The rhythmic crack of wood on wood echoed through the courtyard, punctuated by grunts of exertion and the shuffling of feet. The early morning light gently illuminated two figures moving in a graceful dance, their steps mirroring each other in a practiced rhythm. Gallen, gruff and scarred, circled Vince with his wooden practice sword raised: his eye narrowing as he watched Vince's every move. Vince, gripping his own sword with white knuckles, matched Gallen's movements as best he could. Each strike, each parry, became part of a relentless exchange.
"Today's lesson is perseverance," Gallen said, his voice a low rumble to Vince's ears. "When you're in the middle of a fight, there's no room for hesitation. The moment you think you're too tired to fight is the end for you."
Vince adjusted his stance, concentrating on Gallen's every movement. The older man's steps were light, his strikes precise; and Vince found himself struggling to keep up. His muscles burned, a steady ache building in his arms and shoulders with each swing and block. Regardless, he forced himself to push through; his mind tuning to the rhythm of their practice. He could sense the sword in his hands, the timing of each parry, the exact moment he needed to shift his weight.
Gallen circled him, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he appraised Vince's stance. "Hold steady," he ordered. "Keep your knees bent, and shoulders relaxed. You're not a statue, you're a predator waiting for the right moment to strike."
Vince adjusted his stance, trying to let go of the stiffness that had built up in his shoulders. Gallen gave a slight nod; and without further warning, lunged forward: his sword arcing toward Vince with a speed that took him by surprise.
Vince reacted instantly, bringing his own sword up to block the strike. The impact jarred his arms. Making him almost drop his practice sword, but he managed to hold onto it by sheer will. Pushing back against Gallen's force. Gallen's eyes narrowed, and he pressed harder, forcing Vince to shift his weight.
"Balance," Gallen barked. "You lose your balance; you lose the fight."
They continued moving from one sword form to the next. The sound of clashing wood filled the courtyard as Vince attempted to block, dodge, and parry each of Gallen's attacks. Any misstep earned Vince a new welt. His muscles continued to scream at him in protest, but he kept focused on every movement, every correction Gallen muttered. There was no room for error; no room for anything other than trying to stay on his feet.
After what felt like an eternity, Gallen stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Not bad," he said with a small nod of his head; though his tone was far from satisfied. "Not bad at all kid. At this rate, you might just make a half-decent fighter in a few years' time."
He circled Vince again, his gaze calculating. "In Maze, enemies won't give you warning. They won't hold back or wait for you to catch your breath. They'll exploit every weakness, every moment of hesitation."
Vince nodded, swallowing hard. "What should I do?"
"You need to learn to see, to anticipate." Gallen replied, his tone blunt. "You learn to watch people, to understand them. You read the way they move, the way they breathe, the tension in their stance. Everything they do tells you something. And the more you know, the better you can predict."
He held Vince's gaze for a long moment, as if weighing his next words. "Lira expects you to be more than just a thug holding a sword. She expects you to think, to be aware. The kind of protection the House needs isn't just some meat head with a cudgel. It's to be a warrior.".
"I understand," Vince replied through heaving breaths.
Gallen nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Good. Now, let's give you another lesson today."
After their morning training session, Vince needed a bath, badly; but Gallen only let him wipe off in the fountain. Walking out of the courtyard, he motioned for Vince to follow. Gallen led Vince through the House. It was a quieter time in the House of Pearl, with most of the patrons still asleep and the staff attending to their morning duties. Vince noticed the way Gallen's gaze never settled in one place for too long; his eyes were constantly moving, assessing everything.
"Watch how they move," Gallen said, his voice low as they observed one of the staff members setting up the lounge. "Look at the posture, the pace. People's movements tell you more than you would think."
Vince focused on the staff member, noticing how her movements were swift, her posture straight but not tense. She seemed comfortable, at ease, no signs of suspicion or discomfort. He wondered if he would ever reach a point where he could understand people with the same clarity Gallen seemed to possess.
