Before the First Light - Into Blainsard

The training hall was louder than usual that morning.

Conversations overlapped from every corner of the room, though there was little of the usual laughter among them. Some students stretched. Others practised swings they had repeated thousands of times before.

“Everyone looks nervous,” Nyssa said.

“That’s because they are.”

She glanced at him. “You’re not?”

“Of course I am.”

“You don’t look it.”

Soren flexed his fingers once before reaching for a practice sword.

“Would looking terrified help?”

“It would make me feel better.”

Soren adjusted his grip for the third time.

There was nothing wrong with it.

He knew that.

He adjusted it anyway.

Mr. Sior walked in. Conversations died down, and everyone turned their attention towards him.

“I promised to give you the details for this year’s selection,” Mr. Sior said as he stopped before the class.

“The selection process will have two rounds.”

“The first round will eliminate sixteen students through direct one-on-one fights, which will take place today.”

The remaining whispers disappeared.

“One opponent. One match. Win, and you remain a candidate. Lose, and your selection ends here.”

“And that’s not a bad thing. You’ll still have a few years to develop until you’re ready.”

“Next week, the remaining sixteen will go to Blainsard Forest for the second round.”

“But for now, the main focus is today’s round.”

“The rules are simple: you’re only allowed to use the wooden swords.”

“No magic.”

“Victory will be decided by a clean, decisive strike, a disarm, surrender, or my stoppage.”

“Any deliberately dangerous conduct will lead to automatic disqualification.”

“Pairings will be conducted by a draw. You’ll write your names down, and I’ll choose randomly.”

Mr. Sior set down a bowl beside a stack of small pieces of paper.

“Take one paper, write your name on it, fold it, then put it in the bowl.”

“Once you’re done, I’ll draw two names at a time. Those two students will be paired.”

“Imagine he draws us together,” Nyssa said as they joined the line of students heading for the bowl.

“Then I can finally end that streak of yours,” Soren replied.

“Ha. You’re funny,” Nyssa teased. “But I’d rather we both go through than have to eliminate you here.”

“I’m with you on that, though I’d be the one eliminating you.”

“Right,” she smirked.

After writing their names on the papers, they folded them and dropped them into the bowl.

Mr. Sior began drawing the pairs.

“Rhylen,” Mr. Sior said after pulling a paper from the bowl.

“Your opponent will be...” He reached into the bowl again. “Elowen.”

After a few more pairings, including Alden against Garrick, Mr. Sior finally pulled a familiar name.

“Nyssa.”

“Your opponent is Mathiason,” he said before continuing with the draw.

“Seems like I won’t be your opponent after all,” Soren whispered to Nyssa.

“Yep. I guess that means we could both make it to the next round,” Nyssa whispered with a smile.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Fenris…” Mr. Sior read. “And Soren,” he continued.

“Oh, you got Fenris,” Nyssa whispered, a hint of concern in her voice.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” Soren replied.

Mr. Sior continued until every student knew their opponent for the round.

The room became noticeably quieter once the last pairing was announced. Some students immediately searched for their opponents among the crowd, while others returned to stretching as though nothing had changed.

Soren glanced across the hall.

Fenris stood a short distance away, adjusting his grip on his wooden sword. He didn’t look particularly bothered by the draw.

Soren wasn’t sure whether that was confidence or simply how Fenris normally carried himself.

Nyssa’s reaction to the pairing hadn’t gone unnoticed either.

“You really think he’s that difficult?” Soren asked quietly.

“I think you shouldn’t underestimate him.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

Around them, the students began moving toward the seating area as Rhylen and Elowen remained behind.

They both got into position, awaiting Mr. Sior’s signal.

“You may begin,” Mr. Sior signalled.

Rhylen rushed forward first, bringing his sword down diagonally from above his right shoulder.

Elowen slipped to Rhylen’s right, letting the blade pass beside her, but Rhylen immediately turned the missed strike into another attack. His sword swept back from his left, cutting across towards her stomach.

This time, Elowen caught it with her own blade.

The wooden swords cracked together.

She pushed against his blade and guided it downward, forcing the tip toward the floor.

Rhylen pulled it free before she could take advantage.

He attacked again.

One strike came toward her shoulder.

Clack.

