Belvair, Tallec
Mount Celaine loomed over the town like it was keeping score, and Zel stood below it, already losing. His village's martial pavilion was just ahead, but two squabbling young initiates had turned its steps into a war zone. It was barely past sunrise. Already, someone expected him to play referee.
"It's your fault!" screeched the taller of the two, a long-limbed girl named Kadoret. "I told you to wait your turn!"
Merin, the shorter, pudgier boy, shook his head. "You can't tell me what to do! Besides, I'm not the one who broke the thing."
He jerked his chin at the wooden sword within Kadoret's grasp, its edge dented from some large impact. Beside the stairs lay a foam training dummy with its wooden base snapped in two. Skid marks through the snow suggested the children had dragged it outside to keep their instructors from spotting the damage.
"I only swung weird because you got in my way."
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
Their shouts rose into a grating uproar that drowned out the echo of drills and sparring from inside the building.
Once Zel was done smacking his palm against his forehead, he ventured a step forward. His granddad was the master of the pavilion, and he would be expecting Zel to begin his daily chores and training any minute now. If he could make it through the door, that was.
"Excuse me," Zel said.
The children continued to argue.
"If you could just move aside…"
Neither glanced his way. Zel heaved a sigh, his breath fogging in the icy air. He took another step forward, keen to slip behind Merin, who presently waved his arms about like a goose performing an interpretive dance. He made it three inches when Kadoret whipped her head toward him and lifted the point of her wooden sword to his chin.
"Zel! Tell him he's wrong."
Merin crossed his arms. "No! Tell her she's wrong."
Zel raised his hands in mock defeat. "Easy there. First, I need you to tell me what happened."
"She broke the training dummy," Merin said.
"He made me break the training dummy," Kadoret said.
Zel tilted his head. "Is it possible that it was just an accident?"
"No way!" Kadoret retorted. "Whoever broke it has to fix it, and it was not my fault."
"Well it wasn't mine." Merin muttered.
Kadoret swung her sword back toward Merin, pulling her arms over her head in preparation to strike. Zel shoved his way between the two before she could bring it down on Merin's skull.
"Be careful with that thing."
Kadoret scarcely came up to Zel's shoulder, yet her glare was smoldering. "He won't listen!"
In his mind's eye, Zel tried to place himself in their respective positions: cranky from early morning drills and desperate to keep their instructors from adding another task to their long days. It was frustrating, to be certain, but they didn't have to make such a scene about it. Surely, there had to be something he could say to get them to forget the argument and step aside. If he could just word it the right way, they'd see reason. That was how it always worked in his head.
"If neither of you think you broke the dummy, why don't you team up to fix it? It would probably be faster––"
"Ew." Merin scowled. "You want me to work with her?"
"Well, teamwork is a major part of training––"
"I don't care about training!" Kadoret protested.
Zel curled his fingers into fists, then stretched his palms out flat, mimicking his granddad's martial forms to keep his last nerve from packing its bags and hailing a motorcar home.
"You're both initiates of the Ninefold Path. You committed to duty and training when you first took up your weapons. You shouldn't complain now about having to fulfill those duties. If you're asking me, you both helped break the dummy, so you both should help fix it."
Kadoret stomped her boot into the dense snow underfoot. "I didn't ask you!"
Zel's eyes widened at her declaration, because she practically had asked him. She'd even threatened him with that sword for his opinion. He stepped out from between them, sensing both of their tempers to be a hair from boiling over.
"Just admit that you broke it!" Merin exclaimed.
In response. Kadoret aimed her sword at his neck. Merin blocked with one hand just before the blow landed. He hissed at the impact, then wrapped his chubby fingers around the wooden blade and wrenched it from her grip.
Kadoret lunged. She grabbed the collar of his teal training shirt, pulling it back to choke him until the seams began to tear. Merin snatched a fistful of her mousey brown ponytail and yanked. Kadoret yelped, her hands falling from his shirt.