"Now, watch the patrons," Gallen continued as they entered the main hall, where a few early risers were sipping their morning drinks. "You see that man by the window? What do you notice?"
Vince followed his gaze, focusing on a man dressed in dark, well-tailored clothing, his expression calm as he gazed out one of the lounge windows. At first, Vince wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking for, but as he studied the man's posture, the way his fingers tapped lightly on the table. He began to see it, the slight tension in his shoulders, the quick, darting glance he gave toward the door every few seconds. "He's waiting for someone," Vince murmured, piecing it together. "But he's… nervous."
"Good," Gallen said with a faint nod. "And if he's nervous, he's either worried about something or expecting trouble."
They continued moving through the House, Gallen pointing out subtle details in the way people behaved; teaching Vince to see beyond the surface. Gallen told him to notice the little things: the way someone moved their hands when they spoke, the way they glanced at each other, the barely perceptible shifts in posture.
Gallen stopped near the entrance to the lounge, his expression thoughtful. "Your instinct is your greatest asset," he said. "Anyone can wield a sword; it takes practice and determination to be a master."
Vince nodded, "Thank you, sir," he said, meeting Gallen's gaze.
Gallen gave a faint smile, barely a flicker of approval. "Don't thank me yet. You'll have plenty of chances to prove what you've learned."
Later, as Vince made his way back to his room, he found Mira waiting for him; her expression was one of amusement as she watched him approach. She was dressed in a soft blue dress today, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders; she radiated a calm, easy confidence that Vince had always admired.
"You look like you've been put through the wringer," she remarked, her tone light.
"Gallen's been teaching me how to… observe," Vince replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Mira raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Ah, so that's why you looked so disheveled. Must have been one hell of an observation." She mused.
Vince cracked a smile, brushing his hand through his hair, which only seemed to get messier. "Well, maybe a bit more than just observation."
She laughed, giving him a once-over. "I'd say! If I didn't know better, I'd think Gallen was trying to pound some sense into you along with everything else." She added.
"He's definitely trying," Vince remarked, his tone playful. "Though, I think he's more focused on testing whether I can dodge his strikes without falling on my face."
Mira grinned, leaning in slightly as though sharing a secret. "Well, between you and me, he isn't exactly known for going easy on anyone. It's how he shows his affection, in his… unique way."
Vince raised an eyebrow, folding his arms as he glanced at her skeptically. "Affection? Are we talking about the same Gallen?"
"Oh, don't let him fool you," Mira said, eyes twinkling. "Underneath all that growling and grumbling, there's a warm, fuzzy heart. You'll see... Maybe." They both laughed, and Mira leaned back, studying him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "So, what else is the legendary Gallen teaching you?"
"Apparently, 'Everything about protecting the House comes down to awareness and anticipation,'" Vince declared, mimicking Gallen's gruff voice. "Reading every tiny movement, every little twitch."
Mira nodded, her eyes widening in mock seriousness. "Ah, of course. Twitch-reading, the most: essential skill of all. Next, he'll probably have you predicting who's about to sneeze three tables over." She asserted.
Vince chuckled, relaxing a bit under her teasing. "I wouldn't be surprised. Yesterday, he went on for an hour about foot placement and how 'a solid foundation could save my skin.'"
She shook her head, still grinning. "That sounds exactly like him. Though, I bet if you quizzed him on it; he wouldn't be able to explain half of what he's teaching you. Gallen's got that old-school instinct, you'll get it all eventually, even if he makes it sound like it's some ancient mystery."
"Old-school instinct, huh?" Vince pondered, smirking. "Guess that makes me an old mystic master."
Mira laughed, her voice light and melodic. "That it does! But if you start speaking in riddles, Vince, I'm out. One Gallen is more than enough around here." They shared another laugh, and Vince felt the tension of the morning easing, replaced by a warmth he only seemed to find in these lighter moments with Mira. She tilted her head; her gaze softening as she looked at him. "You know, you're not doing too bad, Mr. Mystic Master. Maybe Gallen won't have to give you so many welts soon."
