[WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF SELF-MUTILATION THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND DISTURBING! DISCRETION IS ADVISED!]
The fields Sola found himself in were strangely nostalgic. A light breeze blew across the long grass, causing it to brush against his bare torso. The sky was dark with the thick fluffy clouds that filled it up. The only other person in the field was a young boy wielding a spear three times his height. His dark hair was stuck to the back of his neck and face due to all of his sweat and his clothes were damp and heavy with it.
Just like the fields they were in, the boy had a sense of familiarity about him. Sola tried to approach the boy, but the field grew wider every time he drew closer to him. The two always remained a few inches apart with the boy higher up on the field. The boy swirled the spear around and thrust it into the sky. As he thrust the spear, the wind around the field stirred for a brief moment before settling back to its gentility.
It was unclear exactly how long the boy had been here nor how long he had been doing this, but his fatigue showed it had been too long. His eyes were droopy and his body was bent. Each time he twirled the spear his breath became more dragged and when he thrust it into the air he almost fell over. The boy quickly caught himself with his spear before he could touch the ground. He leaned on the spear for a few seconds to catch his breath before resuming what he was doing.
Despite his growing fatigue, each swirl and thrust of the boy's humongous spear seemed to grow in strength. Every time the spear was spun around the wind began to pick up faster and faster. With each spin, the wind roared and the grass rustled loudly. The clouds began to gather according to the flow of the wind, forming a funnel around the boy that began a slow descent. The boy steeled his gaze and tightened his grip around the shaft of his spear. In that brief moment, Sola could not see any bit of tire in him.
The boy twirled his spear again with a sense of weight that seemed uncanny for the spear. The wind roared to life, swimming through the blades of grass as they funnelled towards the boy. He swirled the spear one more time for good measure before halting its movement and thrust it into the air. The wind shot upward into the sky. The clouds were reduced to water causing a heavy downpour. Once the rain was clear, there was a larger hole in the sky the size of the side of a moon letting the bright blue sky peak through. As soon as the water touched the grass their lushous green waned into a sickly brown. The sickly grass fell to the ground before crumbling the dust and flowing with the draining water.
The boy turned around and finally acknowledged Sola for the first time. With them being face to face Sola found it difficult to look at him. It was as though his face was a kaleidoscope of ages, shifting from nascent to ancient. Even his hair went from wet and black to grey and whispy at inconsistent intervals. Sola looked at his legs and could not recall if the boy had one or two of them. Why would he think this boy had one leg? He was certain he had never met him before unless he had mistaken him for someone else.
Sola looked up at the boy, this time catching a proper look at his spear. His eyes widened with recognition as he gazed upon Gungnir, his blood spear. Suddenly, the grey-haired man's body felt unusually cold. He felt his heart beating vigorously but it was done in vain. He peeled back the skin off his forearm and ripped open a bunch of veins but his metallic blood was nowhere to be seen. As he looked back at the boy, he felt the air that filled his lungs go in and out, unaltered by any bodily process. Sola fell to the ground as his vision faded to black. The last thing that he saw was the boy's unnerving eyes staring ceaselessly at him.
Sola was jerked awake by a hand on his shoulder. He was standing outside underneath a heavy downpour with no cover from the rain. The only illumination for the dreary night was the street lamps in the distance and the flashlight Fred had hung around his waist. He looked upon the yari in his hand, the spear's blade glistened from the light reflecting off it and the water droplets on it.
Over the last 2 weeks, the only things Sola had done were eat and train with Ordan. As to be expected of the old man, he took everything seriously. If Sola was not going to learn how to use the spear he was determined to beat the knowledge down into his very bones so even when the dark grey-haired man was unconscious he could still use a spear. Ironically, their training gave him little time to spare for rest or sleep. Not that Sola minded though. He would much rather be beaten to a pulp by the old man than have another one of those dreams of his.
"Are you okay?" Fred asked. "You've been out here all day, and Adeola is worried,"
"I'm fine," Sola replied, his eyes glued to his spear. He still had a vague memory of the dream he had just had. All he could recall was the form of a boy swirling a spear and thrusting it upward.
With his instinct as guidance, Sola began to swirl the spear around him. Fred leapt backwards narrowly avoiding the long blade of the yari. Before he could voice a complaint his attention was drawn by the spinning motion of the weapon. Suddenly, Sola stopped spinning the spear and thrust it into the air. He stood there in anticipation though he was unsure of what it was that he was expecting.
"Oh shit, I didn't know he showed you Sky Reaver," Fred exclaimed.
"Sky Reaver?" Sola asked.
"It's a move Ordan used to talk about when I first came here as a little kid," The bald man explained. "He said it could pierce the sky and tear the clouds if done correctly. Never seen him do it though,"
Sola looked down at the yari in his hands. He felt he was good enough at wielding it now, but now there seemed to be a greater hurdle for him to pass in its mastery, one even greater than Ordan. That would have to wait for now. There was something more important waiting for tomorrow. Sola looked up to face Fred.
"I'm ready for the tournament,"