Life, Death and Circles

Rhace Tarrin

Life, Death and Circles - Part One

Rhace Tarrin, wandering swordsman elite of Meliora Vitae, was beginning to feel that the path he walked had become too rocky and dangerous for him to continue treading. Or, more to the point, that he could no longer see it.

In the last six months, or some other approximation of time, he had achieved a lot for someone of his station. He had joined the guild, taken up mentorship under an incredible warrior in the form of Lethe Ortinbras, found himself two lifelong friends in the form of Cassiti and Cordelia. He found that their relaxed approach to life, to maintaining the conservation of nature, and to ensuring that the cause of good was still championed despite their neutral approach to the world’s stage of politics, which suited him just fine. By nature, Rhace was not a political being. He couldn’t stand the divide between people on the basis of ideologies, nor did he have time to be particularly politically minded himself. His belief was very simple: give people what they needed to survive, and if they lacked the means to do it themselves, then have the simple human compassion to raise them from the dirt and treat them with the dignity that they deserved. As such, his choice of guild had been absolutely perfect, in his mind; he was in the right place for people such as himself, who preferred the action of preservation of life to simply speaking about it. He could fight dangerous monsters, travel the world, and see things - things that he would not have been able to see were he cooped up in his old life. Truthfully, it had been the best decision that he’d ever made, to join the Guild. His life had taken on a much better trajectory than it ever could have without the prompting of leaving the nest.

If truth be told, it was much deeper than just wanting to leave home. Rhace’s sword school, the ancestral blade school of the Granven style, which had served noble lords and ladies, kings and queens, of the Ca-Elian empire, promoted that each of its students learn about the trials, tribulations and travails of the world around it on a student’s very own warrior’s journey. This had been what he had undertaken, where he had taken up his school’s ancient blade Granveil, and left the island nation to explore the world. He had ended up in Fiore after some time, and as a result had seen the way that guild mages assisted the masses, in a change of pace from what he knew from his home and the way that the military traditionally took up that role. Even in ancient times, swordsmen of the Granven school would have performed some form of similarly perfunctory duty, where they could assist the citizenry by performing tasks of that nature. Now, however, those things went left by the wayside in Ca-Elum. It was such a departure from the way he had imagined his life being, which was not a drastic issue in and of itself. However, when he had a mind for where his life was heading, Rhace knew full well that he was going to have to start chasing his life in his own way.

The problem was that he felt like he was hitting the wall when it came to his own training. Yes, he was developing his skills with Lethe; she was a keen swordfighter herself and while he could definitely out-power her with his raw strength and keen combative acumen, she was so powerfully magical that he had no chance in an actual fight. Truth told, he’d learned a lot from her, and not just because she was good. Her sword style drew on the Midian tribal heritage, something that he’d identified from the first few minutes of watching her fight him. She was good. She was graceful, able to move about in the combat space effortlessly, and put sword edge on target like it was in her blood– which, to be fair to her, it very much was– and kill a man if absolutely necessary. She had taught him much. She drove him hard; she was willing to hit him harder, and harder, and harder, until every lesson sank into his muscle memory like it was going to be carved there so indelibly that it would take death to undo it. She’d broken ribs. She’d left weekly bruises. She’d put fire and passion into him that he didn’t know he could feel. He was truthfully absolutely blessed that she was such a good teacher and he wouldn’t have traded her for the world. The issue was that, as the inheritor of the Granven school, he had to make progress in that style as well. Yes, he was a student of the third circle, and that afforded him a reasonable amount of leeway in his training. Granven’s circles were not lightly handed out, but to only be of the third circle of six indicated that he had a very, very long way to go. And, truthfully, until he attained complete understanding of the third circle, he was never going to make the progress he needed.

Realistically, transitioning from the third to the fourth circle was the biggest hurdle that most students faced. As far as Rhace knew, there were less than ten people in the last fifty years to have earned past the third circle; most of them had been Tarrin blood, and some of them had been the greatest swordsmen in the world, both in Granven-style and out, for they had been students of other sword styles that wished to diversify and they were already powerful and well-trained swordsmen in their own right. They came and went. As a sword art, the school was dying, and every Tarrin knew it. It would be their birthright until the day they died, of course, but it was up to those living to ensure that its teachings lived on, where they were all taught it regardless of their interest - but at least one from each generation was expected to pursue it until their dying breath. That, of course, was Rhace - as a sense of duty, more than anything else. So much of his identity was bound in the fact that he was the inheritor of the Granven school, to one day be its head instructor and great master, that there were times that it felt like he was very little other than that. This was something that his great and wonderful close confidants Cass and Cord were trying to fix, of course, but there was only so much they could do to undo the mental conditioning he had given himself to prepare for a lifetime of the sword.

However, he still needed to make the jump. Without that mastery, he was nothing, as far as he was concerned.

At this point in time, the night was becoming late. As part of Rhace’s usual routine on a down day, he had woken up, performed his morning cardio and weights routine for a half-hour before travelling down to the training halls with Lethe and putting in a solid daily hour of work with her - which was typically followed by an hour or two of medical recovery, thanks to how brutally they trained. He loved it, in his defence, but the fact was that his body needed to recover afterwards no matter how much healing magic was applied to him. Afterwards, it was lunch, followed by another hour of training on his own where he could focus on sword kata and moving through a lot of the things that he would need to learn that others could not teach; these were movements that he had known for far too long that they had become muscle memory to him. Eventually, somewhere in that was a nightly walk, a shower in the mix, and then bed. Some days, he trained more, some days he trained less, depending on the day, or his physical condition. There were plenty of considerations to be had there when he had to ensure that his swordwork stayed as sharp as the sword with which he practised it, but also he needed to look after himself too. All things in moderation, where Cassiti and Cordelia would have punched him in a freshly-broken rib thanks to Lethe if he did not follow some basic rules of self-maintenance. It was a good system. He really did owe them a lot.

And how much did he owe it to the people in his life to master the blade as he had always promised he would? He’d been to Joya, dealt with part of the situation there– and he had come home beaten, broken and bruised. The girls had fretted for him and for his recovery that day, until he had woken up; so much blood had been lost that Rhace had required a transfusion just to stay alive. The wounds from that monstrous lion-beast were still fresh in his mind, so thoroughly trounced had he been, and it had pointed out to him all of the flaws in his sword work so keenly that he thought he was going to lose himself to the malaise that was self-doubt. That day he had sworn never to fail them again. No. Never again would he fail as much as he had on the streets of Felidae City. He now had a damn good reason to fight harder than ever before, for it was no longer for him. His reason to fight was for them.

However, it was clear that simply working on his own was no longer cutting the mustard, so to speak. He needed to go home, to seek the wisdom of the ages, of thousands of years of knowledge and practise. He needed to speak with his father, who was currently the only living master of the sixfold path, who had taken in the mysteries of the sixth circle and applied it to every facet of daily living. It was the greatest mystery of all, one that could not be granted except by someone else who understood it in the same depth. And it was one thing to be able to say it, but another to show it. That was the greatest secret of the Granven style; the inner mysteries were not just communicated, but had to be demonstrated, not just by blade but by word and deed. This was what made the style so different; many martial arts purported to be a ‘way of life’ - but Granven actually was. So, for someone to be able to say they were a true student was a different story entirely, where they could live the life of kindness and goodness and selfless service to others.

As Rhace began to wind down during his nightly shower– it was the one place that he could think, even if the showers aboard Meliora Vitae’s airship were communal showers– he realised that the only real path available to him was to go and speak to his father and mother. Despite him being finished with his shower, and the room still incredibly steamy, Rhace stood in front of a mirrored basin and splashed his face with some water, just so that he could feel himself feel something. There was a hint of despondency as he worked through all of this, knowing that he was just going to have to sate the need of learning and visiting home. Truthfully, he’d barely maintained contact with his family since joining the guild; sure there were the occasional emails and other such communications to let them know that he was alive, but due to the fact that the workload was kicking up and he was supposed to be away from his family, he’d given them little else to work with.

