The air vibrated with a thrumming energy. A vast expanse of trampled earth stretched out, brown and dusty in the unforgiving midday sun. In the distance, the imposing silhouette of a castle loomed, its ramparts a stark contrast against the hazy blue sky.
Closer at hand, the training ground bustled with controlled chaos. A worn leather banner, emblazoned with a roaring lion, hung limply from a weathered pole, marking the heart of the activity. Wooden stakes, hammered deep into the earth, delineated a large central area – the sparring grounds. The surface was churned to a fine dust, dotted with the occasional dark stain, no doubt due to the occasional spilled blood.
Around the perimeter, a menagerie of training structures stood sentinel. Several stout wooden posts, as thick as a man's thigh, were sunk into the ground. Some were bare, awaiting the next batch of eager trainees. Others were adorned with straw dummies, their bodies wrapped in worn leather jerkins and dented metal helms. They bore the brunt of countless sword blows, their stuffing spilling from rents and tears like entrails from a fallen foe. Further along, a series of low hurdles, constructed from rough-hewn logs, lay scattered about. Young squires, clad in padded leather doublets and breeches, practiced leaping over them with an awkward grace, their faces flushed with exertion.
Off to one side, a makeshift jousting course was set up. Two parallel lanes, marked with low walls of packed earth, converged at a central point. A quintain, a rotating post topped with a sandbag-filled head on a swivel, stood at the far end. Young knights, their faces hidden behind visors etched with crests, charged down the lanes, lances leveled, aiming to strike the head with enough force to send it spinning wildly. The occasional clang of metal on wood echoed across the grounds, punctuated by shouts of encouragement and the frustrated curses of those who missed their mark.
Everywhere, the sounds of exertion mingled in the air. The rhythmic clang of steel on steel as swords clashed in practice bouts. The grunts and shouts of men pushing their bodies to the limit. The rhythmic clop of hooves as horses were ridden in controlled circles, their riders honing their horsemanship. Smoke rose from a nearby fire pit, where blacksmiths tended to the blades used in training, the rhythmic clang of their hammers adding another layer to the symphony of activity.
The clang of steel on wood shattered the training ground's rhythm. All eyes turned towards the central sparring ground, where a contrast unfolded.
Sir Gregor, a knight captain at the time, towered over his opponent. His plate armor, scratched and dented from countless battles, gleamed in the sunlight. In his hand, a practice broadsword, thicker than most men's arms, swung with a terrifying force. Facing him was a stark counterpoint – Lucinda, currently a wisp of a girl with her hair the color of freshly fallen snow and eyes that burned an unnatural crimson. Her small frame, barely reaching Sir Gregor's waist, was barely visible beneath a worn tunic several sizes too large. A wooden sword, as tall as she was, mimicked the knight's weapon in her grasp, but it looked more like a toy in her small hands.
Brutal wouldn't even begin to describe the scene. The late afternoon sun beat down on the dusty training grounds. A hush fell over the gathered crowd –trainees and soldiers alike – Lucinda stood tense, her grip tight on her practice sword.
"Ready to be humbled, child?" Sir Gregor rumbled, his voice a tremor in the earth. A cruel smile stretched across his inhuman face. Lucinda, her white hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, met his gaze with nervous defiance. Though dwarfed by the knight, her chin held high. This wasn't about winning; it was about surviving. With a burst of surprising speed, Lucinda darted forward. Her wooden sword, a pale imitation of Sir Gregor's massive oak beam, whistled through the air aimed for his chest. But the knight, with reflexes that defied his bulk, twisted his torso with inhuman agility. The blow struck nothing but air, sending a tremor through Lucinda's arm.
Sir Gregor's cruel smile widened.
