Unblooded

The chirping of birds is what woke him up.

He could hear it through the walls—even the faint flickering of newborn sunlight creeping past the edges of his blinds.

It was official. Today was the day.

Groggily, he wiped the edges of his eyes, sitting up in bed and expectantly staring at the door. For whatever reason, he'd pictured Eofa waiting there for him, yet that wasn't the case.

The room was quiet.

It started off slow at first, as though his brain hadn't fully been kept up-to-date. But as the seconds passed, it started to get louder. Harder. So much so to the point where it felt like a constant drumming in his heart, a rhythm he couldn't quite shake.

This only continued as he walked down the hall, descended the stairs, all culminating to the looming front door before him.

This was the final barrier between him and a new world...

A new world he wanted to discover.

He sighed, taking in one last breath before tugging on the handle, swinging it in and crossing the threshold. Instantly, the warm, sweltering sun bore down against his face, a cool breeze washing in the air and battering against his body.

He could hear the trees rustle, the wind shake and the slight humming of distant birds. The only thing he didn't notice was Eofa—notably missing from the front of the yard.

At first, he was on edge. Knowing Eofa, he'd expected this 'training' to begin nearly instantly, but clearly that wasn't the case.

Still, he knew of a place where Eofa was likely to be; to the north-east, a small spring only a short walk away from the cabin. Heath had gone there a few times already, mainly to bathe and rest between his studying sessions. Initially, he was scared of the place, worrying that it was too far and that an eldritch would find and devour him.

Such a thing never occurred, however. Now that he thought of it, not a single time had even the slightest sound or appearance hinted at an eldritch presence during his entire time here.

Odd, but favorable. He didn't question safety.

This didn't mean he braved the woods, however. It was more the opposite, on edge due to the lack of sightings. As feet beat against the course soil, stepping over loose rocks and scattered needles, the occasional stick or log that fluffed the forest floor.

The clearing around it was immense, with only rough stone and small pebbles surrounding the immediate area. A hefty boulder lined its back, trickling water streaming down its side and into the girth of the pond. It was there he finally saw him—Eofa—silently sitting at the top of said boulder.

His eyes were closed and arms crossed, Sensory details slipping past and becoming one with the nature that surrounded him.

It was only when Heath got close, however, did he finally open his eyes. "You're here..."

Heath had half-expected the need to climb up or make his presence known some other way to grab his attention, but Eofa's awareness almost startled the boy. All he did in response was nod.

"Very well, then," he muttered, "let us begin."

He lowered himself, sliding down a more gradual slope of the boulder until his dark boots slapped against the water's surface. On its own, the lower half of his calf became fully submerged; the man indifferent to the tip of his cloak being soaked in water.

Heath had also stepped forward, still by the water's edge where only the back of his heel submerged.

"Part of me feared you wouldn't show up. Glad to see you still have a fire burning."

Heath sterned himself. "What do you want me to do?"

"What do I not want you to do?" He paused. "Let's start off slow. I want you to hit me."

"What?"

"-Let me rephrase… I want you to try."

Quickly, he reached behind his back, unsheathing a small iron blade from a leather holster by his side. There was a gap of at least ten meters between them, yet he managed to throw with such force it arrived in a mere instant at the boy's feet, lodged in between the wet stones below.

He reached down, gripping the wrapped fiber by the base of its handle, steadily unlodging it from within the spring. It was only when it was fully in his hands—the faint shimmer from the golden sun refracting off its surface—was he able to tell…

Slight rows of rust neatly coated its edges, cuts and scrapes engraved in its side as if scars of battle and proof of authenticity. It was real. A real sword.

"You want me to attack you… with this?" He asked, still slightly in shock at his request. It was only his response that gave him a bit more leniency:

"As I said, I want you to try." There wasn't the slightest hint of emotion when he said these words, nor was there any behind his solemn gaze. "What do I not want you to do?"

The boy didn't know what he meant. 'Not want to do?' He wondered, warily holding the blade out before him. 'Is this a test of some kind?'

The man quickly raised and re-planted his foot, a large splash shooting up from the sudden movement. "I'm getting impatient. Are you ever going to move?"

Heath scoffed. 'Whatever… I guess I can figure that out later-!'

Not wasting a breath, he charged forward. The air funneled against his face, driving the blade forward and swinging it overhead as he ran. The water below cushioned his legs—gradual, at first, though oppressive once mere inches from the man.

That didn't stop him, however. The blade had already cut through the air, pilfering the gap between the tip of the iron and Eofa's calm face. It was booming towards his cheek, in part a trip, other with pure intent.

He was going for the kill; whether he wanted to or not.

The next thing he felt, however, was the deep sinking in his own chest.

Eofa had rammed his fist into him… not holding back.

In an instant, the boy went flying, sword launching far off into the sky before bashing into the spring once more. He himself tumbled and turned, water and rocks beating against his face and skull like he were nothing but a bag of flesh.

There was even a gash, freshly opened across the crux of his face, by a particularly sharp stone he'd scraped past beneath the water's surface.

"…No, that's not right at all," Eofa muttered, slowly walking towards the downed and wounded boy, "Have you learned nothing?"

The boy raised himself, legs still frail and weak to the point where he could no longer stand. He simply sat there, hands masking his wounded stomach and face in pure agony, eyes welling up in soulless tears.

"I told you already, it's not about what I want you to do… it's about what you shouldn't." He shook his head, stopping mere inches before the wounded child…

"You need to let it embrace you."