So, instead, he realised now was the perfect time to change that. It was time to consult his father, and face the battle that was mastery of the third circle of the Granven style.

Finishing his nightly routine, he retired to his quarters, opting to begin packing for a few days’ trip out to Ca-Elum, and to the place that his family called home. He’d be able to take a shuttle for a couple of days; the Captain would likely acquiesce to the request if absolutely necessary. First, a number of changes of clothes, so that in case some became dirty– or more entirely likely, damaged in swordplay– he had plenty of spares. It was a temperate place for him to live, so the chances that he was going to be able to keep warm were high. He’d need the essentials for travel, of course, like toiletries and a good book or two to keep himself entertained during the later periods, or even just in downtime.

Then, of course, once he was sufficiently packed, there were a few other things that he would need to attend. Three separate messages to be sent to Lethe, Cassiti and Cordelia; he’d have to let them know he would be gone for a few days and not to worry, because he’d be at home in Ca-Elum. He just needed to go and see his family for a little bit, and that everything would be fine. He’d be back in due course. Naturally, despite the fact that members of the guild could come and go as they absolutely pleased and that this was entirely normal, he wanted none of them to fret, especially if Lethe decided to punish him with a good old fashioned beating if she thought he was running away from training. No, that was never the case. In fact, she got an additional part to her message - that was exactly why he was leaving and not to worry, he’d come back ready to go.

Finally, with all of the necessary arrangements made, Rhace took the time to book one of the ship’s shuttles for the better part of a week. He’d have to be ready to depart early in the morning, but he planned on making his arrival at home something of a secret so that his family could have a pleasant surprise when they awoke. After all, it wasn’t difficult for him to pull something like that off if he absolutely tried his best. Rhace knew just how to make all of this work for him. Still, that did little to shake the nerves that he was going to be home for the first time in… what, eighteen months? It was a long time for him to have been home and wandering the world, making some progress on his journey. He knew that there were going to be plenty of questions when he arrived, likely a mother who over-doted on her eldest son, and a father who would inevitably test his skills now that he was home. And what about his siblings? How had they fared in all of this? What had changed since he last saw them?

There were too many questions, and not enough answers. Rhace planned on making this a good trip regardless. So, as he lay down to sleep, turning off the last light in his quarters, he found himself drifting away to a dreamland filled only with the anxiety that something was about to change in his life. Something big. Something drastic. It was just a shame that he had no idea what it was.

Rhace Tarrin

Life, Death and Circles - Part Two

The flight from the SS Endeavor was not a particularly long one, from the ship’s place in the air. Rhace had decided that it was wisest to depart at first light, for while the shuttlecraft was easy for him to navigate solo, he had little to no experience in doing so at night-time. He didn’t need the assistance of a dedicated crewmember to navigate the ship for him, now that he’d had plenty of practice flying the thing with the help of the guild. However, he still needed to land the thing on a grassy knoll that was not originally designed to be carrying the rather colossal weight of an airborne lacrima-powered shuttle. He’d have to be able to successfully do that himself, which was not the easiest of tasks for someone who was a relatively new pilot. Well, at the very least, he could tell his parents that he’d picked up a new skill or two while he was out seeing the world.

However, the flight itself was fast and uneventful, and true to form Rhace managed the landing of the airship right as the sun began to break behind the ever-familiar silhouette of the small castle that his ancestors had been granted as service to the King, in times ancient past. This was Gran Keep, an island-fort on one of the many southern islands in the nation of Ca-Elum; an old watch-tower structure that was built of stone, hand-placed and laid in the ancient tradition of stonemasonry. Many moons ago it had been intended as a garrison for a small local defence force, but now it was simply the territory of a family that still owed its allegiance to the nation’s Queen, and would serve whenever called. By no stretch of the imagination were the Tarrin family considering themselves any form of nobility, for they had renounced such claims to follow their easy. They were bodyguards to nobles, warriors for hire, wandering fighters; they served at the behest of others more than anything else. To be Tarrin was to serve. They had established that a long time ago as their tradition– hundreds of years ago– and it had continued to this very day. There were many pillars carved to that effect, reminders of the pledges they had sworn in times ancient past to kings and queens, and of the accolades they had won in the line of duty. As Rhace walked himself across the bridge that led to the keep proper, standing proud upon its island, he was reminded of such virtue as he was exhorted to show in his daily undertakings. This was what it meant to be Tarrin - to live up to the name. It was a tried and true Ca-Elian tradition, if nothing else; there were plenty of stories of noblemen and knights giving their all in service to their liege. This was the romantic way in which they were painted and the way life would continue to show them, no matter how life existed.

The only thing in his mind as Rhace took his final step across the great bridge to the island, and through the keephold’s outer arches, was that he was very, very underprepared for the moment he had decided to come home. It was meant to be a moment of pomp and circumstance, not a surprise visit because he was feeling down on himself. Instead, here he was, attempting to see if he could get to the bottom of an ancient mystery that time itself would be the only arbiter and gatekeeper to the extent of his knowledge.

Calloused hands pressed to the cold stone of the arched doors to the main keep, and they swung open with a loud squeak upon ancient hinges. Through the portal stepped young Rhace Tarrin, into the ancestral home of the blade style that he had trained in forever. Footfalls echoed upon marbled tile floors, and to either side of him frescoes and pillars demonstrated more of the artistry of the blade that his peers and ancestors had exhibited across time. This, the entrance to the grand Onyx Hall– named so for the onyx pillars inscribed, and for the walls cast in onyx themselves– was the entrance way to the grand castle that formed the home of the Granven sword school.

Goddess, did he miss it. It was good to be home.

Emerald eyes cast around the room; the same two gigantic staircases curled up to the upper level walkways and deeper into the keep, whereas at the opposite end of the almost palatial entrance were the double doors that opened out into the ground level hallways. Somewhere, behind their depths, were a myriad of yelling voices shouting battle cries in unison; this was the start to a normal day in Gran Keep, where the first round of training for the day– having commenced approximately a half-hour ago, if Rhace’s reckoning of time was correct– would continue on until close to lunch.

After all, Gran Keep did not employ too many full-time staff, other than a head butler,a groundskeeper and three kitchen staff; most of the custodial work was actually performed by the live-in students as part of their tuition. This kept the costs down, but also gave them a chance to keep the maintenance of the castle to a minimum when there were people willing to perform the role from a distance. It was a win-win situation for the Tarrin family, as far as they saw; on the other hand, this was why the Granven school was less than popular as students didn’t exactly come here to mop the floors on a daily basis instead of paying exorbitant amounts of jewels to learn.

However, a screeching voice from the top balcony awoke Rhace from his reverie; eyes cast up as he realised precisely who the screaming form was. An older woman, with beautiful flowing blue locks, well-dressed in a white blouse and long skirt, hands clutching the railing as she looked down at her firstborn– enter Liara Tarrin, matriarch of the Tarrin clan. Her smile widened as she beheld the form of the young man that had only just entered.



“RHACE!” she called, barely able to contain her excitement as she began what was only a few steps down from a full sprint down the stairs.

His eyes came to meet hers. ”Surprise, Mother.” The wickedly sardonic smile that he loved to put on his face was right back there. Of course the first thing he said was just him being sarcastic; would they have it any other way?

By the time Liara made it to the foot of the stairs, Rhace had already placed his bag on the floor and allowed his mother to sweep him up in a crushing hug; her arms were still powerful, hidden by her lithe nature; she, too, was a fully-qualified practitioner of the Granven school, and she could absolutely demonstrate that if needed. Rhace returned the embrace, his lips curling back into a normal smile.

”I’m sorry for not calling ahead, but I truly did want to surprise you,” he told her, only mildly apologetic for the display. There was a touch of regret to his voice, as she took a half-step back, keeping her hands on his shoulders and casting her appraising eyes up and down her firstborn to study him closely.

”Rhace Tarrin. What the hell have you done to your hair?”