Elowen blocked it.

Another followed toward her upper body, forcing her sword across to meet it.

Then Rhylen suddenly dropped his next attack toward her left leg.

Elowen lifted her left leg out of its path.

The instant his sword passed underneath, she stepped forward and swung, trying to catch him before he could recover.

Rhylen’s sword came back up just in time.

Their blades collided.

This time, he pushed.

Elowen’s arms were forced upward, throwing her guard out of position. She quickly pulled them back down—

Too late.

Rhylen had already created the space he needed.

He stepped in and brought his sword against her exposed side, pulling most of the force from the strike just before impact.

Tap.

“Enough,” Mr. Sior called.

Both swords lowered.

“Winner, Rhylen.”

Elowen gripped her sword for a moment, disappointment clear on her face, before walking towards the seating area.

“That’s it, huh?” Soren said softly.

“Yep,” Nyssa responded.

“I guess she has to wait for the normal selection in three years’time.”

“Yeah.”

“Next pair,” Mr. Sior said as the room got a little quieter.

The next match ended considerably faster.

One of the students rushed forward almost immediately after Sior’s signal, only for his opponent to catch the attack, twist his sword aside, and knock it from his hands.

“Winner.”

Another name disappeared from the selection.

The following fight was nothing like it.

Neither student managed to gain a clear advantage for several minutes. By the end, both were breathing heavily, their movements noticeably slower than when they had begun. The deciding strike came when one mistimed a block and took a clean hit to the shoulder.

Soren watched the loser return to the seats.

Eight minutes of fighting, and it had still come down to a single mistake.

The next match produced the first result that seemed to genuinely surprise the room. A student Soren had expected to advance was caught during an overly aggressive attack and eliminated.

Nyssa leaned slightly toward him.

“Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I.”

Soren looked back toward the mat.

The more matches he watched, the clearer it became that reputation wasn’t going to carry anyone through today.

“Next up, Garrick and Alden,” Mr. Sior announced.

They both stepped up and got into position.

“You may begin,” Mr. Sior signalled.

Neither of them moved at first.

Garrick held his sword ready, watching Alden from across the training floor. Alden made no attempt to close the distance. If anything, the way he stood seemed almost like an invitation for Garrick to make the first move.

Garrick didn’t take it.

A few seconds passed.

Alden finally started walking toward him.

Not rushing.

Not even raising his sword.

Just walking.

Garrick’s grip tightened.

As Alden came within range, Garrick finally committed. He stepped forward and swung.

Alden simply moved aside.

Garrick’s blade cut through empty air, his own momentum carrying him several steps past.

He caught himself and immediately dashed another step forward before turning, creating distance in case Alden had followed.

He hadn’t.

Alden was still standing where Garrick had left him.

Garrick rushed him again.

This time, his sword swept in from his left, driven across his body with his right hand.

Alden didn’t block.

Alden’s sword shot upward from his right and struck Garrick’s blade before the swing could fully develop.

Clack!

Garrick’s sword flew from his hand.

His eyes widened.

Alden was already moving.

He stepped through the opening and struck Garrick in the stomach—not with enough force to injure him, but enough to send him stumbling backward.

“Enough,” Mr. Sior called.

Garrick steadied himself, one hand instinctively moving toward his stomach.

Alden lowered his sword.

“Winner, Alden.”

Garrick retrieved his sword while Alden returned to the seats.

Alden didn’t celebrate. If anything, he looked exactly as he had before the match began.

Soren watched him sit down.

“That was quick.”

“Garrick let him control the whole fight,” Nyssa said.

Soren nodded.

Alden hadn’t needed to attack first. He had simply stood there until Garrick became uncomfortable enough to do exactly what Alden wanted.

And when the opening finally came, Alden hadn’t hesitated.

“He barely moved,” Soren said.

“He didn’t need to.”

Alden glanced in their direction for a moment and smirkedbefore looking away.

Soren wasn’t sure whether he had heard them.

Either way, the result was difficult to ignore.

“Next up, Nyssa and Mathiason.”

They both stood ready.

“You may begin.”

Nyssa moved first.

Mathiason didn’t wait for her.

He rushed forward to meet her, their wooden swords colliding between them.