"Is that all you've got, child? A gnat buzzing at a mountain?" He swung his practice sword – more akin to a battering ram in his grasp. The air crackled with unseen energy as the weapon descended. Lucinda, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, launched herself sideways in a desperate dodge. The ground erupted where she had stood a split second earlier, a crater gouged by the force of Sir Gregor's blow. A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Pain flared in Lucinda's ankle as she landed, a sickening twist suggesting a sprain. But she ignored it, fueled by a primal urge to just survive. Ignoring the throbbing pain, she lunged forward again, her movements a blur of desperation. Sir Gregor, toying with her, batted aside her blows with ease. Each clang of wood on wood sent shockwaves through Lucinda's body, her arms screaming in protest. A bead of sweat traced a glistening path down her temple, landing with a tiny plop on the cracked earth.
Suddenly, a sickening crack echoed through the training ground. Sir Gregor's next blow, aimed at her shoulder, connected with a sickening thud. Lucinda's scream, a shriek of pain, ripped through the air. The force of the blow sent her sprawling, the wooden practice sword clattering uselessly away.A choked gasp escaped the crowd. A crimson bloom blossomed across Lucinda's tunic, spreading with alarming speed. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. But even as she crumpled to the ground, a flicker of something remained in her gaze locked on Sir Gregor.
The knight loomed over her, his inhuman features unreadable. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by Lucinda's ragged breaths and the pounding of her heart. Finally, Sir Gregor spoke, his voice a low rumble.
"You have a spark, child," he conceded, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. "But still despite your destiny you remain pathetic." With that, he turned and strode away, leaving Lucinda crumpled on the dusty ground.
How she wished for it all to end, this torture. But she had nothing but the will to prove herself. She heard and saw it all, how useless of a spawn of Octavia she was. How she did not measure up to her past brethren. She was not Lucinda to anyone, no, the spawn of Octavia was all she was known as. It would always be that way. If she did not show her worth, they would just find suitors in hope of breeding a suitable spawn of Octavia. Even if such a thing was impossible, they did not care; her body would be used regardless.
Lucinda sluggishly rose from the ground, pain enveloping her body still. She did not want this life, but this was simply the way of things.
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Her eyes opened slowly as she registered the knocking on her cabin door. She sluggishly rose from her bed, trying to suppress the terrible dream she had. Stepping out of her bed, her bare feet touched the wooden floor.
("How late is it?") She could not help but question with a deep yawn as she approached the door. Opening it, she had to suppress the scream as she saw an eerie grinning face, but luckily she quickly registered it as Mikoto.
"Mikoto?" She blurted out, and once more it took a moment to register what she was wearing and how out of it she must have looked. Her face burned bright red in embarrassment, and before he could get a word out, the door was slammed in front of his face. Instantly two magic glyphs engulfed her body, moving up and down as if scanning her body; her nightgown turned into her uniform, and her hair became neat. Opening the door once more, now there stood Lucinda, neat hair and back in her academy uniform, though her cheeks were still red. She cleared her throat as if to get rid of the last remnants of embarrassment.
"M-Mikoto, what brings you here?" She managed to say.
"I need a favor," he started. "Could you show me Arcane Ascendance?"
"Huh?" Lucinda blinked in confusion at the sudden request. "Arcane Ascendance? Why?"
"I wanna use it, obviously." He stated dryly, eliciting her eyes to grow wide.
"You're a spawn?" She blurted out, her mouth slightly agape.
"Sure am, I keep it private cause it's a hassle if I get discovered as one." He stated, that much was the truth. "Though I'm just a spawn of a relatively minor God. So don't ask who I'm a spawn of."
"I...I see." She still seemed taken aback but quickly regained her composure. "But Arcane Ascendance...." She frowned before shaking her head, stepping back she opened the door wide enough for him to come in. "Could we talk in my room? I fear Arcane Ascendance is not a simple thing." Mikoto nodded as he stepped inside, Lucinda gestured for him to sit on a wooden chair near a desk. Taking a seat, Lucinda did the same on her own bed not that far away from him.
"I must say it comes to me as a surprise that you are a spawn." Lucinda murmured thoughtfully. "But it's understandable you would want to pose as someone normal. Truth be told, I wish I could masquerade as someone other than the spawn of Octavia." She said with a small chuckle.