Oh no. Rhace ran his hands up into his hair as his eyes widened with abject terror; he’d completely, and utterly, forgotten to fix his hair before he came home. What may have come as a surprise to just about everyone, including Cass, Cord and Lethe– for they had never ever seen his hair in its true form– was that, like his family, Rhace’s natural hair colour was blue. However, in order to hide the fact that he was a Tarrin from the world by visual association when it came to fighting enemies, he had elected to dye his hair black and keep his identity at least partially secret. He’d forgotten to take it out of his hair before he came home. Oh, no. He was going to have so many questions to answer from absolutely everyone, and this was not going to be an easy fix.

”We aren’t going to talk about it, Mother. Trust me. Let’s… not?” he asked, almost as if pleading.

And Liara started laughing. Long and loud, full-bellied. She’d already put a Tarrin man on the defensive with a single question, which was one of her favourite things to do: whenever she could put someone with a big ego on the back foot, she was having a great day. Liara had no complaints about humbling her firstborn son when he came home looking like some hussy off the street with black hair! How dare he ruin the perfect locks he had inherited from his father and mother.

Oh, goddess damn it, Mother, Rhace thought to himself. She was doing it again. She did it so well.

”What’s all the noise?” came a second voice, from the opposite balcony. This time, a young man, barely at the upper edge of his teenage years, came to the railing; blue button-down shirt, light gray vest, and black pants, he was a very snappily-dressed kid in his own right. He, too, possessed the blue hair of the family, though much like Rhace he kept it short. Yet, as blue eyes came to behold the sight that was unfolding at the foot of the stairs, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, either.

Enter Davin Tarrin.



”Oh Goddess. I’m getting Father and Telia!” yelled the young boy, and as he vaulted the railing to land in a three-point superhero crouch, his mother tsked disapprovingly as he landed on the marble tiling under his feet.

”Davin! You’ll break the tiles! No jumping the stairs!” their mother yelled after the young man, shaking her head before she turned back to Rhace. ”As you can see, nothing has changed around here.”

Rhace had to laugh. Well, thank Davin for providing a sufficient distraction away from the state of his hair so that something else could occupy his mother’s attention. It was entirely welcome, but he also knew that there was going to be a real ruckus here in a few moments before one of the biggest personalities in all of Ca-Elum entered the room. Instead, he chose to give his mother the attention she deserved; after all, she’d not seen him in so long.

”So, how’s things? How are you keeping?” he asked her, looking her up and down the same way she had him earlier. If anything else, she looked as if she was keeping well, and not letting the drudgery of living in the keep hold her back.

”Truthfully, good. We’ve actually received a new car recently, courtesy of some of our courtly associates! It does make shopping much easier when we need one or two things, and I won’t lie, I do like how fast it goes, but don’t tell your father,” she told him with a wink. ”He’s such a worrywart about these things.”

”A worrywart about what things, my love?” came a booming voice from the back of the hall, as if on cue. The thunder that rang when that voice entered the room was unmistakeable. Beside him were Davin, and a young lady with flowing blue locks that was only matched by the beauty of her mother. They were as night and day; one, tall, broad-shouldered, well-built as if his strength was built from the land itself; the other, thin, lithe, dextrous, agile. Both of them carried longswords of their own in their hands, almost identical in make, trimmed with gold and forged of blacksteel.



The older man’s lips burst out into a grin and he couldn’t help but laugh. The young girl rolled her eyes - yes. Typical Elijah and Telia Tarrin. Father and daughter– the middle child– having just come from the training hall, where yelling continued in the depths, but this was worth the interruption to their routine schedule.

”Look who it is. Hey, bro.”

Unlike the rest of them, Telia was one step below sardonic; she looked less than pleased to see him, but it was more that she didn’t seem to particularly care– this was an abnormal response from Rhace’s younger sister. However, in stark contrast, Elijah was already halfway across the room before Telia even opened her mouth and collected his son in a bone-crushing hug, believing firmly that affection always needed to be showed. In fact, it was such that Rhace’s feet were already off the ground before he realised, the absolute bear of a man living up to his reputation within seconds.

”We’ll talk about this disgrace you call hair later, my son,” Elijah said, before he cracked a very specific smile. Well, now we know where Rhace gets his snide commentary from.

By that moment, the five Tarrins had reunited in the centre of the floor; Rhace dispensed the usual hugs and ensured that everyone was given their routine due, for it was so good just to see his family again. In truth, his heart sang. He hadn’t expected to see them all so soon, together, but this was a better reunion than he could have counted on. Yes, they all looked so happy, and it was a far better occasion than he could have possibly counted on. He didn’t realise how much his wandering soul wanted him to come home to the roost and see his family one more time.

”I have missed you all so,” he told them. ”But I have come home with a very specific purpose in mind.” Eyes locked with Elijah, who towered over him; the resolve in Rhace’s eyes that found itself suddenly placed could not be mistaken. He came here with intent, and it would be taken care of.  ”Father, I need you to continue my training. I need a set of eyes that knows what they’re looking at. I have much to regale you with.”

The corner of Elijah’s lips curled up; yes, his son clearly had come home requesting help on his journey, which was a very normal thing for those who walked the sixfold path. He was simply glad that his son’s usual stubbornness had not taken control and that he could just ask for help when he needed it. That in itself was a very welcome change.

”You can play swords tomorrow, young man,” came the sudden chiding from Liara. ”Put your things away, spend some time with your family. We will do a big dinner tonight, and invite all the students. It can be a big party to celebrate your return. And I will go into town and pick up some supplies!”

”And you scold us for playing, when you have the car, Mother,” Davin shot back within an instant. Laughter immediately erupted from them all, which only made Rhace’s heart melt a little more. It truly was good to be home.

However, he could not shake the feeling that Telia’s stare– now fixated on him, and less amused than the rest– carried some form of meaning. But what? What issue could his younger sister suddenly have? Rhace did not know, but something told him he’d need to find out, and fast, before it became a real problem.

Rhace Tarrin

Life, Death and Circles - Part Three

That night, there were innumerable celebrations. True to her word, Liara had travelled to the nearest town to purchase a large amount of food and even decorations so that the night could be treated as special; she had ordered the kitchen staff to prepare for them a feast for the ages. However, with her conduct not unbecoming a woman of high station and dedication to her duties, she had single-handedly assisted the lovely couple that worked in their kitchen in ensuring that they had sufficient food for everyone that evening. Thankful for their lady’s help, the feast itself was glorious. Roast pork, chicken and even turkey; incredible servings of traditional trimmings such as potato salad, and even some pasta dishes made their way onto the table. When they were cooking for thirty heads, it was certainly something to experience when the feast had become a gigantic undertaking - but by all accounts the food was nothing short of sublime.

Meanwhile, Rhace, upon reuniting with some of the students of the school - the older and longer-staying of which recognised him - had cause for celebration. The day had been shifted to a day of leisure as Elijah could not in good conscience force neither his top students nor his children to work when they would inevitably only have so much time to spend with Rhace. As a result, they had all taken the time off so they could celebrate, catch up, and relax on the beautiful beaches of the isle and take the time they needed to rest and recover. It was, after all, a glorious day outside, and they had deserved their respite entirely. Rhace was grateful for the chance to meet up with friends both old and new, to learn the stories of the new students, perhaps to offer them a hint or two about how to improve their swordplay, with stories from the outside world. He spent time in the library with his younger sister, whose love for books could not be understated. He spent time stargazing with his younger brother after nightfall, whose love of the stars was as bright as the sun itself.

He told them tales of the guild; he told them about the beautiful airship Endeavor and the freedom that he was given in Fiore to do as he wished. He told them about the guild itself, whose love of nature allowed him to train his swordsmanship against dangerous monsters that threatened the ecosystem. He told them of Lethe and Cassiti and Cordelia, three people who could not have been so incredibly different and yet had come to play such important parts in his life that their brilliance could not be understated. (And, when pressed, he told his mother that he was not dating all three, no. Yes, she was mildly disappointed.) And, of course, he’d explained the why for his hair for the tenth time that day, because they couldn’t seem to get enough of the fact that wanting to conceal his heritage was important when you were fighting random duels - the opponent couldn’t just place him and his style by sight at that point.

