Bringing Knife Skills to a Sword Fight

The air was heady with the smell of crushed grass and churned-up dirt as the students stretched and warmed up in preparation to train their Blessings. According to Ima, most days at the Guard Academy were split into theoretical training, Blessing training, and weapons training, while electives occurred after the standard day. The other girl had helped Asteria get the athletic uniform from the medical office: a knee-length white tunic with a pleated skirt, wide sleeves, and a dark blue surcoat with split sides to wear over it.

Most of the students seemed skilled—perhaps more so than Asteria had initially expected of young mortals. She watched Alexander and Aerin run through some drills—for whatever reason, Aerin’s weapon kept slipping out of his hands, or he would trip over the spear. Every once in a while, perhaps when Alexander lost focus, flowers would bloom around Aerin’s feet, but not enough to account for tripping over his own weapon so much. Next to them, two identical girls with gray-blue hair were sparring, paired against the girl with dark hair—Nephy and Ellie, Ima had informed her, versus Thana. On the other end of the field, Carex sparred with Argan, who seemed particularly clumsy and kept getting hit despite the many eyes watching for the weapon. Mennie—the scaredy-cat who tried to design Asteria’s headstone—was sparring casually against Pelos, a quiet boy with dark green hair.

Asteria mentally catalogued what she could guess of the students' Blessings. On top of the ones she already knew, Nephy and Ellie seemed to be twins who were Zeus-blessed, Thana was Hades, Bo was Poseidon, Mennie was Artemis, and Pelos was Demeter. Despite the wide range of abilities, Asteria mentally noted Aerin and Argan as the weakest fighters in the class. Everyone seemed already paired up, so Asteria turned to Ima.

Already anticipating it, Ima shook her head. She blushed. “Sorry, I always pair with Bo!”

Which left Asteria on her own. She sighed, then remembered there was one other person without a partner.

“You.” Rhei was sitting cross-legged beneath a gnarled tree at the edge of the field, his hands resting on his knees—he seemed averse to settling them on the ground despite his gloves. He was still bundled in a ridiculous number of layers, a thick scarf nearly swallowing his face, and he looked up at her through thick bangs, tilting his head in confusion. He pointed to himself with a bewildered expression.

“Me?”

“Partner with me.”

Rhei blinked at her, brown eyes wide. “Um, sorry, no…”

“Ha? Why not?”

Rhei glanced down at his casted leg, and Asteria scoffed, kicking the splayed-out leg carelessly. He didn't even wince. 

“You heal quickly. You walked fine by the end of class.”

He shrank into his scarf, his gaze darting away like he was already bracing for her reaction. “I don’t… spar,” he mumbled, pulling his scarf higher as though it could shield him. “I don’t use my Blessing.”

“Yeah? Well, I have been told I do not have one, so what does it matter?”

Rhei’s head tilted, his eyes—what little she could see of them through his bangs—narrowing in confusion, apprehension flashing through them when he realized what she was saying. “You don’t have a Blessing?”

Asteria sighed, frustrated, plopping to the ground in front of him, tucking her legs in. “The oracle stone said I did not. Who am I to argue with a rock.”

He laughed a little. “Blessings aren’t so great, you know.” Rhei sighed. “It’s an honor, of course, to receive a god’s blessing, but people survive as well without them… and you don’t have to worry about hurting people.”

Asteria blinked at him, caught off guard by the weight in his voice. “Hurting people?” she echoed. Asteria tilted her head, studying him skeptically. “That is why you don’t spar? You are scared to hurt others?”

He looked at her, and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of the wariness in his eyes. “I know I will,” he said simply. Something in the way he said it—so calm, so certain, and not at all happy about it—made her pause.

“But you are here to learn how to fight, how to hurt others, are you not?”

He grimaced, looking away, and ruffled the hair on the back of his head. “I guess you could say that.” He glanced over at her and chuckled at the nonplussed look on her face. “You really don’t know anything about me, do you?”

Asteria shrugged. “Not at all. Enlighten me?”

“…” His eyes lowered and he fell quiet. She sighed, accepting his silence as an answer, and leaned back.

“I have power. It is just locked away.”

“Oh.” His visible skin pinked, and he buried his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers. “Sorry, I assumed and started lecturing you.”

Asteria rolled her eyes, not particularly offended. “It is fine,” she waved it off.

He fiddled with his fingers. “What happened?”

“There’s some sort of seal—something watching me and not letting me use my mageia,” Asteria responded bitterly.

“Huh…” Rhei pondered. “You came from Delphi, right? Was Pythia able to help at all—” Noticing her sudden dark glare, he stopped himself. “Sorry!” He apologized quickly. “It’s a rumor, right? But everyone’s been talking about it—”

Asteria scowled. “That prophet is a sham. Delphi was a waste of time.”