Zel steeled himself, then shoved between them just as Kadoret's teeth clamped down on Merin's forearm. Merin howled in pain. Zel tried to pry her off. The girl was light enough to lift from the ground, but she had the jaw strength of a wild dog. If he tugged too hard, Zel feared that a chunk of Merin's flesh would bid farewell to its owner.
Then the door to the pavilion lurched open. Zel glanced up, and his stomach sank. His granddad stood in the frame of the pillared entryway.
Anduic's age was evident in his wiry stature, weathered tan skin, and silvery hair tied at his nape. Despite his years, however, he stood tall in a tailored sky blue uniform, every line of him precise.
"What's all this shouting?" he demanded, eyes narrowed at the tangled youths and Zel's feeble attempt at mediation.
Merin opened his mouth, likely to accuse Kadoret of all sorts of things, but closed it upon catching Anduic's hard stare. Kadoret pried her own jaws off of her foe's limb and wriggled from Zel's grasp. The children wordlessly arranged themselves to stand side by side.
Zel released a long, slow breath into the winter air. It was a marvel how much better his morning might've gone if he knew how to silence their quarrel with mere presence. When Anduic entered a room, people looked up and shut their mouths. He could already feel his granddad's gaze measuring the mess he hadn't prevented. Had he spoken too softly? Waited too long? Maybe both, or neither. But he still hadn't done it right.
"They're both going to fix a broken training dummy," Zel said by way of explanation.
"Yes, they are," Anduic said. "And they're going to write letters of apology to each other, then pair up for all drills until the end of the year."
Both children visibly stifled groans of protest, to which Zel rolled his eyes. It was not as harsh a sentence as it sounded; the new year was less than a week away.
Anduic turned to Zel. "If you're here to help me, I could use someone to sort the new initiates' uniforms."
Zel hesitated. He'd come here to get his chores done early, but now the inside of the pavilion looked like a morning of hauling laundry, tuning out meditation chants, and avoiding Anduic's continued attempts to discuss successorship. As he pondered, procrastination did a little jig and offered him snacks.
"I just remembered," Zel said. "Dad needs me for something. I'll be back this afternoon to help, all right?"
He was already turning away before Anduic could agree. As his boots began to crunch back towards the village, he caught the sound of Merin's muttered voice on the wind, aimed in his direction.
"You're not even a real member. Stop getting in the way."
"What was that?" Anduic asked.
"Nothing. Sorry, sir."
Zel kept his back to them and continued walking, frustration stewing within him. His reward for trying, as usual, was the sound of his own footsteps.
· ─ · ✶ · ─ ·
The house was dim and quiet when Zel slipped inside, his fingers stiff from the cold. He stamped his feet on the mat and looked toward the kitchen, where his father was sorting mineral samples at the table. Larisen glanced up as Zel shrugged off his puffy brown coat.
"That was quick."
"I'll go back later," Zel said, tossing his coat at the rack. It collapsed into a heap on the floor, so he trudged over and hung it up properly. "Those two new initiates got into a fight again, and I don't feel like hearing them whine all morning."
"All right," Larisen said with a shrug, turning back to his work.
Zel finished pulling off his boots, then crossed the room to join him at the table.
"You haven't left yet?"
"No." His father gestured to the array of rocks and notebooks before him. 'I dropped my sample case on my way out the door. I have to sort all of this now, before I can go."
Larisen was supposed to be halfway to the base of Mount Celaine by now. It wasn't a dangerous route, but Zel still couldn't shake a nagging sense of unease, especially with how often his father forgot tools or wandered off the trail chasing some vein of quartz.
"Need help?"
Larisen smiled. "Sure."
They settled into the sorting, though it wasn't easy. Larisen's organizational method made sense only to him: something about weight, luster, and which samples "felt like they belonged together." The hearth crackled nearby, casting a warm glow that softened the chill clinging to Zel's sleeves. Larisen hummed under his breath, some old miner's tune Zel didn't recognize. At intervals, they passed a hand lens back and forth without comment.