They had talked, and drank, and partied well on into the night. By the following morning, everyone woke up tired, but ready to face the challenges of the new day.

Instead of following the normal training routine that they typically followed, Rhace and Elijah had decided to retreat to the comfort of the study. Here, they could sit down and workshop his knowledge, and see exactly where it was that he was lacking. It was going to be an exhaustive, laborious process, but the study of the mind was equally a part of the Granven experience as much as blade work itself was. The body was not a weapon when the mind could not conceive the knowledge required to wield it well. Theories tempered by practise because truth.

”Volume One, First Circle, Exhortations section one,” commanded Elijah to his firstborn. Part of many of the rituals of Granven was to be able to memorise certain parts of text to be able to recite it back on command. Goddess, how long had it been since Rhace had last read Exhortations in Volume One? It had been such a long time.

”The Granven School demands a high level of proficiency in all of its pursuits; first and foremost in the necessity of its mastery of the sword as a vehicle of philosophical delivery, secondarily in the pursuit of that philosophy that turns such good practitioners of the blade into better practitioners of social necessities, and as a tertiary consideration that all blademasters must practise further social and liberal arts and sciences in order to continuously develop their mental faculties to ensure that they are able to provide intelligence, eloquence and excellence in the company that they keep,” Rhace began, trying to remember every word as if it had been read from the torn and ancient page that his copy of Volume One had been. It was a good start, so far. He knew he was going to have to keep this up to impress his father, because this was knowledge that every student was expected to be able to recite after their first month of full-time training.

”To this end, the Granven School has divided its study into six equal circles, concentric in nature. The knowledge and philosophy of each circle is encapsulated in the next circle in its entirety. To understand the content of the next circle, mentally, spiritually and physically in equal measure, one must be able to consistently demonstrate the values taught in the previous circle. This is the method of transmission of the esoterica held in the ancient tradition.”

Whew. Rhace could see his father nodding; this much was absolutely true. ”You’ve kept up your study. Good man. Your mind is, at the very least, still ready to be able to take in wisdom and learning. The only issue is that… well, let’s review a little more. Explain the first three circles.”

This was the challenge that Rhace experienced. Not to be able to recite the circles and their knowledge, no; but the fact that he needed to be able to live those words that they were given, that was the hard part. Every student, at one point, struggled with these lessons of life and morality. However, it was not until they were lived knowledge that they became truth, occasionally at the point of a sword. This was the Granven way, where a lesson could either be taught through life repetition, or at the point of a sword, or perhaps even both. This was how the world worked for them.

”The First Circle: Know Thyself, Know Thy Edge,” Rhace began. The circles themselves were only simple phrases, but they had so much expansion given to them. These words were not taught unless you had been passed on to the next circle. No student was ever explained the meaning of the words, for once they were able to express it to a teacher and demonstrate the values inherent, then they were considered to have passed that circle and were on to the next. ”We are taught to train consistently, mentally and physically, so that we understand that not only as swordsmen that we are expected to know our own body map, but we are also taught to hone the sharp edges of our training, where its boundaries lie, and where we can therefore improve, both as warriors and as human beings. Similarly, we are taught to know our limits so that we can check our egotistical selves at the door and live harmoniously and provide proper support to the people of the world.”

He’d passed the first circle when he was fifteen. As a young man, Rhace had been a rather headstrong, impulsive young fighter; he knew his body map and where his strengths and weaknesses in his swordplay had been. That much was never the question, for Rhace was dedicated to his art, having trained since age six in martial arts to learn movements and age nine with a sword in his hand. This had been the way he had learned all of this. Conversely, his ego had been disproportionate, where he knew he was important and special, but most of all good. He knew that his limits were endless, and he could do anything he wished. It went straight to his head. Until he was older, and until he knew what Granven was properly used for, it was a big deal. Apparently, once he’d had that beaten out of him, he was fine. He could have explained it, sure, but he had not lived it.

”The Second Circle: Cut Inwards To Cut Outwards,” he recited. ”The second circle refers to a constant state of checks and balances inside ourselves. We cannot judge others before we first judge ourselves, where we must strip ourselves of our improprieties, our misconceptions and our false accusations before we point the finger at others. That negativity needs to be excised before we can live harmoniously. In this way, we are taught that our greatest enemy is ourselves, our ego, our fears and doubts, and these must be conquered before we can truly cut down the enemy in front of us.”

Realistically, swordplay as a method of moral instruction was an outdated concept, but the Granven style clung to ancient tradition for a reason. That had been Rhace’s original issue with training, when he was younger: why did they do this as a method of teaching? His father had explained to him that it would become clear with time, and in Elijah’s defence, it had; Rhace had learned eventually that the polish he put on his techniques while he learned to handle his morality and the depth of his emotions meant that he was a stronger fighter for being able to fight the negativity that welled up inside him, including the fact that he had moments of insecurity in his abilities to fight.

Now, Elijah stared intently. This is what he needed to know, needed to hear, needed to understand. It was time to test his son, and see the depth of his resolve. ”The Third Circle: Accept The Blade,” Rhace finally said, looking at his father.  ”This is a way of life. We accept everything that this path brings us, even death. We know that we are on this path, that should we cross to the fourth circle, the sword accompanies us into eternity.”

The older man leaned back into his seat, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. Rhace was so close. So close. It hurt, in fact, how close that Rhace was to understanding this mystery. It was truthfully incredibly unfortunate that he’d come this close to nailing the point of the third inner mystery that it was painful to hear. However, it seemed that it would require some more hands-on instruction and learning before he managed it.

”Good. Okay, we can work with this. Talk me through the combative principles of each of the first three circles.”

Rhace exhaled. How much more was he going to have to go through? All of this was just a test.

”The first circle teaches plow guard, a balance of offence and defence, with ten points of strikes and ten blocking points. We do not teach more than three forms at this level of difficulty to prevent overwhelming younger students. We teach three forms in order to teach the student the effectiveness of a properly delivered cut, as well as edge alignment and basic defensive principles such as evasion rather than escape. In the second circle, we expand on this, using more advanced parry and riposte techniques at the first two levels of advancement, combining techniques and teaching specific counter-blows and binding techniques, while we add four new forms. Finally, in the third circle, we teach pre-striking, where an opponent’s intent is sensed and managed before they are able to properly strike their target. Five new forms are added.” Rhace knew all this. He could teach it, if truth were told; he knew all the forms, all the basic techniques, everything, like the back of his hand. It was the advanced things that he had not yet properly seen that he was not ready for. However, once he attained an understanding of the first three circles, he’d get it.

”And so what is the overarching lesson of morality that the expansion of technical expression teaches?” Elijah inquired. This was the true test. If Rhace could just get this, then maybe, just maybe, he could impart the wisdom of the third circle to his son here, now, today.

”We teach that closer timing to the intent of the enemy defensively and offensively is intrinsically linked. We teach block first, then evade; then block and evade together, then to strike the enemy before the enemy’s true intent is revealed. In this way, we know the blade. We know their blade, and our own, and can accept the fact that their intent is to harm us - and handle the situation appropriately once we possess an innate understanding of where they plan on striking.”

Elijah paused. So close.

So close.

However, it was time. Rhace was ready to see if he could understand the finality of the third circle. If he could, then he was ready for the fourth. He was going to test his son in a way he was not going to expect; what Rhace would inevitably anticipate was to duel Elijah, and fight hard until his body gave out and then beat the lesson into him. According to his son, his teacher Lethe was a very big proponent of that method. However, Rhace would not learn from that kind of teaching. He had another thing coming.

”Very well. Rhace, come with me. We’re going to do some training. Take centre stage, and meet me there with Granveil.”