The impact pushed Nyssa back a step, but her footing held. She immediately repositioned as Mathiason followed her in with another strike.

Nyssa caught it with her sword and redirected his blade away from her.

She moved to counter—

But Mathiason had already pulled back out of range.

Nyssa paused.

He wasn’t giving her the opening.

Mathiason rushed forward again.

Nyssa slipped aside, letting his sword pass her, and turned to strike before he could recover.

Mathiason planted his foot and stopped his momentum. His sword came around just in time to meet hers.

Neither backed away.

Nyssa attacked again. Mathiason blocked.

He answered immediately. Nyssa turned his blade aside, then slipped away from the next strike.

Their swords met again.

And again.

Nyssa eventually stepped back, trying to create some room between them.

Mathiason wouldn’t give it to her.

He closed the distance almost immediately, attacking as he came.

Nyssa raised her sword.

Clack!

She redirected his strike away from her and prepared to counter.

Mathiason retreated.

Again.

Nyssa didn’t follow.

She watched him instead.

Every time.

He had done the same thing each time she redirected him. Rather than fight to recover from a bad position, Mathiason immediately created distance before she could punish him.

This time, Nyssa stayed where she was.

Her sword lowered slightly.

Mathiason watched her for a moment.

Then he came forward.

Nyssa waited.

His sword swept toward her shoulder.

She didn’t raise hers to meet it.

Not yet.

The blade came closer.

Nyssa suddenly dropped beneath it.

Mathiason’s sword passed over her shoulder as she slipped beneath the swing.

His side opened completely.

Nyssa’s sword struck it before he could recover.

“Enough!”

Mathiason froze.

Nyssa withdrew her sword and straightened.

Mr. Sior raised his hand.

“Winner, Nyssa Thalor.”

After shaking hands, they returned to their seats.

Nyssa dropped into the seat beside him.

“You baited him.”

“Eventually.”

“Took you long enough.”

She turned slowly toward him.

Soren immediately regretted the comment.

“Want to compare how many times I’ve beaten you recently?”

“Completely unrelated.”

“Four.”

“Nyssa.”

“Four consecutive times.”

Soren shook his head, though he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

Nyssa’s expression settled as she looked toward the training mat.

“You’re up next.”

“I know.”

“Don’t lose.”

“I won’t.”

Soren stood and picked up his sword.

Fenris was already making his way toward the mat.

Soren had watched Fenris fight before. He wasn’t the fastest student in the academy, nor was he the strongest.

What made him troublesome was how rarely he gave opponents anything for free.

He didn’t chase openings that weren’t there. He didn’t throw himself into attacks simply because an opponent moved backward. And when someone committed too heavily, Fenris was usually very good at making them regret it.

Which, Soren reluctantly admitted, made him a particularly inconvenient opponent.

He stepped onto the mat.

Fenris rolled one shoulder and raised his sword.

“Good luck.”

“You too.”

Soren settled into his stance.

Mr. Sior raised his hand.

“Begin.”

Soren and Fenris moved at the same time.

Their swords met between them with a sharp crack.

Neither gave way immediately.

Fenris shifted first, pulling his blade free and attacking from the side. Soren caught the strike and answered with one of his own, forcing Fenris to turn his sword across his body to block.

They separated only long enough to move again.

Fenris attacked high.

Soren leaned away from the blade and came back with a strike toward his ribs.

Fenris stepped outside its path.

Soren recovered.

Another clash.

Then another.

Neither managed to land cleanly.

Soren tightened his grip.

Fenris hadn’t overextended once.

Every time Soren threatened to close the distance, Fenris either blocked cleanly or moved just far enough away to force him to reset.

He wasn’t trying to overwhelm Soren.

He was waiting.

For me to make the mistake first.

That explained Nyssa’s warning.

Soren shifted his weight forward.

Fenris immediately adjusted.

Small movement. Barely noticeable.

But Soren saw it.

He’s watching my feet.

That made things more difficult.

It also gave Soren something to watch in return.

After several exchanges, they both backed away, creating a few metres between them.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then they charged.

Soren struck first.

Fenris met the attack head-on and forced Soren’s sword back with enough power to tear open his guard.

Fenris immediately went after it.

Soren recovered his sword just in time.

Clack!

Their blades collided inches from Soren.