"Are you sure that going alone is a good idea?" Zel asked, breaking the quiet.
Larisen waved a hand. "I'll be careful."
"I bet Jullou would go with you. Didn't you used to work together?"
Larisen's day job kept him busy mining aetheric energy crystals across the greater Caldraeth Mountains region, but his real fascination had lately been closer to home. A scattering of mineral sketches lay across the table, all centered on Mount Celaine's jagged structure. Faint waypoints and warning marks circled certain slopes. Zel was beginning to wonder if his father's "hobby" in geology was approaching the territory of obsession.
His father shrugged. "Jullou's a good guy, but I don't think he'd quite understand what I'm going for."
"Well, yeah," Zel said, frowning. "You won't even tell me what you're going for."
"I'll tell you once I find it."
Zel raised his brows. "That's reassuring."
His father glanced up at him, and their eyes briefly locked, "What about you? Did you see your granddad this morning?"
Zel caught the redirection but let it slide. It wasn't the first time Larisen had steered the topic away from the mountain. After all, nobody ever went to Mount Celaine these days. Zel knew better than to pry.
"Only for a minute," he replied.
"Did he say anything?"
Zel sighed. "About successorship? Not yet."
Not today, at least.
"You don't have to make any decisions yet," Larisen said, sliding the lens back to Zel. "It might be nice to visit some of the other Ninefold branches in Tallec first. Or even leave the country. You could visit one of your friends for a bit."
The thought made Zel hesitate. Now that he had finished his fundamental schooling, it was time for him to make something of himself. But he had never left the village of Belvair, not even once. His father had always resisted the legacy tied to their town's branch of the Ninefold Path, and Zel admired him for it, but admiration wasn't the same as defiance. He didn't know if he could walk away from everything Anduic expected of him.
He looked down at his hands as he shifted the lens. They were rough and bandaged from training, fingers nicked from blades and blows alike. In the glass reflection, he caught a glimpse of himself: olive skin, athletic build, somewhere between adolescence and adulthood. His chestnut-brown hair refused to lay flat no matter how often he tried to tame it. His sharp, dark gold eyes resembled his father's, though not perfectly. Their faces echoed each other but never aligned. Sometimes Zel wondered if the differences came from a mother he had never cared to know.
His gaze drifted to the mantel. A photo of him, red-haired Rio, and pale-skinned Therren rested there, three grinning faces locked in some long-past joke. He wished they were in town already. At least then he'd have someone to distract him from the pressure of decision-making. They were due to arrive before the new year, however. That would help.
"I'll think about it."
He forced his attention back to the mineral samples, letting the routine of sorting override the knot in his stomach. At one irregular shard, he paused. He lifted it to the light and turned it over in his palm. It had a milky white hue like quartz, but flecks of iridescent color gleamed within. A deep fissure ran through its center. As he held it, a faint warmth pulsed against his skin.
"This one's strange," he remarked.
His father gave it a once-over, then nodded. "Put it in the box anyway."
"Even with that big crack in it?"
"You know," Larisen said, smiling faintly, "sometimes a thing doesn't need to be perfect to be worth keeping."
Zel placed it in the box. "If you say so."
They worked in silence for the next few minutes. Once the last of the stones were put into their compartments, Larisen closed the lid and placed the container into his rucksack. His chair scraped against the hardwood floor as he stood.
He looked at Zel and raised a finger. "Remind me, was it turkey you wanted for dinner on Firstday? I can stop by the butcher on my way home later."
"I was hoping for ribs," Zel replied, "but turkey's fine."
"We'll do ribs then." Larisen pulled his heavy winter coat over his shoulders. "I'll see you later."
"See you."
His father gave him a pat on the shoulder as he passed, then exited through the front door. Zel was left in the quiet once more. He stared at the door, calculating how much time he could reasonably waste here before Anduic came knocking with a blade in hand and a list of unfinished chores.