Rhace, ever the dutiful son and student, stood and nodded to the man sitting across from him. ”Yes, father,” was his only reply before he turned on his heel and left the study, leaving Elijah Tarrin alone with his thoughts for a moment. He was about to subject his firstborn son to something he was not intending to do just yet, but he also knew that if he did not, there was going to be a problem for Rhace to progress. Rhace was on the cusp of breakthrough, like the words were parroted in his mind. Until he could internalise the difficulty of the task he was about to undertake, however, the true concept of living the third circle would escape him. The second half of the concept escaped most people. It was one thing to say you could accept death. It was another to say you could accept killing another and taking their life. But the truth of the inner mystery still lay at finger’s reach to Rhace, and now it was time to see if he could understand it all.

Elijah pushed himself from his seat, sighed heavily, and prepared to watch his son fight for his life.

Rhace Tarrin

Life, Death and Circles - Part Four

Just as his father had instructed, Rhace took centre stage in the grand training hall of Gran Keep. This platform, which was covered in finely-woven straw matting and then covered over with dust and dirt, was a solid ten metre square mounted atop a concrete slab. This slab had been laid three hundred years ago and maintained meticulously since; dozens of generations of Tarrins had trained atop this rock since time immemorial. So the founding story said, this rock was part of the foundations of the original keep besieged by a Tarrin ancestor in the name of their King; upon the keep’s capture, it had been re-crafted by the ancestor and turned into a proper training arena for him and his disciples as memorial to the enemies that had given their lives to protect the keep. It sounded like a Tarrin thing to do, at the very least. Rhace had spent most of his life atop this rock, and he didn’t regret any of it - he had to fight, and fight hard, to maintain his place as first and chosen of the Granven legacy. Today, it seemed, he would be fighting against his father to see the evidence of his progress in the art.

As if on cue, the other students had gathered in their training uniforms; in a sign of where Rhace acquired his fashion sense, they wore black pants and white tops, whereas Rhace mirrored that colour scheme with his own fashion sense. They all took seated positions around the edge of the ring, presumably at his father’s behest; they had been told that a very good fight was about to unfold, and they all wanted front-row seats to see Rhace get the snot beaten out of him by his father. After all, that was the only way a duel between the two eldest Tarrin males could possibly go; a third circle student against a sixfold master? Rhace stood absolutely no chance. So, needless to say, they were very much excited to see him lose, horrendously. When it wasn’t them, it was a great change of pace.

Rhace, intuitively, drew Granveil from seemingly nowhere; thanks to the advancements that was his utility belt, the technology around him never really went away. So, from spatial storage it came, its shimmering blacksteel blade forged of the same meteoric metal that formed the pillars of the Grand Hall. It felt light in his hand, as if it were meant to be there. He had trained with it so long that it now felt like a partner, perhaps even a real part of the family. If the stories were to be believed, then perhaps it actually was part of the family after all. The magically enchanted weapon wielded by the first students and heads of the family were an intractable part of the Tarrin legacy, which Rhace now carried with ease. After all, his father had hand-forged his own sword, one that was far greater suited to his build and needs. In Elijah Tarrin’s hand, Granveil almost looked like a dagger. Perhaps even a toothpick. It was simply too short to handle what he did personally. He had a normal-length sword for teaching, sure, but compared to the Azure Bloom– the masterful blue-hued blade– it seemed like almost nothing. Rhace had not faced off against a blade like the Bloom in forever, and truth told he was a little nervous about fighting his father.

Right on cue, both Telia and Davin entered the training hall too. Telia looked absolutely bored out of her mind– which, given her current mental disposition, was fairly par for the course– and Davin looked really, really excited to be able to witness whatever fight was about to go down. He loved this stuff. As aloof of a teenage kid he was, the violence excited him. The training was finally good for him, after so many years of not caring; now that Davin was getting older, to the ripe old age of nineteen, he was coming to understand why Telia and Rhace worked so hard from such a young age to be as good as they were. They worked their asses off to be good students.

”Telia, Davin, have you seen Father?” he asked as they began to approach the fighting stage. It was rather surprising to him that, given that they were last to arrive, that they had not elected to come with him. That would have been the obvious answer, especially when his father was his opponent.

”No idea, Rhace,” Telia replied back, her voice unusually hard as she spoke that line. It was enough to make goosebumps stand on end.

Wait. He knew that tone. It didn’t sit well with him at all.

”But I wouldn’t worry about Father. Your opponent is me!” she yelled, drawing her longsword from its scabbard as she stared down her brother. In the next moment, she vanished from the spot she stood on, only to teleport into the ring with a cloud of dust kicking up around them both; her blade, keenly sharpened and shining brightly under the light of the room’s many flood lights, swung down upon Rhace from up high as he immediately spun to parry and block the surprise attack she had hoped to strike him with. However, her intonation had given away her true intent and Rhace had been prepared to bring his sword horizontally in line with the strike of her attack. In the next moment, the swordsman stepped back, bringing Granveil up properly into a two-handed sword grip, giving himself the space he needed to start the fight properly. Davin, meanwhile, took up a position at the edge of the ring, eyes glued to the spectacle that was about to begin in earnest as the two scions of the Tarrin family prepared to square off in a duel that Rhace really did not just get.

”Telia? Of course. Father’s up to his usual tricks, I see,” Rhace said sardonically, looking around the room. There was a single viewing balcony that this room possessed, high above and to the side; Rhace could, at this distance, see both his father and his mother standing upon the balcony, leaning against the railing where they could witness the bout between their two eldest children. Of course Elijah had requested and organised something like this. It was his way to do something unexpected and out of the ordinary to ensure that the training he was implementing was rather lasting in one’s memory. By Rhace’s reckoning, that was fine. There was little that he could do in order to throw him off balance, because at this point he was expecting the unexpected in his own way.

”Fine. Hey, Telia? Don’t hold back. Maybe you can work out whatever stick is directly up your ass,” he commented, shooting her the exact same withering glare that she was giving her at that moment. ”I can hear it all, you know. The snide comments. The dirty looks. You want me? Come get me.”

The blue-haired young lady, five years her brother’s junior, let out a war-cry and brought her sword up to clash against Rhace’s without hesitation. Their weapons letting out a resounding clang, Rhace began to fend her off; her footwork was impeccable already, narrow and tight as her stance sunk her lower to the ground, especially thanks to her height giving her the advantage of centre of gravity. Rhace knew already that he could easily unbalance her, throw her down and dominate her that way. However, that was not the purpose of this duel. She was here, being aggressive in her implacable advance, employing what was referred to as the Breaker Form - designed to break guards, to destroy the opponent before they had a chance to strike. By comparison, Rhace was already shifting back into Flowing Form, where he could out-maneuver and out-play Telia at her own game, ensuring that every strike that she delivered onto him was met with a counter and riposte that ensured she would suffer. Despite all this, every cut that Rhace began to deliver was held back, ever so slightly. He didn’t need to hurt her to defeat her; the opponent simply needed to be completely demoralized in order to seize victory.

So their blades clashed. Over, and over, and over again. Every time Telia brought her sword up in a new direction, Rhace was already slapping it away with the flat of his legendary weapon. And, every time he would strike Telia’s blade away, he would follow it with a blow that was meant to be nothing more than a grazing cut to take away her advantage to strike, and cause her just enough pain that she might back off.

One cut. Two cuts. Three. Rhace was moving so eloquently, so gracefully, that she simply could not hit him. Her standard was not quite to his, for his had now been tempered at the hands of a true mortal combat against a foe much like his father - large, imposing, and ready to kill him at a moment’s notice. It seemed that Telia, however, had the killer instinct of her enemy, for every movement of her blade was as if to bisect him in some form of rage.

Rhace took a hold of the blade of his sword as she completed a cut, using the momentum of his hand to swing the offending weapon up and over into a forced bind against Telia’s body. She clearly had something to work out.

