Training continued, and everything indicated that the dinner between my parents and Mr. Ravenscroft had been an unexpected success. Neither of them questioned me about my outing or hinted that they knew more than they should. Not even a raised eyebrow, not even a "Where are you going so early?" Just... silence. What could he have said to win their trust so quickly? I didn't know. But I would find out calmly. Without arousing suspicion.
When I reached the clearing, he was already there, as usual. His silhouette stood out against the morning light, and for the first time since I had met him, he seemed... enthusiastic. He carried a sword hanging from his belt and held a small wooden barrel. When I saw him, something stirred inside me: intuition, anxiety... or perhaps a dangerous combination of both.
"Good morning, Drake," he greeted me with a smile on his lips.
"Good morning," I replied, somewhat intrigued.
"Today is the day. We'll start preparing your body for fencing."
My heart leapt. Finally! The moment I had been waiting for since I started training had arrived. But before I could savor it, something soaked my shoes.
A ball of water had hit me, just enough to wet me... but unexpected enough to disconcert me.
"Huh? What was that?" I asked, looking at my feet. "Are we starting already?"
"Run," he replied, raising his hand.
And then I saw it. In front of his palm, a new sphere of water was beginning to form... but this time it wasn't an innocent, playful drop. It was a contained torrent, a ball that was growing at an excessive rate, as if it had a life of its own.
"Run where?" I blurted out, taking a step back.
"Run, Drake! Run!"
It wasn't an empty command. That ball was already the size of a wagon and it kept growing. I felt a chill run down my spine. That thing was real... and it was coming for me
So, I ran.
I ran as if I were being chased by a wild beast. As if the fate of the world depended on my legs. Because if I had learned anything in the last few weeks, it was that Ravenscroft didn't make empty threats. If he told me to run... it was because he was going to throw it.
And he threw it.
For a moment, I thought that anyone watching us from a distance would think it was part of some absurd play: a child running, chased by a huge ball of water conjured up by an elegant and apparently unbalanced elf.
I ran until my legs hurt, until sweat clouded my vision. I didn't even know why I was running anymore. I just knew I didn't want to end up soaking wet, especially since I had showered before leaving... but that didn't matter anymore.
And then, the inevitable.
Splash.
The ball hit me squarely. It wasn't painful, more like a giant wet pillow pushing me to the ground. I fell backward onto the grass, completely soaked, my hair stuck to my face and my clothes dripping. I felt like human soup.
Ravenscroft approached calmly, the kite under his arm, as if nothing had happened.
"That was a good distance," he said appraisingly, handing me the kite as if nothing had happened.
"Did you really have to chase me with that?" I snorted, spitting out a little water.
"No." His smile curved mischievously. "But I thought it was funny."
I looked at him, somewhere between frustrated and resigned... and ended up laughing.
"Well... I guess it was."
"And this?" I asked, taking it suspiciously. "Didn't I just drink enough water with the spell?"
"That was to wake you up," he replied with a half smile. "This is to help you regain your strength. Drink slowly."
I looked at the barrel. Just water? Or something else? Its aroma was neutral, with no trace of magic or spices. Still, I couldn't help but be suspicious. Not in a bad way... but with him, you never knew.
"We'll save it for later if you don't feel like it," he said, shrugging. "Now stretch. It's important to avoid injury."
"Wasn't I supposed to do that before I threw a giant ball at you?" I protested as I bent down.
"I figured the walk from your house was enough of a warm-up. But keep this in mind: if you don't walk beforehand, you should always warm up. Fencing requires precision, and fatigue or an unprepared muscle can be your downfall."
His words carried the weight of experience. I stood up and saw him watching me closely.
"Drake... today we'll start with sword training. And we'll do it with a short sword, or bastard sword. Seeing your father, I figured this weapon would suit you better."
"So... I'm not suited for a long sword?" I asked, with a hint of insecurity.
"It's not a question of ability, but of purpose," he explained patiently. "You will train in both swordplay and magic. The short sword gives you mobility, speed... and room to react. A long sword is powerful, yes, but it also limits your options in combat if you have to cast spells at the same time.
"What about knives? Could I use them?
"They're called daggers, and they're very different from knives, kid. And yes, you could train with them... but in inexperienced hands, they're more of a risk than an advantage. They require stealth, extreme speed, and great precision. A sword, on the other hand, will give you reach, control, and strength.
"Do you want to train with daggers?
I paused for a moment before refusing.
"No. I've always wanted to wield a sword. Changing now... I wouldn't like that."
"Perfect," he replied, and reached over to take the one from his belt. "But before you touch steel, you must master wood."
He handed me a practice sword. I knew immediately what was coming next. Leo's words echoed in my mind... but this time, they would come from the lips of another master.
"Before you strike, you must learn to control yourself, right?" I interrupted him before he could speak.
Ravenscroft raised both eyebrows in surprise.
"Exactly. Did your parents teach you that?"
"No. It was my uncle Leo."
"And what else did he teach you?"
"To control my impulses. To practice swings. To use a real sword with a blunt edge at first. Not to change weapons on a whim. To keep it in good condition. And..." I paused. "That the sword does not forgive arrogance."
Ravenscroft smiled with satisfaction.