· ─ · ✶ · ─ ·
Only a few hours, it turned out. Anduic didn't even need to turn up in person; the mere thought of his cold stare was enough to send Zel trudging back through the windswept town to the steps of the Ninefold Path's pavilion.
The building stood at the village's edge, pale against the dark outline of the Caldraeth Mountains behind it. Its walls were polished, free of soot, dust, or age. Even the banners above the door––a nine-pointed star of overlapping triangles against a blue field––flapped in perfect alignment. Inside, the air was cool and scented with incense. The floor tiles gleamed, and every hallway echoed.
Zel quickly found himself deep in the throes of laundry duty, located in the only part of the pavilion where chaos reigned. Today was a particular brand of unpleasant. The Ninefold branch managed all of its members' uniforms from within the pavilion, but the newest batch of recruits were barely eight years old. Few of them understood the concept of keeping organized. At best, they mislabeled their uniforms and ended up with someone else's socks. At worst, and more often, they forewent deodorant, adding a pungent stench to the list of stains Zel had no desire to identify.
Still, once he had the uniforms sorted and folded, he grabbed a broom. He couldn't bring himself to leave the dirt on the floor. There was a right way to do things, even if no one else bothered.
Just as he tipped the contents of the dustpan into the wastebasket, Anduic appeared in the doorframe.
"Arzel, boy, I could use your help demonstrating the spear forms to one of the initiates."
Zel suppressed a groan. The last thing he wanted was to cross paths with Kadoret or Merin.
"Sure," he said.
Anduic led him to the main training area where the initiate waited. It was a boy Zel didn't recognize, a few years older than the children, perhaps thirteen or so. He leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed. Zel guessed he was from out of town. The Belvair Ninefold branch had a reputation that preceded it, so it was common for members to travel from all over northern Tallec to train under its tutelage. When the boy caught sight of Anduic, his posture straightened to attention.
Beside the boy was an instructor Zel knew. His name was Raighem, head instructor of the pavilion and Anduic's second-in-command. He was a man in his early forties, tall and lean, with dark bronze skin and sharp, expressive eyebrows. His coiled black hair was tied with care at the nape of his neck, not a strand out of place. His was a more understated presence than Anduic's, yet steady in its own right as he crossed the room toward Zel.
Raighem picked up a spear from the weapons rack and tossed it to Zel, who caught it with both hands.
"This is my grandson," Anduic said, nodding in his direction. "He'll help Raighem demonstrate the spear forms we were just discussing."
For himself, Raighem selected a long staff. It was wooden and unadorned, its smooth surface worn pale from years of handling. The staff had no point. This was intentional, of course. The instructor was giving himself a handicap.
Zel glanced down at the spear in his own hands. The tip was dulled for training, but it still held threat. It wasn't his weapon of choice; he preferred a shorter, quicker blade. Still, he knew the forms, and more importantly, he knew what was expected of him.
They took their places. Raighem raised his staff in the opening guard position, calm and precise. Zel mirrored the stance with the spear. When Anduic nodded once, they began.
Their weapons clashed in an explosion of noise. The boy watching from the wall didn't matter. Zel's body moved on instinct, slipping from stance to stance with clean efficiency. Step forward, deflect. Retreat, thrust. Turn, brace. Every motion drilled into him until it overrode thought.
His form was excellent, but his grip was tight. The movements came without force or feeling. Few strikes dared to break their pattern. Deep down, he knew it was all performance, perfectly executed and completely hollow. Anduic, and likely Raighem, knew this too. After a few more breaths, Anduic raised a hand.
"That's enough."
Raighem stepped back. Zel dropped his arms.
Anduic faced the boy. "Any questions?"
The boy nodded. "Why doesn't your grandson wear a uniform?"
Zel gave a shrug, trying to ignore his granddad's eyes on him. This was not the first time someone had asked. His training clothes were dark and nondescript, but they were still distinct against the bright teals and blues that adorned the pavilion's legitimate associates.
"I'm not an official member of the Path," he said. "I just help out sometimes."
Anduic clicked his tongue. "To clarify, please keep all questions to the topic of training."