”You’re such a piece of shit!” she exclaimed suddenly as blades of cold steel pressed against her flesh, which shocked the vast majority of the room. The comment came out of nowhere, but was loud enough for everyone to hear - including their parents on the balcony. Neither of them seemed particularly bothered by it, as if they were expecting it. ”You come back here, waltzing in, expecting Father to drop everything for you? How much do you think I’ve had to pick up your slack while you go and run around the world playing hero? You actual fucking trash goblin!”

That comment got a titter from the crowd. Most of them were actually laughing, and even Rhace’s usually composed demeanor in combat cracked just a little bit with a smirk. It was so strange to hear his sister try and be insulting. It was almost cute. Almost. The fact that she was sort of right - that because of his absence, she was going to be used as the crash test dummy by her father - struck him for a moment.

That moment gave him pause. That moment gave him a cut directly across his chest.

Rhace, realising that his sister had been hurt by his actions, physically stopped to realize that there had been a very real consequence to his leaving. This was something he obviously had not intended for her to end up in pain, damaged, or upset at this, other than perhaps missing him for a length of time. They had gotten along so well up until he’d left. But eighteen months of being used as what was little better than a human rag doll meant that she had likely suffered at his hands, and the resentment that she felt had to be so incredibly stingingly real to her. She had never been that person. She was… truthfully, a little more delicate, and likely, while it was not an insult to her mindset, perhaps the repeated physical pain was becoming too much for her, and their father had projected onto Telia as the new oldest child and set the expectation a little too high.

However, that hesitation cost him his guard, and she sliced clean across his chest as she disengaged from his sword with a retreating strike. It was by no means a deep wound, but a nick was enough to immediately draw blood from his sternum. The cut was evident, and most of the room recoiled in horror; they hadn’t expected him to take that hit, nor had they expected him to hesitate at all in this duel. However, what his younger sibling had said… it cut deep. Deeper than any blade. For in Telia’s case, Rhace had failed. He had willingly allowed her to cut her, to leave the pain marked across his chest as a scar that he accepted, the way that he had left an intangible scar on his sister’s soul for bearing his punishment.

What Rhace did not know was that his father was now watching him, intently, the eyes of a hawk on his eldest son.

”Telia, I…” he started, but the cut of his sister’s sword through the air as a warning was sufficient to silence him.

”No! Save it! Fight me, Rhace!” she demanded, leveling the tip of the blade at him. Yes, he’d messed up. And, of course, he wasn’t about to just dive into misery - if she wished this fight, then she would have it. Granveil raised over his head into high guard, a two-handed grip being favoured, Rhace prepared himself to stop his sister in her tracks. It was a wordless agreement, but Rhace was not going to disobey the wishes of the person he had hurt. It wasn’t fair to her, and he was not here to disappoint. He was here to win.

A slow breath out, to find his centre, despite the blood dripping from his chest. He’d been hurt worse than this recently, and besides, Lethe routinely brutally harmed him for fun as part of their agreement, which he really did seem to love. Telia could try.

She let out a vicious roar, bringing her sword low to cut up into Rhace’s leg; however, timing and balance were with him as a superior fighter. A slight twist to his right, to get out of the immediate path of the blade and he swung down, twisting the sword in mid-air as he did so to bring the flat of the blade down on the crown of his sister’s head. He didn’t want to cut her, but at this range, a marauder’s style would not do. Instead, he was going to take her down, piece by piece, and let her see that he was not to be trifled with.

Telia stumbled, and Rhace followed through with a kick to her knees; so off-balance and brought to disarray, Rhace decided that it would be far easier for him to just stop her this way. Doubled over and screaming in pain, likely from her older brother just dislocating said knee, Rhace grabbed the mid-point of his blade and pointed it square at Telia’s throat.

She paused, glanced up at him, and realised that her older brother was now holding her at sword-point. Both of them had fought this quickly, and were willing to draw blood over it - but one wrong move on her part and all he had to do was use his prodigious strength to spear her through the neck and her life ended. It was unwise to fight an opponent who had you so dead to rights that your death would come faster than you could raise your sword.

Instinctively, she dropped her blade, and the clatter of the sword onto the dusty concrete echoed around the chamber. Everyone present was absolutely silent for a long time.

Nothing moved. Nothing dared even breathe.

”Rhace. Telia. The study. Now.”

The command, echoing from the balcony, was obvious. Their father was already turning on his heel and leaving the training hall, for some unknown reason. Whatever he wanted, Rhace looked at Telia, offered her his hand wordlessly, and proceeded to support her bad side to help her get to the office. After all, it  was damage he’d caused. Unknowing of what fate awaited them, Rhace took Telia up to their father’s study once more, with bated breath…

Rhace Tarrin

Life, Death and Circles - Part Five

After their bout, both Telia and Rhace were assisted into chairs the moment that they entered the study of the great swordmaster they knew as their father. Their mother was waiting there with him, and as he watched on with folded arms and a keen, cool gaze, medical treatment was given to them both; first, to Rhace, as he risked both bleeding out eventually and infection, so his wound was treated with his mother’s fine healing magic– which, by the way, was the exact reason he’d married her in the first place, as Ca-Elian magic was rare and he was sick of listening to doctors who could not just fix the problem on the spot for him– and he was left to sit for a moment and given a cool drink so that he could at least relax and work through the pain. Telia, on the other hand, needed her knee put back into its place, so Elijah took that moment to take hold of her knee, gave Telia a cushion to bite down on so that she could stifle the inevitable scream, and then forced that knee back into place. The pain was temporary. Yes, the Granven school could be rather brutal with its methodology - but that was precisely why Rhace was the one capable of handling this school, and even Lethe’s brute-force training. It was rough. It was not polite. It was a martial art meant for incapacitating or killing foes, and Rhace was not too afraid to face that with resolve in his heart and fire in his belly to ensure that these ways did not die. Many of the people around him wondered why he was such a stick in the mud, and this was the exact reason why. He had to endure this, day in and day out. He had to, one day teach this, day in and day out. When most sword duels ended in blood and training was generally not considered proper training until those who did not bruise were in fact bruised, this was a way of life not for the faint of heart. Rhace was not faint of heart, no - he had steeled it, long ago. However, those around him, especially his superiors, were softening that heart. Perhaps that was why he hesitated when Telia had verbally attacked him, and he had let her deliver her almost-fatal blow. However, he was still standing, and he had won the bout with her through sheer out-maneuvering a foe who had been blinded by anger.

”Don’t trust an idiot brother,” she grumbled, the pain working its way through her body. As incredibly uncomfortable as it was to have a knee popped back into place, she knew that the pain was only temporary and it would leave her soon enough. Telia wasn’t so much worried about that as she was how to deal with Rhace, later on.

”Telia. You did put in a good showing, but your anger blinded you. You need to learn to let go so that you can be a productive fighter as well. The second we gain tunnel-vision and hatred in our hearts, we are unable to see clearly that which we should otherwise be able to perceive. This is for you to think about. Please go and catch up with Davin, and I shall see you soon,” the swordmaster bade, and with her mother’s assistance, Telia limped out of the room, where she could go and rest her leg and find some proper medical treatment, other than finding her brother to complete the task she had been given.

That left Rhace and Elijah alone in the room, where they could talk.

”I want your side of events, Rhace,” he told him levelly.  ”Inevitably you will wish to question me and my motives, and you shall have the opportunity to do so, after you answer my question.”

”I…” Rhace began to say, but then fell silent for a bit as he considered. ”I realise that I had made a mistake with Telia. She does not want the same level of training I receive, but you must have someone with who you are able to demonstrate. It’s an inevitability when she is the best after me,” Rhace commented. ”Yet you insist on doing it anyway, Father, and I am not here to question that. I want to know why you contrived this exact chain of events, especially when you know she is furious with me.”

There was a smile on the blue-haired blademaster’s lips as Rhace spoke. Interesting that he led the way he did, and he’d circle back to that.