Rhei tilted his head, his ashen gray bangs parting slightly to reveal one of his eyes. “Oh… that’s odd. I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard a lot of stories because—well, anyway.” He paused, his voice growing softer. “It must have been tough to journey through the wasteland on your own.”

“I am stronger than anyone here seems to believe.” Asteria shrugged. “So spar with me?”

He shook his head. “Still no, I’m sorry. I can’t control my Blessing, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Suddenly, she was irrationally determined to fight him—to force him to fight back and acknowledge her strength. Her muscles tensed, ready to tackle him then and there and start an impromptu wrestling match when Carex came sauntering over.

“Hey, newbie! Let’s spar. Show me what you're made of.”

Asteria squinted at the blond, whose dark eyes were glinting. Did he think he could make a show of her? Well, he would be a good outlet for the sudden itch to fight. Asteria climbed to her feet, glancing at the rest of the class who looked concerned

“Carex doesn’t hold back. She’s done for.”

“She’s not even Blessed. What’s she thinking?”

Carex towered over her, was clearly more muscular, and was reportedly the most adept with blades in the class. But Asteria’s fighting has always relied on speed.

“Weapons?” She asked.

Carex nodded, grin sharpening. “It’s not like you have any blessing to make use of,” he mocked. He tossed her a sword, and she caught it deftly. She twirled it—made of wood, but it was weighted well. She eyed Carex, his bronze sword gleaming—which seemed mildly unfair—and his posture and grip were textbook-perfect as he settled into a starting pose as the rest of the class gathered around, ready to pass their judgement on her and not even being subtle about it.

Argan had been nominated by the crowd as a referee—considering his ability to watch multiple things at once—and stood cheerfully at the center. He slashed his hand down, grinning, and yelled: “Start!”

Carex was on her immediately, sword bearing down on her. She blocked and pushed his weapon away, close enough to see the dark brown of his eyes, and the way his expression flattened as he noticed her lazy expression.

He drew back for a second before redoubling his attacks. His strikes were relentless, each swing heavier than the last. Asteria deflected another brutal attack, her blade trembling slightly under the force. She smirked faintly, sidestepping as his sword came crashing down again, guiding the flat of the blade along with the palm of her free hand. For normal mortals, such a thing wouldn’t have been possible, but she had her experience and the benefits of a body naturally enhanced by mageia, locked away though it may be. Carex clearly didn’t know how to make use of mageia to enhance his abilities at all.

“Take this seriously!” He growled, his blows coming with more force and slipping out of perfect form.

Another swing. Asteria ducked under Carex’s sword, a flash of metal at his speed, but her timing was slightly off. The sword’s edge caught her long braid, slicing clean through the plait. Freed strands of glistening silver-mauve fell forward, slipping over her shoulder. Carex hesitated, drawing back and staring carefully at her newly shortened hair. The crowd hushed, and Asteria absently wondered if shearing hair in mourning was still a thing. With the exception of Alista, all the girls she’d seen had long hair, after all.

Asteria reached up, brushing her hand through the uneven ends of her hair. She straightened, flipping what remained of her hair over her shoulder in one smooth motion.

“Is there a problem?”

Carex blinked, caught off guard. “You’re—wait, seriously?” His expression flattened.

She rolled her shoulder, the newly asymmetrical cut draping along her collarbone. She grinned crookedly and surged forward, faster than before.

She parried several quick slashes in succession, now watching his moves for real as frustration knit his brow. He seemed to be utilizing his Blessing, as his moves came out perfectly clean—but a little too high for Asteria’s small stature.

Truly textbook-perfect in the most literal sense, she smirked in realization. She flipped the sword, shifting her grip, and watched his gaze falter, glancing down at the backhanded hold, clearly confused.

Then Asteria was darting forward, getting far closer than what made sense in a sword battle. Carex stumbled back, confused, but she closed the distance again, already reaching up to block his ensuing downward slash with the base of her sword. In the close quarters, his attacks were cramped without any force or speed, and clearly confused as they faltered. He aimed too high once again, and, taking advantage of this, she ducked low, sliding under a slash—utilizing the higher mobility from having the sword blade tucked out of her way behind her—and slammed the butt of her weapon into his stomach, unprotected as it was by their soft training uniforms.

Carex gasped but didn't falter, kicking her away. She skidded a few feet, but landed in a crouch, immediately pushing back into close quarters. If she’d been using daggers, it would have counted as a kill, but she could forgive Argan for not flagging it. He aimed a downward slash at her, and she spun out of the way. Bringing her sword hold to the inside of his arm, she twisted the base of her blade around his sword, forcing a disarm. In the next second, she was behind him, holding her sword, still in the reverse grip, against his neck.