Laufa, the Trial-Tearer Barrier-Bearer

The Krastas College of War. December 29, 1434.

Manra buzzed through Laufa’s lungs. The throbbing behind her eyes was still there, too, but weeks of practice had taught her to tune it out. Her sweat glistened in the manra’s light.

Snowflakes hissed where they met the shimmering barrier. It wasn’t perfect, nothing like Mordhun’s, but at least it was steady. Finally!

She heard a barrier fizzling out nearby. “Konets, eliminated!” Instructor Pruatt jabbed the disciple with his sword’s hilt.

Their first real trial, and a quarter of them were already eliminated. Fail two trials, and you got a one-way ticket to the frontlines. The prize was earning a post here, in the capital instead. But there’s really two more of these!? We might all be gone by then!

Her gaze flicked across the training yard. The adept bearers, Lady Eralia, Mordhun, and the others, patrolled the trial alongside their instructor. The rest of the disciples’ faces tightened in concentration. One girl even chewed her lip until blood smeared her chin.

The noble boy next to Laufa wasn’t faring any better. He looked tiny, and his hunched-over posture, like he was trying to disappear, made him seem even tinier. His chest heaved, fighting for air.

His troubled face reminded her of Fiann’s. The boy from the ceremony, the one who’d begged her for help. The real Laufa’s brother. She couldn’t do anything for him back then.

The noble boy’s barrier started to splinter, jolting Laufa back to reality.

His eyes were glued open, his feet inching backwards. It’s about to break.

She wouldn’t let it happen again.

Her hand shot forward. She channelled manra to her palm and aimed it straight in front of him. A barrier snapped into place directly behind his failing shield.

I’ll at least put this stolen body to good use!

But that was two barriers at once.

She clenched her jaw against a sudden wave of nausea. Her vision swam, and the training yard felt like it’d tipped sideways.

His barrier finally dissolved, but hers remained. It looked like his hadn’t failed in the first place.

The boy’s dark eyes darted across the entire yard before landing on hers. He stared at Laufa in disbelief. She offered a small smile, and he gave her a shaky nod in return, a flash of understanding crossing his face. He turned his gaze forward and cast a new barrier.

Perfect! And now… Laufa willed her second barrier away and gasped.

“It actually worked,” she muttered.

Across the yard, the adept bearers stirred. Eralia’s head tilted, her attention swinging towards the pair. Beside her, Mordhun brushed a single snowflake from his shoulder, his eyes narrowed on the boy she’d helped.

Ah. Looks like I spoke too soon…

“Instructor, I believe there’s been a violation,” Mordhun said.

Snitch. Her fingers twitched. This is bad. This is so bad.

That was cheating, I helped him cheat. They’ll eliminate me for this, won’t they!?

The boy’s eyes skipped between Mordhun and Laufa before finally settling. He looked down at the snow, sighing, then dropped his barrier. Laufa flinched as he abruptly dropped to one knee. His fist slammed into the ground, tossing up snow.

“Ah—” Laufa started.

“Nachkt Pasaulis, eliminated.” The instructor spun towards the sound.

Snow clung to Nachkt’s knuckles as he rose, a stray tan hair falling across his forehead. Laufa’s eyes clung to his back as he left the training ground.

Mordhun scoffed and returned to his patrol. Meanwhile, Eralia’s gaze hadn’t left Laufa.

Laufa shivered and turned back to the empty space beside her. The snow had been blown aside to reveal the gravel underneath. A month ago, that would’ve been her.

For the first time all morning, her own barrier wavered. One by one, the other disciples were eliminated.

She’d gotten stronger. Stronger than most of them. But she still wasn’t strong enough.

* * *

The Krastas College of War. January 7, 1435.

“A decisive blow, and you’re out. Drop your weapon, you’re out. Yield,” Instructor Pruatt paced the duelling arena. “Of course, you’re out.”

The winter air stung at Eralia’s cheeks as she waited among the crowd of disciples. They traded nervous whispers with breathy puffs that clouded the air, the sunlight glinting off their stena. Far ahead, Pruatt announced the rules for the second trial, half-hidden in the mountain’s shadow. His voice echoed off the stone walls of the amphitheatre.

“Lose, you leave the arena. Win, and you keep fighting.” Pruatt’s head lifted towards the nobles in the stands. “Prove to them you’re worth more than a family name. Prove you’re worth even the stena on your chest. Eidar, Nachkt—“

He pointed his blade at the pit. “Centre. You’re first.”

The two boys met each other’s gaze then descended to the arena floor. Nachkt’s grip trembled as he was handed a blunt piercer.

They stood face-to-face, just a body’s length apart. Eidar smirked.

Pruatt lifted his arm. “BEGIN!”

Eidar led with his entire body in an aggressive lunge. Nachkt managed to cast a barrier just in time. He staggered back from the impact, barely dispelling his manra before being struck again.

Eidar unleashed a flurry of blows. His piercer sparked against hasty fractals of light, one after another. It was an onslaught of attacks, and Nachkt’s own were few and far between.

To the cheering audience, it seemed to be an overwhelming performance from Eidar.

Eralia watched his shoulders rocking with each strike and rolled her eyes. Amateurish, really.

A piercer’s stena-alloy was meant to concentrate a bearer’s manra into a sharp point, to puncture the weakest parts of an enemy's barrier. It required precision, and Eidar’s wild flailing was, frankly, a waste of manra. His entire strategy was shattering Nachkt’s barriers before his own manra reserves ran dry.

Unfortunately for Nachkt, his gamble was paying off.

Nachkt stumbled back, again and again, until he finally found himself cornered at the edge of the arena. Eidar raised his sword for one final overhead swing as Nachkt’s palm shot out, flinging a desperate shield. The blade met his barrier and splintered into pieces.

“What—?” Eidar gasped.

His blade ricocheted into the air as Nachkt’s gemstone flared.

There was a second barrier. Smaller and weaker, hidden underneath the first. It would’ve been a simple matter for an opponent at full strength, of course.

But Eidar had run out of manra.

Eidar’s body lurched forward, his piercer flailing uselessly through the air.

Nachkt squeezed his eyes shut and swung. His weapon slammed into Eidar’s ribs with a solid crunch.

“Halt!” Pruatt’s arm shot down. “Congratulations, Nachkt Pasaulis.”

Eidar’s sword-arm went limp. “That’s… How’d you…?”

How unfortunate. Scattered applause trickled from the stands. Eralia fought the urge to scoff. Nachkt didn’t win, Eidar had simply lost.

“Ottro, next to the arena!”