”You’re right, and perhaps I should ease up on her, because it just put you in danger,” he said, nodding his head. ”Tell me about when she cut you.”

”I accepted that I had hurt her. I hesitated, because I saw how badly she was in pain due to my actions. So, I accepted her feelings, and the guilt, and the blame. I don’t… typically let my guard down like that, but… For Telia, of course. I love her. She’s my sister.”

Elijah nodded his assent, a smile growing over his face. This was a perfect moment, one as good as any; he had worked out the exact lesson he had hoped for. Telia was given instructions to go hard, and Rhace had walked headfirst into the trap of his own guilt that was eating away at his soul. His younger sister had done a perfect job of playing her role to ensure that Rhace learned his lesson. Was it manipulative? Of course it was. Granven taught so many of its lessons via manipulation that it was shockingly impossible that Rhace had not learned at least one lesson in this manner. It was part and parcel for how this went.

”Good. Good, Rhace, very good. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

Elijah turned around to a small box that was on the shelf behind him; it was a rosewood box, inlaid with red velvet, and inside it there were four large scrolls. These scrolls, of ancient parchment for the most part, were tied with crimson ribbons; the box itself was placed in front of Rhace as he took a deep breath. This was a box he’d seen before. The box of a new circle. It was not the first time he’d seen it, but he’d never been handed one before; normally he was given permission to read the scrolls inside, but never just given the box at all.

”The third ring teaches us that we are all culpable and guilty of our mistakes, and that owning them is key to success; we find that a friend may turn their blade on us for our transgressions, and we should be prepared to accept both blame and punishment for our misdeeds. Just as you did with Telia, earlier. Yes, you were right in your earlier assessment. But this too is about looking inwards, and not just outwards. Being willing to accept blame, punishment and retribution means that our heart becomes free of the guilt that shackles us to the earth and causes our indecision. When you can move forward unfettered by doubt, by indecision and guilt, your blade will swing freely. You accepted your guilt and continued to fight. That shows perfect mastery of this circle, and I am pleased to grant you this boon.”

The box was pushed towards Rhace, who accepted it in two hands gingerly. ”In this is contained not only the documents for the Fourth Circle, but the first three as well. I have collated additional copies for your use so that you can keep them in your home as you travel, in case you feel that you have lost your way again.”

Rhace could not take his eyes off the box. The fourth circle… to many equivalents, this was a black belt in many martial arts. This was a big step. This was the first step towards true mastery, and he was not about to take this lightly. This was a huge step for him, one that he was no longer ready to simply take lightly. Rhace knew, in his heart, that this was going to be the biggest step that he could have taken into the art of Granven. This was the step that, if he accepted the transition, then he was now on the path to true mastery, and he would never be able to look back again. Rhace knew fully well that this was not the moment to show cowardice, however - it was about to be a solemn moment.

Elijah stood up for the sake of his son and folded his arms behind his back. Rhace, too, mirrored the parade rest posture that his father took on; it was so natural for the both of them by now that even with a tunic that had been sliced clean across and was stained with blood, nothing else mattered in that moment other than the ferocious gaze that they were beginning to share.

”Rhace Tarrin. Do you accept the teachings of the fourth circle into your heart, so that you may indelibly scribe them upon your soul for the rest of your days?”

”I do,” came the solemn reply.

”And do you further accept that you are now charged with the pursuit of mastery of the sixfold path, having tested its waters and stepping forth purified by its lessons?”

”I do.” This time, delivered with steel.

”And do you solemnly swear that you shall not divulge the words of the fourth circle to any unworthy or unwilling man, woman or child, so long as you shall live?”

”I do.”

”Then let the words be inscribed upon your heart, that you may remember them for eternity: The fourth circle; the truest sin of life. Do not take yet your time to contemplate these words, for you will have the rest of eternity to understand their meaning.”

Rhace bowed his head. The truest sin of life - that could have meant just about anything, at this point, for it was not an admonition so much as a simple statement. When that happened, the depth of complexity skyrocketed and he knew he was going to be in for one hell of a wild ride later on. This meant that, ultimately, Rhace was going to have to take the time, study the words carefully, think about what they could mean, apply that, and then see how well that actually worked. He knew that it was never that easy. His father, watching intently, took note as his son began to struggle already with the phrase.

Elijah couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit. ”If it’s any consolation, I sucked at this one,” he told his oldest son, in a moment of true levity. ”But with what you’re going through, and what you’ve seen lately, and what I believe you will see, you will come to take this lesson to heart very quickly. I have faith in you, my boy. I always have. You’re the eleventh fourth circle in fifty years. You have done something that very few students - out of literal thousands - have failed to do. And I could not be prouder of you.”

Rhace felt his cheeks burning red - goddess, a grown-ass man blushing? What an actual embarrassment. ”Thank you, Father,” Rhace replied with a touch of humility. This was a big moment, yes - but moving up a circle was never a moment of pomp and circumstance. It was quiet, it was humble. Granven taught humility over all else, for their sword belonged not to them, but to their liege, and shame in front of a liege typically meant death in the time that this art had first formed. It was, unfortunately, how it had to be, and Rhace was going to continue down the path.

If nothing else, it proved to him that his resolve was true. The issue was his heart, not his swordsmanship, and he was fighting enemies head on with no regard to the temperament of his spirit. There needed to be some work in that particular field before he could continue on; he had let his heart be consistently clouded by the mistakes he had made during his fight in Joya, and it had prevented him from being the best that he could be. It was such a shame that it ended that way and, as far as Rhace could tell, he now understood that it was okay to feel the sting of defeat, learn from it, and move on; he had not failed his duty to the peoples of Felidae City, only to his duty to defeat the opponent. And as his school taught: there was still knowledge in defeat.

Finally, Rhace scooped up the heartwood box that had been placed in front of him. He supposed that box now belonged to him, which was an absolute ride and a half that the last twenty four hours had been. A surprise flight home turned into a heartwarming family reunion where the first barbs of his test had been shown to him, whether he had known it or not at the time. He had found that during their meal he had loved the company of friends old and new, and family, that had celebrated together - but all of that had come crashing down when Rhace had to turn his knowledge to the fact that he needed to develop, before he had almost lost his life to the wayward blade of an angered sibling. She had vented and projected her anger on to him; from it, he had accepted the responsibility and guilt that truy did belong to him, but did not allow it to fetter him from completing the task before him.

With no shackles to hold him back, Rhace Tarrin was now free to walk the next stage of his swordsman’s journey, learning the depths of the blade and all of its myriad intricacies from every source that he possibly could. It was a beautiful moment. Especially now that his father looked on at him with pride, where he had taken all of his life up until this exact point and cut it into perfect pieces to allow him to tread the path he had chosen.

”Alright, Rhace. You need a break. Grab a meal, take the rest of the day. I think you and your sister have some talking to do, anyway.”

There was an almost apologetic look from Rhace’s father; he knew that he had just played his two oldest children against each other intentionally and there would absolutely be backlash from doing so, not just from his wife but from those children together. Truthfully, Elijah fully expected both Rhace and Telia to turn around and give him an earful for this transgression. It had been… eventful, to say the least, but the experiment itself did only have limited merit. He wasn’t about to ever do that again to any of his children, that was for sure.

Such being the case, Rhace took the heartwood chest and left the study. It was time to wrap things up, and then get home back to the Endeavor.

Rhace Tarrin

Life, Death and Circles - The Finale

Three more days had passed. Those three days he had already told the guild about before he planned on returning his shuttle to the Endeavor, but he was having a rather good time enjoying himself and spending the time with his family. It was a good chance to catch up with the older students who knew him from times long passed, or to spend time with his brother and sister who– especially in Telia’s case– sorely needed some quality time with their big brother doing literally anything other than swinging swords around. So too was it good to be able to help his mother cook a meal, or even to spend time with his father teaching the class for him so that he could look on in approval as his newly-ascended son lived up to the title that he was now blessed with. He could now be called master, after all, though mastery was such a long and winding road that Rhace would forever be walking eternally darkened roads in order to get to where he needed to be in the next step on his journey. That next step, the fifth circle, was an even bigger jump than before. In Rhace’s eyes, he did not deserve the title of master yet, and would absolutely refuse its use. He was not ready. It was not his place and it was not his time. He was not good enough for such.