"Being a spawn of Octavia must be a pain in the ass." Lucinda heaved a small sigh at his words, her smile slightly dropping.
"I wouldn't use such crude wording, but that is the gist of it." She mumbled, she shook her head. "But enough about that, you are interested in Arcane Ascendance, right? But for what purpose?"
"For the festival, of course." He answered innocently. "Want to do my part and all that."
"Why does that sound so insincere?"
"You're imagining things."
"I see...." Lucinda stared down at her hands in contemplation. "Mikoto, Arcane Ascendance isn't something simplistic to learn. It's near impossible for someone who is not chosen to learn Arcane Ascendance." Mikoto just waved her off.
"Don't worry 'bout it." Mikoto stated with a hidden lopsided smile. "I'm different, I can learn it with a glance if we're being honest." He stated 'humbly'.
"I-I see." Lucinda chuckled sheepishly, but just as quickly as the smile appeared on her face, it disappeared. "But if anyone could pull off such a feat, then it is most likely you, Mikoto." Mikoto nodded his head with a smug smile. "But then I must implore you to never learn Arcane Ascendance."
"Huh?"
"You're strong enough as it is, Mikoto." Her eyes turned somber. "When the festival concludes, whether we win or lose, billions across the world will have witnessed your strength." A deep frown tugged at her lips. "You would not have a moment of peace; kingdoms and empires would try to court your favor. Many would seek to use you, to trick you. It will happen to poor Agatha too, no doubt, her being awakened as an Inheritor will do more harm than good."
"I get what you're saying, but-" She interrupted before he could continue.
"I do not think you do." Her gaze was uncharacteristically steely, and her voice firm. "You will suffer, Mikoto, suffer from your own success and strength. It will be naught but torture to your very being."
("Speaking from personal experience, huh?") Mikoto looked at her face, her frowning lips, her furrowed brows, and her blank gaze. ("There's a reason Fiona told me to never reveal myself as a spawn of Octavia. The attention I'd get would be a pain, not to mention I'm a male spawn of Octavia. All previous spawns were women, so I'd be more sought after.") Mikoto shuddered at the thought of what most would have him do. ("But Lucinda definitely suffered, that much is easy to see. Who knows what it is she was put through.")
"Lucinda..." Lucinda perked up as her name was uttered; she stared at Mikoto as she awaited for him to continue. A few seconds passed, and she could not help but feel tense in the silence. "Don't be such a square." Confusion graced her features before she finally registered his words.
"S-square?" She questioned; he nodded his head. "I-I am no shape!"
"Relax, it's a figure of speech." He clarified. "What I meant was, don't be such a worrywart."
"But Mikoto-" Now it was his turn to interrupt her.
"Hush, hush." He held up a hand to silence her before promptly continued. "You see, Lucinda, I am no weak-kneed puss-"
"Mikoto!"
"Right, right, sorry." He cleared his throat as he continued. "What I meant was I'm no pushover. Sure, some plebes are out there that would want to use me, court my favor, or use my strength. But see, none of that is gonna happen. And do you know why that is?" She stayed silent and awaited for him to continue. "Cause I'm me. I won't let some losers boss me around or use me; that won't ever happen. Not in a million years." Lucinda wanted to refute, to hold Mikoto back from that kind of life. But judging from his tone, that much would not be easy; if he could not learn from her, he would simply learn elsewhere. It seems that was the kind of person Mikoto was; Lucinda relented with a sigh.
"Very well, Mikoto, I shall help you." She imagined he was smiling beneath his mask; it must have been a sweet smile. "But in exchange for a favor."
"A favor?" He questioned. "Sure, but just make sure it isn't anything lewd."
"I am no pervert!" She exclaimed, her face bright red.
"I'm just kidding, relax." He snorted out; Lucinda had no more sighs left to give.
Mikoto was an odd person.
("With that Arcane Ascendance will be easily learned.")