No Path Chosen

"Hold that steady," Eva muttered.

Silas planted his foot next to the wooden post and kept it upright as she tightened the bolts with a makeshift wrench. They'd been at it since sunrise, rebuilding the training ground dummy by dummy. Half of them had names. All of them were called Dondo.

Eva stepped back and squinted at their work. "Looks crooked."

Silas tilted his head. "Looks like Dondo just woke up late."

She let out a weak laugh, then rubbed her palms on her trousers. "Three more to go."

"You sure we're not building a militia?"

"Dondos aren't a militia," Eva replied. "They're a tradition."

Silas leaned against the post, arms crossed. "So. Griven Academy."

Eva stiffened slightly, eyes flicking to the tools at her feet. "Yeah."

"You excited?"

"I... guess." She bent down, fiddling with a loose nut that didn't really need fixing. "It's what I've always wanted, right?"

"Right," Silas said softly. "And you earned it."

Eva was quiet.

He watched her for a moment before stepping forward and nudging her shoulder with the back of his hand. "Hey. You're nervous."

She exhaled through her nose, finally looking at him. "I thought I'd feel ready. Like, really ready. But now that it's real, I keep wondering if they made a mistake."

Silas didn't laugh. He didn't tease.

Instead, he said, "They didn't. I've seen what you build. What you think up. No one else around here comes close."

She hesitated, then muttered, "What if I mess it up?"

"Then you learn, fix it, and do it better. Isn't that what you always say?"

Eva cracked a small smile. "Sounds like something I'd say."

Silas gave the dummy beside them a light pat. "Anyway, the Dondos believe in you."

"That one's missing a head."

"Even headless Dondos have standards."

Eva laughed this time—genuine, if only for a second. "Thanks, Silas."

"Anytime," he said. "Just don't forget us little people when you're inventing some world-saving gadget at Griven."

"I won't," she said. "I'll come back. Even if it's just to patch up more crooked Dondos."

He grinned. "Good. I'll keep a spot open for Dondo Prime."

The back door swung open just as Silas finished his warm-up.

Right on time.

Harry stepped out first, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He was clean, alert—but still waking up inside.

Leon followed, arms stretching overhead as he walked into the yard, joints cracking lightly.

Lucian came next, chewing on the last bite of a slice of bread, eyes already scanning the setup.

Servin trailed quietly behind them, hands in his pockets, his pace calm and steady.

Silas gave them a nod. "Good. Everyone's here."

Eva looked over from the corner of the training ground where she was tightening straps on a Dondo dummy. "Wow, on time and everything. Should I be impressed?"

Leon shrugged with a grin. "We showered and everything."

"I'm awake," Harry said, emphasizing it like an achievement.

Lucian said nothing, just finished his bread and brushed his hands off.

Silas clapped his palms together. "Alright. No fancy techniques today—just sword basics. Foundation stuff."

Harry blinked. "Wait, I have to train too?"

Silas turned to him, already grabbing wooden swords from the rack. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but... I don't even use a sword."

"You don't have to," Silas said, handing one to Leon first. "But the basics—stance, movement, timing—they carry over to everything. Even fists."

Leon gave the sword a few test swings, grinning. "Been waiting for this."

Lucian took his next, and while he didn't say much, there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes as he felt the weight. "It's solid. I'm in."

Harry reluctantly took his. He held it awkwardly, fingers too far apart. "Feels weird."

Silas rotated the sword in his grip. "That's because you're holding it like a spoon."

Eva snorted from the sidelines.

Last came Servin. He took the wooden blade without a word. His grip was natural. His stance instinctive. Everything about the way he moved spoke of experience—but he kept it quiet. Silas had forgotten Servin was already trained, and Servin didn't correct him.

"Alright," Silas said, stepping back. "Line up. Feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees loose. Balance matters more than speed."

Leon dropped into a wide stance, eyes sharp with excitement.

Lucian mirrored him, precise and calm.

Harry held his sword too high, squinting like it might bite him.

Servin moved like he'd done this a thousand times—but quietly, like he didn't want anyone to notice.

Silas raised his wooden sword. "Next: parrying. Simple concept, but hard to master. The point isn't to block with brute force—it's about redirecting."

He swung in a slow motion, showing the angle. "Let it slide off. Turn the blade just enough. Tight wrists, balanced feet."

Leon was the first to try. His feet were too wide, his motion too wild. Every parry attempt was either too hard or too slow.

Harry gave it a shot next. His sword bounced awkwardly off Lucian's when they practiced together. "I think mine's defective."

"No, that's your grip," Silas said, adjusting it. "You're strangling the poor thing."

