Th sun sank, and the moon was out and shining white, the forest around it dimly glowing in its silver, pristine light. Avin was pretty impressed with how his ambush had gone, he had worked hard to prepare it, but he couldn't say that it worked solely on his wits. His trap to trip the first four riders was definitely out of luck; if they had taken another route just a few dozen meters east, he would've had to go through a lot more trouble.
But of course it didn't, Avin had placed branches and shifted a dozen or so big stones to bar that path. He had also made sure their placement looked as natural as possible by pouring dry dirt to make sure it wasn't placed there just recently.
So as he pulled his new horned friends with him towards his home he whistled a jolly tune. He reached his home out on the outskirts of the red ruins. It was a structure made up of the redstones, it was carved like a temple, like every structure in the red ruins. His house was a distance away from the ruins that were in the deep valleys.
His temple house was at the edge of a cliffside, looking out at the valley beyond like a V-shaped canal full of greenery.
The deep valley, what would Avin not give to look around there, but alas those were holy places according to the Oracles and only the chiefs and Oracles were allowed to go into them.
Avin brought the Grolls close to a set of thick posts he had set into the soil. By that time, the Grolls had started to after all, see, their temper not unlike that of a hungry child: "You guys almost killed me a while ago, and now you want me to feed you?"
They let out an indifferent growl, which sounded like a reverberating moo.
Avin just shook his head and tied them to the posts, and placed long grass and water at the big pot before them.
"Yes, eat up-eat up, grow some fat, after all, the meats with the most fat taste best when grilled.
They, as if understanding his words unanimously paused and looked up at Avin as if offended. Avin just chuckled in amusement.
"Talking to the beasts now, maybe you are going mad." Avin turned to find a man with long white hair, a hunched posture standing with a gnarly wooden cane. One of his eyes was dark purple, it had a soft, broken glow like a gem that once shone but was now cracked, while the other was knocked askew, looking left and was pitch back. He had a crooked smile on his face, a thinning grey beard, and long gray black hair falling down to his shoulders halfway to his chest.
"Hello, Vlad," Avin said.
The man walked up to him. He used a cane, but he didn't have a limp. "Hmm, seven eh, not bad, you took any injuries?"
Avin just shrugged, "Just so a couple of scratches."
"Good, good. You're getting better, I guess those Ulov scum make for good training partners. Shame you have to kill some of the fools every time, but then again. Those barbarians never grow to learn the lesson."
Avin just shrugged, "I don't like it any better than any sane person. But they raid and kill the innocents in the colonies, so I just like to take care of them before they reach the colonies. It makes the job less messy."
"The Ulov adults are mad on the Amberlips, the drug makes them yearn for action, for the fight and they are addicted to the pleasure of rush and rage." Vlad shook his head in disgust, "They feed that to their children from a young age in small doses. To them, it's like a blessing from the god of war, well, their god of war. And well can you blame them? It gives them enhanced endurance and sharpness of senses. It augments their metabolism–"
"But it comes at a cost though! They die early, the things start eating at their brain and senses after they pass their prime. Their bodies are rotting and falling after their bodies are no longer young enough to go into battles and expend the boons given to them by the Amberlips. Is it even worth it?"
Vlad just chuckled, "Worth it? Of course not, but it's their religion, and the Ulov elders would use it to further their twisted goals and cement their authority in whatever petty way possible, as they've done for centuries.. remember Avin, in a world full of blind people, religion is either a walking stick or a beating one. In the relationship between a god and a believer, the person who holds the most power... Is the priest."
"I don't see how, they're just people pretending to be the voice of gods," Avin said, shaking his head.
"That's because you've spent most of your life with me, and not with them. And I've worked very hard to make you the kind of person who would not follow Prophets."
"And how has that helped me awaken my spirit?" Avin asked, annoyed at himself because he knew what the answer would be for he had heard it hundreds of times.
"A chaoswalker must not believe in any principle except for the one he has forged for himself. You must see through the thousands and millions of people and their beliefs and not get drowned in them, but find a way through. To walk through chaos, you must see it from the outside, from a different perspective, so that you can see the contradictions and connections without any biases."
Avin sighed in exasperation and raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I get it. I should've learned that lesson by now. It's just so frustrating to take the long way."