"Oh," the boy said. "When can I start learning martial optics?"
Zel swallowed down a scoff. It was bold of this student to assume that manipulating atmospheric light in combat was something Anduic would hand over after just a few months of training. Zel had been at this since he could walk, and he still only knew the barest fundamentals of martial-based lunar optics.
As if to confirm Zel's thoughts, Anduic shook his head. "You're not there yet. We'll talk about it in a few years."
The boy deflated.
"Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Next, I'll have you take Zel's place and try sparring with Raighem."
The boy detached himself from the wall and approached, taking the spear from Zel's outstretched hands. He took his stance against Raighem, which Zel interpreted as his cue to slip away.
The day blurred after that. He cleaned the sparring mats, sorted practice weapons, and scrubbed chalk dust from the floors. Then came bare-handed combat training. All the while, he felt the heat of the members' gazes against his spine. He knew what they wanted from him. It was less like training and more like inheritance rehearsed.
When the sun lowered behind the mountains and the pavilion lights flicked on, he called it a day. He made it halfway to the door when his granddad's gravelly voice echoed behind him.
"Arzel, don't leave just yet. I need to speak with you."
Zel's feet stopped of their own accord, then turned to follow Anduic to the master's quarters in the back of the pavilion. Resigned, he let them take him there. It would be worse to walk away.
The master's quarters were a modest apartment walled off from the rest of the building. As always, it was impossibly neat. Shelves were lined with old training logs in perfect order. The cot was made with tight corners. Zel sat when he was told to sit.
Anduic didn't waste time. "You've made progress," he said. "Your form's improving. Raighem's noticed it too."
Zel nodded, unsure what to do with the compliment.
"I'd like to offer you something," his granddad continued. "Something more advanced. But I can't, not until you commit fully to the Path. There's a responsibility to uphold. Our optics are sacred for a reason."
Zel opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he stared at the clean floor, the polished kettle, and the way everything here had its place.
"You know what I'm asking," Anduic said.
He did. Anduic wanted him to take the vow, become a full member, and step into the legacy that his father had walked away from. And perhaps, if Zel said yes, Anduic would stop seeing Larisen's refusal every time he looked at him.
A knock interrupted then. Raighem stepped in, holding a folder of training reports. "Sorry to interrupt," he said. His eyes flicked between the two of them. "Just a question about scheduling next week's evaluations."
Anduic rose to meet him at the desk. They spoke for a moment, then Anduic picked up a pen to make notations on the reports, Raighem glanced back at Zel.
"You holding up?" he asked.
Zel offered a tight smile. "I'm fine."
"How's your father? I heard he's been studying those odd formations near Celaine again."
Zel's throat tightened. "Not Celaine," he said, a touch too quickly. "He told me he's heading south, to one of the foothills."
Raighem raised a brow at his faltered statement, but Anduic returned from the desk before he could reply.
"We'll talk about this later," Anduic told Zel, motioning toward the seat he had just vacated. "There's still time."
Zel stood. "All right. I should head home to meet Dad."
Neither Anduic nor Raighem stopped him as he slipped out the door. It was perhaps his first victory of the day.
Outside, dusk had settled in full, painting the snowbanks with long shadows. The cold bit harder now, and Zel pulled his coat tighter around him as he descended the pavilion steps. Then the air shifted. A brief, uncanny stillness fell over the village. Snowflakes paused in their descent, caught in a sudden breathless moment.
The silence shattered. A low rumble rolled through the ground, distant but unmistakable. Deeper than thunder, layered like stones grinding beneath the surface. Somewhere beyond the ridge, something had collapsed.
A few nearby students froze mid-conversation. One of the younger ones yelped and scrambled closer to the wall. Others stared toward the mountains, wide-eyed, whispering questions.
Zel didn't move. His heart beat faster, though not from shock. It was something else, an unease that slid like shards of glass through his veins. The sound had come from the east, toward the dark crush of nightfall. From the direction of Mount Celaine where his father had gone.