Lucian stepped in with quiet focus. He moved naturally—his blade angled with care, his feet steady, body aligned. It wasn't flashy. It was sharp. Deliberate.

Silas raised a brow. "Not bad."

"I practice," Lucian said. "Whenever I can. With a stick."

"Really?"

Lucian nodded. "Still saving up for a real sword."

That caught Servin's attention. He'd been at the edge of the group, practicing quietly—using his right hand instead of his dominant left. His movements were clean and measured, but modest. Deliberate. Easy to overlook if you weren't watching closely.

Lucian turned toward him after another set. "You're good. Way better than me."

"You're not bad at all," Servin said. "Your balance is solid."

Lucian smiled faintly. "Thanks. I've always wanted to be a swordsman. Since I was a kid. I've been saving for years—doing odd jobs, skipping snacks, even fixing boots—just to buy a proper sword. Still a few coins short."

Servin looked surprised. "You're really serious about it."

Lucian nodded. "Yeah. I don't know why—I just feel right when I'm holding a blade, even a wooden one."

A quiet moment passed.

"…Want a tutor?" Servin asked.

Lucian looked like someone had just offered him gold. "Yes. Yes, please."

Then, mid-grin, Lucian suddenly stopped. He stared at Servin, squinting.

"…Wait a second."

Servin tilted his head. "What?"

"You're Servin. Servin Morvain."

Servin gave a small nod, casual. "Yeah?"

Lucian looked at Silas. "He's Servin Morvain!"

Silas blinked. "Yeah… and?"

Lucian pointed at him. "You forgot! We all did! He's from the Morvain family—the famous swordmasters! We literally saved a Morvain kid yesterday!"

Silas froze. "Oh my god."

Silas's eyes widened. Eva just started laughing, loudly and without shame

"You watched him parry with his non-dominant hand," Eva said, wiping a tear. "Like a teacher humoring toddlers."

Lucian gawked. "Wait. That was your off hand?"

Servin casually switched to his left and gave the wooden sword a lazy spin. "I like to practice both."

Silas looked personally betrayed. "I've been teaching sword basics to a Morvain. A Morvain."

"You were doing great," Servin said with a straight face.

Leon, who had been wrestling with the sword at the edge of the group, finally grumbled, "You're all laughing, but this thing is broken."

Silas turned. "What now?"

Leon held the sword out like it was a stiff broom. "It doesn't move with me. It slows me down. I fight like fire. Flowing, shifting—this thing wants me to stand still."

Servin nodded. "Then don't use it."

Leon sighed, clearly frustrated. "Yeah. I don't think I'm made for this."

Meanwhile, Harry had just managed to smack himself in the same shin for the third time. He hissed, hopping in place. "That was a warning hit. For intimidation."

Lucian deadpanned, "It's working. I'm very afraid for you."

Eva nearly fell over laughing. "Training day is the best."

After his third failed swing, Leon finally dropped the wooden sword with a sigh.

"Yeah. I'm done."

Silas glanced over. "Giving up already?"

"It's not for me," Leon said, brushing his hands off. "I feel like I'm trying to punch someone while wearing a tree branch."

Harry followed, limping slightly and groaning as he made his way to sit beside Eva, who was now leaning against one of the Dondos.

"Am I the worst?" he asked, flopping onto the grass.

"Second-worst," she replied, handing him a water bottle with a smirk. "Leon claimed the crown."

Harry gave a proud nod. "I'll take silver."

Eva laughed. "Drink up, champ."

Silas watched them a moment, then turned toward Leon and Servin. "Alright. If swords aren't your thing… let's work with your actual strength."

Leon perked up. "You mean—?"

"Yeah," Silas nodded. "Let's see how you two handle your powers."

Leon stood straighter, the fire returning to his eyes—almost literally.

Servin, on the other hand, shifted slightly, expression dimming just a touch.

Lucian remained at the training ground, practicing strikes against a headless Dondo like it owed him money. He didn't look up.

Silas clapped. "Alright. Show me your best."

Leon stepped forward and lit up—both hands flaring with fire as he grinned like he owned the sun.

Flames burst to life across his palms, dancing up to his forearms. The heat shimmered in the air. He smirked like he was posing for a poster.

"Well?" he asked.

Silas tilted his head. "That it?"

Leon blinked. "What do you mean?"

Silas shrugged. "Looks warm."

Leon huffed, flames flickering slightly.

Then everyone turned to Servin.

He stepped forward, raised his hand—and concentrated.

A slow shimmer of water formed at his palm, swirling and condensing. He pushed it with all he had.