Perhaps one day, when he felt that he had proven himself sufficiently in the eyes of the guilds, or even the Magic Council- because who knew how they’d respond to a non-mage ascending the ranks of their wizard guilds? It was ironic. It was rich. They could measure invisible magic power, but when it came to the raw strength and endurance he displayed, it was an entirely different beast. It was sort of amusing, truthfully. He knew what his worth to the world was, and was coming to greatly appreciate how important swordsmanship was to the people around him; this was, without a shadow of a doubt, a hilarious dichotomy of imbalance. Other nations typically did not have to deal with this, and Ca-Elum, Rhace’s home, was a great example of a low-magic nation; with a less than five percent instance rate of magic, those with the power were rare. Making a big song and dance about them was considerably less common, and for that he was very thankful. He was finding it very interesting to be compared to high-level mages and, on that particular note, he knew that things were going to have to change over time for him as he integrated into Fiorean society and their hierarchy based around magic. All things considered, it was going to be a very interesting time.

However, Rhace knew that all good things had to end eventually, just like his time with his family did. Despite the fact that Liara, his mother, did not wish him to leave for it was just ever so nice to have her eldest boy back to help around the house, or that Davin was having a lot of fun having someone to needle and poke at the other students with as part of their fun, or even that Telia was beginning to tolerate his presence again, Rhace had duties back in Fiore that called him to return to the Endeavor. So too did he have people. He missed Lethe, and Cass and Cord. The time he spent with them was always quality time as far as he was concerned, because they brought so much to his life in entirely different ways. In hindsight, apparently, he was surrounded on an airship– meaning it did not land– by women. It was probably an entirely dangerous thing for him to be, and that was okay. He could deal with the problems that came with that later on. For the moment, he had to deal with what was in front of him.

Rhace had already loaded his belongings onto the shuttle that morning; the big heartwood crate full of the teachings of th Granven style, now kept under lock and key; his travel suitcases was just sitting on the co-pilot’s chair, waiting for him to get back and make use of it. In reality, this whole thing was just ready for him to take home and go and see what he’d missed in the last few days. However, he needed to say goodbye to his family.

First, his father; they shared a handshake, a meaningful glance, and very little else. It was, truth be told, a very interesting situation. How did you show affection for a father? Well, truth told, things just felt more… complete, this way. The look from the others that they received did not carry the same meaning, but they all knew what had transpired, and what it meant. Rhace had a long way to go, but now, Elijah did not just have a son - he had a contemporary, and that was just as important. For Liana, Rhace’s mother, it was a bone-crushing embrace; an admonishment that he needed to wash his clothes, eat well, and look after himself or she would come to that airship and chase him with a broom. Or a bat. Or a sword. Or a sledgehammer. And don’t forget to put his hair back to normal blue, or else. Rhace was very, very concerned for his physical health at that point. For Davin, they hugged. It was short and brief and Davin very specifically was planning on coming up to see the ship at some point because, really, he wanted to go out and explore the world too just like his big brother had. It seemed like a reasonable time.

The three left, at Telia’s request. She asked for a few minutes alone with Rhace to talk about the events of the week, and he had obliged– so had the family.

He looked at her, quizzically; this was a rather uncharacteristic request on the part of the blue-haired young woman. She rarely, if ever, needed much private time, and he was under the impression that they had at least partly addressed the elephant in the room. He, as a very experienced older brother, knew that this probably wasn’t going to end well for him, but he also knew that listening with empathy and respect, especially when she felt so incredibly slighted, was probably going to be the best approach here.

”I mean, first, congrats,” Telia told him, looking at him with arms folded underneath her chest. She didn’t look like she was here to celebrate, judging by the deadpan expression on her face. Rhace wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. ”Clearly, Father thinks you’ve earned it, and that’s good enough for me.”

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that.

”Thanks, Tel,” Rhace replied, still somewhat wary. This conversation felt like it was all over the place at this point. Like he was speaking to someone who was very slowly coming unhinged.

”It’s been a mess since you left, you know. Father has projected everything he gave you onto me, and I’ve been struggling. I think you get that.” There was a pause. A long one, where Telia turned around to consider the skyline, staring off into the distance.

”So, hey,” she finally said, turning back to him. Whatever mental issue that she had been contemplating this entire time seemed to have resolved, because there was now a fire in her voice that even in two syllables was being so expressive that it was hard not to hear her and know that she was speaking from the soul. ”You’re definitely serious about becoming master of the school one day?”

A reasonable question, from a sister, especially one who was so entwined with the thing that they did that it was part of their souls forever now.

”Yeah. Look, I don’t think Davin is going to want the job, and with the way Father has treated you I wouldn’t be too surprised if you didn’t want it, either. Besides, I’ve been trained for this. It’s in my stars, for one day,” he told her, very much contemplative of this choice. It was a new thing for them to be talking about.

”Good, good,” Telia started, before she finally rounded on Rhace. ”I hope you are. Because I never want you to slip up for one day left in your life.”

The look in her eyes was bright-hot, powerful steel flayed asunder, where the resolve that was there seemed to be blazing so brightly that Rhace was no longer sure who the hell he was even talking to. What was she going on about? But without skipping a beat, she continued, ready to serve up whatever the heck this was directly to Rhace. Eyes wide, he listened on in horror.

”I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of being second. I’m sick of being forced to walk your path, Rhace!” she told him - her voice was becoming more animated with every passing word. Clearly, this was bothering her in a really big way. This was huge, and he didn’t realise she ever at all felt this way about him. It was, in truth, so distressing. It sounded like whatever hell she had experienced in the last eighteen months had gotten to her far more than she was either willing to show or could truly process. It was a lot, Rhace admitted. He was physically and mentally tougher than most people. This, though… this had broken his baby sister, and this couldn’t stand.

”Look, it’s-”

”No, Rhace. No. Just no. The damage is done. You left, and he turned his pain to me. I didn’t want this pain. I didn’t want any of it! So now, because I’ve already had to put all of this work in… the second you slip up, big brother, I am going to be there. If you fail, I am going to take all of this away from you. I will take the school. I will take the sixfold path. And when I get there, I’m going to beat you until you don’t know what hit you. Until you’re nothing. Like the nothing I’ve felt ever since you’ve left. I hope you're damn happy, Rhace. I really do. Enjoy your new title. ”

With that, Telia turned and left him alone with her thoughts, clearly fuming. This was… a lot. She had clearly been far more upset than he knew she ever could have possibly been. The fact was, Rhace was not unsure how to approach the matter of her younger sister, because in all reality, she was going to find ways to come after him in the future in ways that he likely wasn’t going to be prepared for or know how to handle. She would play by the rules, play with honour, of course. But that did not mean that she wasn’t going to find her own methods of getting back at him, especially when his back was turned - it was such an odd feeling to know that a sibling was going to cause so many problems that it was now effectively a war. He had never anticipated this.

As Rhace took the pilot’s seat in the shuttle, he felt sick to his stomach. Despite the fact that he’d come away with the thing he’d prayed for this entire time… he had lost something so incredibly precious that it could no longer be put into words. Rhace had lost a family member to their spite and their hatred, just so they could mess with him. It was such an incredible shame that bickering and something entirely out of his control had devolved so far that it had come to this, but what could he do? He wasn’t given much of a chance to talk her out of it, so it felt incredibly unreasonable that he could not handle the situation. Perhaps one day she would be more amenable to dealing with it, but for now… what else was going to happen?

The shuttlecraft lifted off the grassy knoll upon which it had landed days ago, and then made its way back towards the mothership. All the while, the only thing Rhace Tarrin could think of was the existential dread that was the uncertainty of whatever was in store for him next.