Soren pushed the attack aside and answered almost immediately.

Fenris blocked.

The impact drove him back a step.

Soren saw it.

He rushed forward before Fenris could fully reset.

His sword came around—

Fenris disappeared from its path.

He had slipped past Soren’s right side.

Behind me.

Soren felt the instinct to plant his foot and turn.

He stopped himself.

Instead of planting his foot, Soren pushed off again and dashed to his left.

Fenris’s sword swept through the space beside Soren’s right side.

Only then did Soren plant his foot.

He turned.

Fenris was already coming for him.

Soren tightened his grip.

Fenris raised his sword for the next strike.

Soren didn’t aim for Fenris.

He aimed for the sword.

He swung.

CRACK!

The wooden blades collided.

Fenris held on.

For an instant, his grip resisted the full force of Soren’s strike.

Then his sword snapped.

Fenris’s eyes widened.

Soren’s blade broke through what remained of Fenris’s guard and struck him across the stomach.

Soren pulled back as much of the force as he could, but the remaining momentum was still enough to send Fenris stumbling backward.

Fenris lost his footing and hit the floor on his back.

He rolled quickly, catching himself and starting to rise—

but Soren was already there.

The tip of the wooden sword touched Fenris’s shoulder.

Fenris froze.

Mr. Sior raised his hand.

“Enough.”

Soren lowered his sword.

“Winner, Soren.”

For a moment, the hall remained unusually quiet.

Then the murmuring started.

Soren looked down at Fenris’s broken sword.

Half of the wooden blade lay several metres away.

I guess I put too much force behind that.

Fenris looked at it too before letting out a short breath.

“Seriously?”

Soren lowered his own sword.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me. It’s not my sword.”

That finally drew a few laughs from the students watching.

Soren offered him a hand.

Fenris took it and pulled himself up.

“I thought I had you when I got around you.”

“You almost did.”

Fenris looked toward Nyssa, then back at Soren.

“You’ve been working on that.”

Soren smiled slightly.

“A little.”

Mr. Sior approached and picked up the broken section of the practice sword.

He examined it for a moment.

“Good recovery, Soren.”

Soren straightened slightly.

Mr. Sior held up the broken weapon.

“Your control, however, still needs work.”

A few students laughed.

Soren rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes, sir.”

Soren returned to his seat beside Nyssa while another pair stepped onto the mat.

This time he watched differently.

His place in the final sixteen was secure.

Now every winner was someone who would be entering Blainsard with him next week.

One student advanced after a long defensive exchange.

Another won through a quick counter that caught his opponent almost immediately.

Soren began paying closer attention to the different styles.

Who relied on speed.

Who preferred waiting.

Who became reckless when pressured.

He noticed Nyssa doing the same.

“Planning already?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Soren looked back toward the mat.

“Fair.”

Eventually, the final match ended.

Sixteen students had advanced to the next stage.

Sixteen hadn’t.

Mr. Sior called the sixteen winners back onto the mat.

Soren stood beside Nyssa as the others formed a loose line around them.

Rhylen was there.

Alden too.

Soren looked along the remaining faces.

Half of the candidates who had entered the hall that morning were gone.

Mr. Sior stood before them.

“Congratulations.”

Several students smiled.

“Don’t look too pleased with yourselves yet.”

The smiles faded almost immediately.

“All you’ve proven today is that you’re capable of defeating another academy student in a sword fight.”

He let the words settle.

“That matters. It isn’t enough, though.”

Soren glanced toward Nyssa.

Mr. Sior continued.

“Next week, you’ll leave the academy and travel with me to Blainsard Forest.”

Everyone already knew that part.

What came next was new.

“You’ll remain there for five days.”

A few students exchanged looks.

Soren’s eyebrows lifted.

Five days?

“Today’s test was about your ability as individuals. The second round will test something very different.”

“These two rounds will determine which eight of you will represent this class at the actual New Order evaluation in two months.”

Someone raised a hand.

“What exactly are we doing?”

Mr. Sior smiled.

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

A collective groan moved through the sixteen.

“Until then, train. Rest. And make whatever preparations you think you’ll need.”

His eyes moved across them.

“Because defeating someone next week won’t necessarily mean you’ve won.”