my blessing. You've made Kyung's day with this decision," the older man sighed, shaking his head. "Explain yourself to Lawanni, for I will not."

  *****

  Thakt stood before Lawanni, the weight of his decision pressing heavily upon him. The dim glow of the hearth cast wavering shadows across her face, highlighting the softness in her eyes he had never dared to acknowledge before. "I'm leaving for Al-Lazar," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words hung in the air between them, a chasm he feared could never be bridged.

  For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then, with a suddenness that stole his breath, Lawanni closed the distance between them. "Stay…" she murmured, her fingers brushing against his cheek. Her lips found his, hesitant at first, then with a fervor that ignited a fire deep within.

  They clung to each other, a fierce, frantic tangle, shedding layers in a desperate scramble. The world ceased to exist; there was only the heat of their bodies and the unspoken yearning that had bound them for so long. Propriety and the strict codes of his people dissolved like mist, unheeded in the wake of their need. They moved as one, a fierce and tender dance, until both were spent and the night grew quiet around them.

  Now, she lay nestled in his arms, her breathing soft and even as sleep claimed her. Thakt gazed down at Lawanni, a mixture of contentment and regret swirling within him. If only I had done this sooner, he thought ruefully, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. The realization settled upon him like a cloak—this stolen moment would have to sustain him through the trials ahead.

  Gently, he extricated himself from her embrace, careful not to disturb her slumber. The warmth of her lingered on his skin, a poignant reminder of what he was leaving behind.

  The young man did his best to ignore the soft sobbing he imagined he heard as he closed the door behind him.

  He gathered his belongings, ensuring everything was in order. Remembering Cadeo’s instructions, he checked again. The first hues of dawn were just beginning to kiss the horizon as he set off. The road to Al-Lazar stretched out before him, a path laden with uncertainty and the promise of fame.

  As he walked away from all he had known, Thakt could not help but carry a piece of her with him, a small warmth that would have to see him through the cold path down the mountain and the many months to come.

  *****

  “I have seen you, Ali Atwah,” Thakt offered in a formal final greeting as he jumped off the Lirkud, the floating animal giving him a strange look through one of its slitted eyes.

  Before him loomed the Feathered Gates of Al-Lazar, their towering arches adorned with intricate carvings of wings and talons. A flock of birds burst into the dawn sky, their silhouettes dark against the hues of pink and gold, as if heralding his arrival.

  "And I have seen you, Thakt Al'Le," Ali replied, his voice solemn. "May the Goddess guide your path of carnage. Let not the decadence of the city strip away the wisdom the deserts have etched into your soul."

  Thakt grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "I'll be here just a few days before the Festival. Surely even the great city of Al-Lazar cannot corrupt me in so short a time?"

  Ali's gaze remained steady, his weathered face unreadable atop his mount. "It is not the days before your test you must fear, my friend, but the trials that follow victory. The city holds temptations that could unravel even the wisest woven by the sands."

  Thakt chuckled, clapping a hand on his friend's arm. "I thank you for your faith in my impending glory. I will never forget you or all you've done for me."

  "You are a good man, Thakt Al'Le," Ali said, his tone softening. "You shared your water when you had little to spare. That is the mark of true character, and I am proud to call you friend." He pressed a heavy, jangling purse into Thakt's resisting hands. "Take this. I have little need for coin upon the sands, and it's easily earned anew."

  Reluctance etched on his face, Thakt accepted the gift. "Your generosity humbles me," he murmured.

  Ali nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. With a gentle nudge, he turned his mount and began to fade back into the desert's embrace.

  Thakt stood there long after Ali had vanished from sight, bowing deeply in respect. Around him, travelers and merchants gathered at the gates, casting curious glances his way. The bustle of Al-Lazar awaited, its streets teeming with promises. Taking a deep breath, he straightened and stepped forward, the weight of the purse a reminder of friendship and the road that had led him here.