Vlad cocked his eyebrows, which looked pretty odd and unnerving considering that both his eyes looked in different directions. "So you want a shortcut? Awakening your spirit more quickly might sound great, but it comes with a risk of breaking your spirit, leaving you crippled for the rest of your life. Why take that risk? No, I've spent a lot of time training you into what you must be, and it will pay off when you do it the proper way."
Avin grunted, "But I'm ready –" he was cut short as he ducked back, wind whistling as something grazed his nose. Avin stumbled half a step and then righted himself.
"Ready? Are you?" That was all he heard before he was forced to take another two steps back, the staff Vlad held swinging past where he had been mere moments ago. In the dim light, it was hard to follow the movements of Vlad, which added to their own unique way of fighting that not even the sect chiefs could counter.
The Phantom style is what Avin liked to call it, but Vlad preferred the Distorted Dance, bladesmanship. A fighting style involves distorting your body postures and poise to give off mixed and confusing tells to the opponents, a lot of feints, feints hiding other feints, speed and precision were more important than brute force. A bladesmanship that was more akin to a ghost closing in on you with elusive attacks.
Avin did a pirouette, letting the staff whistle past his neck again, and pulled his own thin sword out in a sweep, bringing it back in a full circle where Vlad was. But only found empty air, the staff slapped him in the left thigh and Avin jumped sideways, stepped and skidded, righting himself again and turned to bring Vlad in front of him in full view.
The old man was looking at him in his usual bored and unimpressed way he always did while sparring. Under the moonlight, Avin adjusted his stance, winds whistled, and leaves let out a shuddering yawn as he pulled the scabbard back on his bare blade and tied it with a lace to keep it from slipping off.
He took in a deep breath and dashed forward towards Vlad.
His sword thrust at his throat, but Vlad tilted his head and battered his blade aside and brought his own staff down on Avin's face. Avin twisted his upper body to the left, letting the staff fall through. At the same time, he slashed sideways– his sword extended– but Vlad's head ducked back, and his staff slammed into Avin's abdomen, making him step back, grunting.
Vlad had seen through his feint and managed to land his own, even though both had used the same kind of attacks. Avin felt angry at himself and rushed in again.
"Calm yourself, you'll only be walking into your own doom if you rush in enraged."
Avin mentally paused for just a fraction of a moment–checked himself and continued. His sword slashing up to Vlad's chest it was parried by the staff and the staff thrust at his shoulder in turn, Avin was ready and brought his sword back ducked left and thrust at Vlad's side- the old man sidestepped and brought his staff back in a full circle at his face, swinging it like a club.
Avin ducked, breaking his eye contact with Vlad and his staff, seeing that–Vlad kicked at Avin's shin, but Avin's sword lashed out at Vlad's knees as if he had anticipated it.
Vlad smiled and instead of avoiding it-he caught the blade on the soles of his shoes, Avin on the other hand and caught Vlad's arm that was holding the staff, he gave the old man a triumphant Smile but instantly fell on his back as Vlad had kicked his legs out from under him, then slammed his staff down on Avin's chest just as he fell on his back.
Avin groaned in pain and frustration. He looked up at Vlad's insufferable, unimpressed and bored expression, looking down at him, twirling his staff in his hand.
"That was good, I'm almost impressed, if there was anyone else beside me, they might have bit the dust just like you."
Avin sat up, groaning and rubbing his chest in a pained grimace, the Grolls, a few footsteps away, let out a clicky grunt which sounded a lot like chuckling.
"I will cook the one who laughed first, remember it." The Grolls went back to chewing as if they'd been doing that the whole time.
"Now… seek the Nexus of Ascension," Vlad said, tapping his cane on the stone.
Avin crossed his legs and closed his eyes. He breathed in deep and sought his spirit, the fracture that was inside him. Vlad called it the fractured, but to Avin, it looked like… he first saw darkness. Not the darkness one saw when they closed their eyes and their eyelids blocked off the lights. But a darkness that was…. him.
He couldn't explain it but he knew it somehow.
All around him in a place that was so familiar yet so suffocating and dark, so vast and unreachable yet so warm and approachable at the same time.
And in the distance beyond the shroud of darkness, he could see it, the small flickering spark; it was barely noticeable and hadn't caught his eye for years. But Avin had finally found it after seeking the darkness for almost two days without rest, water or food. And once he did–it became impossible to ignore or miss, from that point onwards.
That was the spark, his spirit, the sum total of his efforts up until now.
The spark of his self..