"Don't jinx it," Vince implored, grinning. "I'm pretty sure beating me is his favorite hobby."
"Then I'll keep my fingers crossed for you," Mira promised, giving him a playful nudge. "Just don't let him scare you off. Beneath all that, he does actually care."
Vince nodded, dwelling on her words. "Thanks, Mira. And, you know, I will take your advice over his any day."
"Oh, I know," she said with a wink. "But don't go telling him that. My reputation would be ruined."
With a final laugh, she gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and sauntered off: leaving Vince feeling lighter, with a bit more spring in his step as he returned to his room.
The afternoon sun had slipped behind a haze of clouds, casting the House of Pearl into a haunting dark vermillion fog, the muted light giving it an almost foreboding glow. Vince was in the lounge sitting on a stool at the far end of the bar: a quiet hum of activity surrounding him as patrons chatted softly over their drinks. Mira's harp filled the room with gentle music. He kept his gaze steady, observing the guests; taking mental notes on posture, expressions, and subtle shifts in behavior.
Just as he was focusing in on one of the guests, the entrance door creaked open; and a chill seemed to creep into the lounge. Vince turned, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of a group of men standing in the doorway. Dressed in dark, rough-spun coats, their faces were hardened by life on the streets of Maze. The leader of the group. a tall man with a wicked looking scar running from his temple to his jawline; he stood, with a barely concealed sneer, his eyes scanning the room looking for something. . . or someone.
Vince felt his pulse quicken, his instincts warning him of danger as he watched the men step further into the lounge. They moved with a casual swagger, as though they owned the place; and Vince could sense the ripple of unease their presence brought to the other patrons. Mira's music faltered for a moment; a single note hanging discordantly in the air before she resumed playing, her expression turning into a frown.
The men dispersed slightly, positioning themselves around the room in what looked like an almost practiced maneuver, their gazes sweeping over the guests with a mixture of disdain and amusement. Lira glided into the lounge as though she were summoned. A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes appeared on her face at the sight of the men.
The leader approached the bar, arrogantly leaning against it, and fixing his gaze on Lira. She straightened, her expression cool as she met his gaze, her voice barely above a murmur as she greeted. "Gentlemen," her tone resonant. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The man's sneer widened into something resembling a smile; though, it held no warmth. "Just thought we'd drop in; see what all the fuss is about with this place," he drawled, his voice carrying an edge that sent a shiver down Vince's spine. "Rorik's been hearing things, you know. Lots of whispers about the House of Pearl and its… exclusive clientele."
Lira's expression didn't waver, though Vince could see a flicker of tension in the set of her jaw. "We cater to all who enter in good faith," she replied smoothly. "If you're here as patrons, you're welcome to enjoy our hospitality. Providing you have the coin for it."
The man chuckled, glancing around the room amused as though by the suggestion. "Oh, we're here as patrons, all right," he retorted: his tone mocking. "Just thought it might be nice to get acquainted, see what makes this place so special. Rorik's curious; you see."
He reached out, plucking a delicate crystal glass from the bar and holding it up to the light, inspecting it as if it were something distasteful. With a slow, deliberate motion, he tipped the glass, allowing the wine to spill onto the polished wood of the bar. Vince's fists clenched, but he forced himself to remain still: feeling the burn of anger in his chest as he watched the man's calculated display of disrespect.
Lira remained calm; her gaze turned steely as she regarded him. "I would appreciate it if you showed more respect for our establishment," she asserted with reserve; though, her tone left no room for argument.
The man shrugged; his expression indifferent. "Respect? Sure, we can show respect… to places that deserve it." His eyes drifted, landing on Vince, who was still half-hidden by the bar. A slow, mocking smile spread across his face. "And who's this, then? Another one of your little helpers?"
Vince felt his pulse quicken, but he held his ground, meeting the man's gaze without flinching. He could feel the weight of Gallen's training in that moment, the reminder to stand firm, to project calm even in the face of hostility. The man took a step toward him: his eyes narrowing as he sized Vince up.
