A spear of dark mana soared through the air.
Athar and Irun were in the depths of Valdis, the dark citadel to the north. Under the violet light that refracted throughout the fortress, their training session was in full swing, occasionally sending ripples of mana through the halls around them.
The spear continued to soar through the air, as it made its way to its target, Irun, who adeptly dodged the initial hit with a butterfly twist, grabbing it in midair, and returning it to the sender. Athar, who hadn't expected him to pull this kind of move, put up a shield of mana in front of him. The panel-like structure absorbed much of the initial impact, but began cracking as Irun poured more and more mana into his attack.
How the fuck is he doing that? I was the one who conjured the spear, and yet his counter attack is putting me on my back foot, Athar thought to himself, observing the panel straining and cracking before him.
"You'd better pour more mana into it," Irun said as if reading his thoughts. "Don't let your shield break, because if it does, it's going to hurt," he said, mildly increasing the force applied to the attack. Athar's eyes darkened as he drew more mana from the Undergod's realm. The smokey tendrils raced towards him, gathering quickly in his palm when he slammed it into the back of the shield, reinforcing his creation.
"Not a bad trick," Irun said, a smirk growing on his face.
He's gotten better the past few months. Seems to be thinking on his feet more, which is good, but it often comes a little too late, he thought as he countered the amount of mana Athar had just pushed out.
Furrowing his brow and gritting his teeth, Irun pushed. The added force behind the mana grew exponentially, eventually spreading throughout Athar's defensive wall. Cracks began to form, as the mana Athar had just condensed began to glow and dissipate.
Shit, he's going to bre- … he thought.
Crash.
Shards of the once-protective panel flew out in all directions like a wine glass hitting the floor. Athar was propelled backwards by the force of the exchange, slamming into the wall behind him and having the air stolen from his lungs. Irun, now panting more heavily than he originally was, regained his composure.
I didn't think it would take that much out of me, he thought, eyeing the man he had made airborne.
Athar coughed violently, his long, dark hair brushing the ground as he wrestled against his screaming body. "That one… hurt," he groaned, pressing his hands to his chest. "Yeah, I bet it did," Irun said, walking up to his fallen training partner and extending his hand.
Is it really worth the pain I'm about to feel to get up right now? Athar asked himself, eyeing the extended hand.
With his body protesting, he grabbed Irun's hand and allow himself to be lifted back onto his feet. "You're getting better at mana manipulation," Irun said, dusting his training partner's shoulder off. The black tunic Athar was wearing had a gentle, velvet accent sewn in subtle details along the lengths of the arms and collar. "Thanks, but I'm not quite there yet," Athar replied, stifling another cough.
"Well, your quick thinking reminded me of someone back where I'm from," Irun began. "You've never really mentioned where you're from before, so why now?" Athar asked bluntly.
Straight to the point, eh? Irun thought.
"I just… I don't know. I don't really have much to say about it," he replied, his tone dropping a little. Athar observed his expression carefully. While most of his emotions were hidden by the disfigurement and changes due to the Masked One's influence during the attack on Coltend, there were still just enough features that allowed for emotion to show through.
"Well, we have nothing but time here," Athar began. "Even if the Masked One constantly says that time is on no one's side, we have a bit while we take a break," he said, using a suggestive tone to try and get his training partner to open up.
Irun sighed and turned away. "It's not exactly a fun story," he said matter-of-factly. "Neither is mine, but we all have our shit to deal with. Come on, open up," Athar said in a sing-song voice.
Should I actually tell him, or should I just glaze over the story? Would he judge me like the others did? No, he doesn't seem to think I'm a blundering idiot. I actually think he's just happy to have someone to talk to for once, Irun pondered momentarily.
"Fine, I guess it couldn't hurt to talk a little," he sighed, giving into Athar's invitation. "Fuck yes! Story time," Athar hissed, pumping his fist tightly by his chest. "Go on, then," he said, lowering his head and moving his hand in an ushering motion as a smile grew on his face. "Where do I start?" Irun asked.
"Like all stories do: From the start," Athar replied, walking over to grab the water skin, the deathmold concoction, and some food he had set aside before beginning their training.
Irun ran his fingers through his fiery, ginger hair, his once hazel eyes now red scattered their gaze across the floor. "I'll… try," he said, uncertainty ruling his tone. Athar groaned as he sat cross legged in front of him, offering a piece of bread and some deathmold concoction to his pensive training partner. Irun took it absent-mindedly, still visibly lost in thought. The cross-legged man in front of him munched on his meal, anxiously awaiting the start of the story.
"I'm not originally from Coltend," Irun began, his eyes still drifting around the training area. "My mother was Harutian, but fell in love with my Hjalfarian father. I spent up until my seventh birthday in Harut, though it was a bit of a challenge for me," he trailed off, thinking about his past. Athar silently munched on his food, a few crumbs of bread falling from his mouth.
"I… didn't really have friends there. While I have - rather, had - my mother's Hazel eyes, my red hair stuck out against the others who all had much darker hair. Eyes were always on me, watching everything I did, so I didn't really have much in the way of socializing opportunities just because I was different than the rest of them," he said.
"They were being racist towards you, then? I don't really know much of the outside world, but I've read about Harut in books," Athar began. "I know they value their family over just about anything else, and will go to extreme measures to make sure that their bloodlines are continued. They also don't really like intermingling with outsiders, so maybe that explains why they treated you like that," he said, trying to help.
"Maybe, but at the end of the day, I was a social outcast. I figured that if I couldn't socialize properly, I would just stick to being book smart, since that's all I really had," Irun replied. "In any case, one day my mother went out on a mission to kill a wyvern," he started. "Your mother… she was a synner?" Athar interrupted, his eyes widening in excitement. "Y-yes. Yes, she was," Irun said distantly.
"S-sorry, I didn't mean to…" Athar trailed off. "It's fine," Irun said, waving his hand. "She just… she didn't come back from it, at least not in one piece. She was severely injured, and by the time she had returned home to my father and I, her mental state was broken. Her wounds weren't severe enough to be life threatening, after all, she'd only lost an arm, but whatever had happened over there scarred her for the rest of her life," Irun said.
"I can't even imagine what that must have been like for him," Athar said, trying to sound empathetic. "Neither could my father, because he kept trying to use his connections as a trader to get him the help he needed," Irun added, his tone even. "Did his connections work? Did he get the help she needed?" Athar asked, genuinely invested.
"He did and he didn't. On the one hand, he had multiple healers come through and try to figure out what was wrong with her, but aside from the missing arm, nothing was physically wrong with her. Her mental state, however, was… broken. Even when she spoke to my father and I, it was like she was an empty shell. A vessel for a broken core. Nothing my father and I could do would help her, it seemed," Irun said, his dejected tone hung over the words like a chandelier in a castle. "I-I'm sorry…" Athar said, offering another piece of bread.
That's probably his way of consoling me, Irun thought, taking a bite out of the bread.