"Ready for your first combat training?"
Vidoria's eyes tracked their expressions, wanting to see their reactions to this. Mihel wore his usual mask of boredom. Riche, Vinelyn, and Halise braced themselves with the kind of determination that looked as if they were defiant to prove something. Midia, meanwhile, let out a theatrical sigh and rolled her eyes.
"Do I have to?" she groaned. "I'm not even choosing a division that fights."
Vidoria arched a brow, smirking. "And what if, during all your peaceful, non-fighting tasks, someone, suddenly, attacks you? You need the basics unless you plan on dying without reaching anywhere."
Midia retorted without missing a beat. "If I get attacked in the safest rooms of the Exousia, it means you all are terrible at your jobs."
Vidoria chuckled and waved for them to follow. The group headed toward the Citadel, their footsteps tapping against the waking streets.
Mihel spent the walk quietly re-checking his mental map. To his small, private delight, he realized he had completely memorized the path to the Citadel of the Last Night. He also made sure to study the signposts along the way.
Niktha's design was surprisingly simple, and very effective. East to west ran several straight, roads marked with numbers, cutting cleanly from one wall to the other. Mihel guessed there were thirteen of them so far, though he suspected more stretched beyond the parts he'd explored. North-south routes intersected these lines, each named after past Legati or Decurions who had served in this city. He was almost sure their lodging sat on Route 4 between two former Decurions, though the names escaped him.
They walked mostly in silence. They carried only their weapons, except for Riche, who was carrying a small brown cloth pack. Vinelyn had handed it to him earlier, announcing that he'd put all their Destiny Slates together, to prevent any thefts. He had joked that it'd keep Riche fit, as well as keep their Slates safe.
At the Citadel gate, Vidoria finally noticed the pack.
"Hold on. What's in there?" he asked.
Riche lifted the bag slightly. "Nothing except our Slates. Vinelyn packed them so they wouldn't get damaged."
A shadow of worry flickered across Vidoria's face, quick, almost invisible, but he smoothed it away instantly.
"I see. Well, everyone should check their Slate. To verify. Now."
The students exchanged confused looks.
"Uh… I already made sure they were all inside," Vinelyn said, uncertain. "Why check again?"
"Because I told you to," Vidoria replied, calmly but firmly.
So they opened the bag. The interesting thing about Destiny Slates was that you could never see the writing on another's Slate. Your Destiny was for your eyes only. Privacy by divine design.
'At least it saves me the embarrassment,' Mihel thought as he fished his own Slate out.
The dark, merciless message engraved across it greeted him like a familiar bruise. His lip twitched downward before he placed it back in the pack.
'That's still that...Destiny not found...'
Sometimes...just sometimes, he wished he would wake up and discover a normal destiny etched across it. Something ordinary. Something that didn't brand him as an anomaly.
But reality had no interest in being kind, and the truth refused to move for wishful thinking.
After everyone returned their Slates to the pack, Vidoria finally turned, satisfied. He ignored their questions about the purpose of this strange exercise, offering only a vague, "That's a class for another day."
They stepped into the Citadel, already packed to its limits. The sound of voices, footsteps, and hurried breaths filled the air. Vidoria led them to the training grounds, an same area they had glimpsed, only for a moment, the day before. Under the cloudless sky, sunlight poured across a large square of which's ground was sandy, filled with wooden dummies, target posts, and a chalk-marked dueling ring.
Several soldiers were already about the place. Veterans drilled with casual sharpness, while fresh recruits, like them, wandered like newborn fawns, trying to understand their new world.
Vidoria motioned for them to draw their blades. Midia, owning no weapon and proud of it, simply sat cross-legged on the sand, sending a puff of dust upward like an annoyed sigh.
"My students, well, my fighting students," Vidoria announced, winking at Midia. "I hope this place becomes a space where you sharpen yourselves, not just your blades. I won't force you, but try to keep your bodies maintained with regular exercise."
The group nodded.
"So then… let's begin." He clapped once, the sound slicing through the desert hush, and launched into his lecture.
Mihel caught only fragments. Long speeches and he were never friends.
"The Exousia rarely engage in full wars," Vidoria said. "Most nations are our allies. Our common threats are individuals or beasts, not armies. That's why we train you for personal excellence rather than group formations."
He paused.
"Mihel. Fighting stance. Opponent larger and taller than you."
Mihel shot to his feet, planting himself low, knees bent, center of gravity anchored. His strong foot slid forward, and his blade dipped into a low guard.
Vidoria studied him, rubbing his chin.
"Good, stable, grounded. But your low guard leaves your upper body too open. It helps with certain counters, but against a bigger opponent, raise it."
Mihel adjusted. Vidoria nodded.
Then he turned. "Halise. That dummy is a wild Rajhu."
Halise was startled but reacted quickly. She loosed an arrow, but froze for a heartbeat before shooting. The arrow kissed the dummy's cheek, slicing past its ear.
"Solid aim," Vidoria said. "But you hesitated. Your breathing must remain steady. An archer who panics is an archer who misses."
And so the session continued. Swordwork for Riche and Mihel. Archery refinements for Halise. Tactical advice for Vinelyn's smoke ability. Midia watched from her dusty "throne", studying every movement, storing ideas like puzzle pieces.
'Even if I can't fight, I'll be the brain of this group,' she thought. 'They can rely on me sometimes as well.'
Her gaze drifted to Mihel. 'And Mihel… what kind of extraordinary Destiny does he have to hide? It must be powerful. Too powerful to speak of.'
Training went on until the sun began sinking. Their only rest was a brief lunch. Thankfully, they were excused from duty for the day, free to collapse later without fear of errands. Sweat was dripping from their foreheads, breathing raspy. The sun was annoying them as the second passed.
When training ended, all five dropped onto the sand. Mihel felt drained and frustrated as he had swung the same sword arc a thousand times, which according to Vidoria, is the ideal way to hone one's skills. Start with the basics. Riche approached, knocking on Mihel's palm before handing him a canteen.
Vidoria strolled over with a smile. "There will be an examination at the end of the year. It determines whether you're promoted to Grade One soldiers. I won't spoil details, but work hard. After finishing Grade One, you may choose your division."
"Does anyone fail the first exam? Is it very difficult?" Halise asked.
Vidoria chuckled. "Depends on the examiner's mood."
They didn't understand the joke, but they accepted it and began preparing to return to their lodgings. Vidoria told them their next day would be a theory class, this time, they had to reach the Citadel on their own.
"Seven-thirty eos, sharp," he reminded them, before merging into the Citadel's endless crowd.
Soon, the group reached the gate and halted. The mechanism that opened it eluded them completely.
As they stood there, baffled, a man with a greying beard and cropped hair approached.
"Let me," he said.
He touched the gate. Immediately it lifted, just as it had for Vidoria.
"Grade Twos, hmm?" His gaze swept over them. "Who's your irresponsible Decurion?"
"Vidoria Kidt, sir…" Vinelyn answered, uneasy.
"Kidt, is it?" the man grunted. He turned and walked away without further comment.
Mihel watched him go.
'I hope Vidoria doesn't get in trouble…not for our sakes...'