"You got a name, kid?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.
"Vince." He asserted in a steady unwavering tone.
The man chuckled; his expression filled with mocking amusement. "Well, Vince, I hope they're paying you well here. A place like this… seems like it'd attract a lot of trouble."
"Trouble is only as big as the people who bring it," Vince replied, surprised at the even control in his own voice.
The man's smile faded, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He glanced back at his companions, waiting for them to laugh; but they remained silent, watching the exchange with wary eyes. The man turned back to Vince, his expression hardening.
"Watch yourself, kid," he muttered, his tone low. "Places like this don't last forever. And when they fall, it's the ones like you who get buried first."
Vince met his gaze, refusing to back down even as a chill ran down his spine. The man held his stare for a moment longer before turning away, his expression one of barely concealed disdain.
The men lingered, their eyes roving over the room with predatory amusement; and Vince felt the weight of each second tick by, the tension mounting as the leader continued to hold his gaze. Vince refused to back down, keeping his stance firm even as his heart was pounding in his chest.
Just then, a loud, measured set of footsteps approached from the hallway. Gallen entered the lounge, his frame casting a shadow across the room as he stepped inside; his gaze landed squarely on the group of intruders. He didn't say a word, but the air around him was heavy, commanding. His stern, unyielding stare was enough to shift the mood in the room; the easy swagger of Rorik's men quickly turning to stiffened shoulders and darting glances.
The leader's smirk faltered, his bravado fading as he caught sight of Gallen's cold, assessing eyes. He exchanged a look with his men, a wordless signal that Vince recognized as retreat. Without another word, they turned on their heels, leaving the lounge with quick, almost hurried steps, their silence sharper than any parting remark.
Gallen watched them go; his expression was hard as dwarven metal. He stood unmoving until the door clicked shut behind them. Only then did he shift his gaze to Vince, giving him a subtle nod of approval.
"Not bad, kid," he murmured, his voice low. "But remember, the ones who leave quietly are often the ones who come back louder."
Vince nodded, his chest tight with a mixture of relief and determination. The presence of Rorik's men had rattled him, but the arrival of Gallen had shown him something he hadn't fully grasped until now: strength wasn't always about words or displays of power. Sometimes, it was simply about standing firm and unwavering, like Gallen had.
As he watched the door swing shut, Vince made a silent vow to be ready if; and when, they returned.
The courtyard lay silent under the pale glow of the moon, broken only by the steady rhythm of wood slicing through the cool night air. Vince's movements were fierce, each swing of his practice sword fueled by the frustration and adrenaline that had been building since his encounter with Rorik's men. His muscles ached, his breath came in ragged gasps; but he pushed on, ignoring the burning in his arms and shoulders.
From a shadowed corner just beyond the courtyard, Mira watched him in silence. She'd come out to check on things and had noticed him moving alone in the dim light, focused entirely on his practice. His form wasn't perfect: his steps occasionally stumbled, and his strikes grew sloppier with fatigue, but there was something relentless in his rhythm; a quiet desperation to be stronger, to be ready.
Vince swung the sword in a final, wide arc, stumbling forward as his knees buckled. He dropped to the ground, the practice sword clattering beside him. For a moment, he simply knelt there, his chest heaving, the exhaustion overtaking him in waves.
He didn't notice Mira watching as he crawled slowly over to the edge of the courtyard fountain, feeling the coolness of the stone beneath his hands. By instinct, he reached forward, dipping his fingers into the water. The shock of its coolness washed over him, and he let his hands sink further in, feeling the water swirl around his fingers.
A strange calm settled over him, the ache in his muscles easing as he kept his hands submerged. The exhaustion melted away, replaced by a steady, soothing energy that seemed to flow from the water into his veins, quieting his thoughts and slowing his breaths.
Mira remained in the shadows, watching as he stayed there, his hands resting in the water, his face turned upward with a look of unexpected peace. She lingered just a moment longer before slipping quietly back into the House, leaving him alone with the silence of the courtyard and the gentle embrace of the water.