And… a bubble appeared. About the size of a small apple.

He held it up.

Silas stared.

"…That it?" he asked, trying not to sound too awkward.

Servin glanced at the bubble, then at the others. "It's harder than it looks."

Harry clapped from the grass. "Ten out of ten. Very round."

Eva leaned toward him. "I'm terrified."

Leon turned back to Silas. "So… do I win this round?"

"You win something," Silas muttered.

Lucian didn't look up, but he chuckled once, just loud enough to be heard.

"Alright," he said, stepping forward. "Let's change it up. I want you to start thinking beyond just using your power—I want you to shape it. Give it form. Give it a purpose."

Leon blinked. "Like… make an attack?"

"Exactly. Offense or defense. Doesn't matter. But here's the rule: you gotta name it."

Harry sat up slightly from where he lay beside Eva. "Wait, name it? Like, out loud?"

"Yes," Silas said seriously. "Loud and clear. You have to own it."

Lucian paused mid-strike and turned his head. "Why?"

Silas gestured toward the sky. "Because it's cool. And because I once read this old comic—The Adventures of Sora. Every character shouted their attack names.

Eva groaned. "This is about a comic?"

"It was a good comic," Silas defended.

He took a few steps back, facing one of the Dondos near the fence line. Then he raised his hand toward it.

"Watch and learn."

A sharp gust gathered around his arm, swirling tight.

"Wind Tail," he called.

A sudden, whip-like burst of air shot from his palm, curling through the air like a trailing tail and smacked the Dondo square in the chest. The dummy wobbled from the impact.

Harry's eyes widened. "Wait, that actually looked awesome."

"Right?" Silas said, proud. "See what a name does? It sells it."

Leon stepped forward again, stretching out one arm. Flames circled from shoulder to fist, tighter than before.

"I'll name it…" he said, fist clenching. "Blaze Gear."

Eva raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a weapon and a bad nickname."

Leon ignored her. He turned toward one of the Dondos.

With a running step, he closed the distance and drove his flaming fist into its chest. The moment his knuckles struck, the fire around his arm spun—whirled—in a gear-like rotation, releasing a spiraling burst of flame that lit up the dummy's torso.

The Dondo caught fire instantly.

"Oh—!" Silas waved a hand, conjuring a sharp burst of wind that kicked up dirt and dust, smothering the flames in a gritty swirl.

The charred dummy wobbled, smoking quietly.

Silas turned back to Leon. "Okay. That was an upgrade."

Leon smirked, a little out of breath but clearly proud. "Told you it just needed a name."

Harry clapped. "Blaze Gear. Not bad, not bad."

Silas looked over at Servin. "Alright, your turn. Let's give that bubble a brand."

Servin hesitated.

Then he gave a slow shake of his head. "I'm good."

Silas blinked. "You sure?"

Servin looked down at his hand, then away. "Yeah. I… I don't want to."

Training had winded down. The air still smelled faintly of scorched grass and burnt dummy stuffing, but the mood had settled. Everyone was seated now, scattered in the backyard like they'd survived something much bigger than sword drills and name-shouting.

Eva leaned back against a barrel, sipping water from a dented flask. Harry sat cross-legged beside her, chewing quietly on dried fruit. Lucian was off to the side, still occasionally practicing swings on a headless Dondo with silent focus.

Silas stretched his arms behind his head. "Not bad for a bunch of amateurs."

Leon grinned. "Speak for yourself. Blaze Gear is a masterpiece."

Eva rolled her eyes. "Still sounds like a fireworks brand."

Servin sat quietly on the edge of the group, watching, but not speaking. After a while, he stood.

"I should go."

The others looked up. Silas was the first to speak. "Already?"

Servin nodded. "It's for the best. My parents are coming home soon. If they notice I'm gone... and find out I came here…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

"I'll be in real trouble," Servin said simply. "And I probably won't be able to come back. Not for a while."

Silas sat up straighter. "You don't have to walk alone. Not with how things are lately—especially after we stirred up the Silent Chord."

Servin hesitated.

"You're not familiar with the roads, right?" Silas added. "Come on. I'll walk you."

Servin smiled, small but genuine. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

Leon leaned back with a sigh. "Tell the Morvain lord I said hi. Or not. Probably not."

Harry waved a hand lazily. "Don't get grounded for life."

Eva simply gave a nod. "Come back when you can. We'll save a Dondo for you."

Servin looked at each of them. "I will. I promise."

Then he turned toward the road with Silas at his side, the sun dipping behind them as the day finally began to cool.

And just like that, the Morvain walked into the evening—not as a prodigy, not as a noble—but as one of them.