"Just theory, right?"
"Yes."
"Then let me tell you that your uncle did an excellent job. Now let's see how much you learned. Kick into the air. Without thinking."
"A kick?" I frowned, but I did it. My right leg rose almost instinctively.
"Done. Dominant leg determined."
"You figured that out from just one kick?"
"Of course. The body reveals more than the mind admits."
He adopted a firm stance and gestured for me to imitate him.
"Place your dominant foot one step back. Take the sword with both hands. The right hand above, just below the guard. The left below, without the fingers sticking out. Firm, but without tension in the wrists."
I copied his movements.
"Your head should always face forward. Toward your opponent. But not at the eyes. Look at their chest."
"Wouldn't it be better to look them in the eyes?"
"No. The eyes give you away. If you hesitate, if you think too much... it all shows in your eyes. A smart opponent will notice. The chest, on the other hand, gives you the direction of the body without revealing everything."
I nodded slowly, processing each instruction.
"Now bring the sword behind your head... and bring it down hard. But slowly. Controlled. You'll do this fifty times. Three sets."
"Can't I do them all at once?"
"No. You need to rest between sets. Discipline is more important than speed. Now... begin."
And I started. The first few repetitions were easy. I felt like I could go on without stopping. But it wasn't long before my arms began to protest. I took a deep breath and continued.
"Bend your elbows well when you bring it back," he corrected me calmly. "Don't rush. Even when you think you're doing it right, there's always something to improve."
When I finished the second set, he let me sit down for a moment. It was then that he resumed the lesson in a more serious voice.
"Let's talk about ranks," he said. "They are similar but are evaluated a little differently when assigned. You start as a beginner, followed by intermediate, then advanced, master, and the highest of all, sovereign or king. Depending on the region, it can be known by either name.
"And is there anything beyond that?"
"Yes. If you ever achieve absolute mastery... you could be recognized as the representative of a god. Like Quetzalcoatl, for example."
"Why not just call him 'god of the wind' or something?"
"Because you can't measure the strength of a god. You can only represent his essence. But that doesn't mean you keep the position forever." They can take it away from you.
"And what happened to them? Did they disappear?"
"They disappeared, yes... but they left something behind. Their temples still exist, hidden in corners of the world. You can't search for them. They find you... if you are worthy."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then you will continue on your path like any other warrior or magician." But if you are, the temple will grant you a unique connection to the god's element.
"Could I be chosen by one or more temples?"
"In theory, no. But it's extremely rare. Out of ten, only three find a temple. And not all of them understand what they find. Some aren't ready."
"So... I might not be chosen at all."
"That's right." But don't obsess over it, Drake. Train. Learn. Strengthen your spirit. The rest... will come when it has to come.
***
As I finished the last series of swings, my arms already shaking from the effort, I couldn't stop thinking about something my master had mentioned earlier. The words kept echoing in my mind like a persistent echo. They didn't quite add up for me.
"Master..." I said, without stopping completely. "A moment ago you mentioned that someone could become the representative of a god, right?"
Ravenscroft, who until then had been watching me in silence, nodded naturally.
"Correct."
"But... how is that possible? I mean... how can someone represent a god? How are they officially recognized?"
"Good question," he replied calmly, walking slowly around me. "For someone to obtain that title, it's not enough to attain power... they must challenge the current representative. And defeat them."
I stopped, leaning my wooden sword on the ground as I tried to process this revelation.
"And how do others know it's true? That it's not just a fraud claiming a title?"
"Because it's not something that's said... it's something that's seen," he explained, crossing his arms. "In every church dedicated to a god, there is a magical tablet. An ancient relic. The names of the current representatives are inscribed on it. When one dies or is defeated, their name disappears instantly... and the name of the newly chosen one appears in its place, as if the divinity itself had confirmed it.
I was speechless. The mere thought of such a thing made my skin crawl.
"That's... incredible. And how do those tablets work?"
A smile spread across Ravenscroft's lips, the kind of smile you only show when you're talking about something that truly intrigues you.
"Hmm... the truth is, no one knows for sure. The only thing that has been confirmed is that it was the dwarves who discovered how to make them. But even among them, few know the whole secret.
"So... no one understands how they actually work?"
"Not today," he said with a slight shrug. "But that doesn't mean we should resign ourselves to ignorance. There are still many things to discover... and someone with enough curiosity, discipline, and hunger for knowledge could go further than they imagine."
My mind was filled with new questions.
"And where could I find information about that? Books... ancient research...?"
"In a place where knowledge is the main pillar," he replied, with a look that hid something else. "In a school."
"A school?" I repeated, tilting my head.
"Yes... specifically, the Institute of Magic in the capital, in Aurenthia." They don't just teach magic there. They study ancient artifacts, lost languages... even the world's most hidden history. But don't ask me any more questions," he added, lowering his voice a little. "Better... talk to your parents about it one of these days.
I stopped completely.
My parents? Why them? What did they know that I didn't? Why did I have to talk to them about this instead of continuing this conversation with him?
The worst thing wasn't not knowing. The worst thing was that my parents did know something. And they hadn't told me.
I said nothing more, but those questions lingered in my mind like thick fog.
"All right," I finally murmured. "I'll take your word for it."