For months, Rowen had been venturing into the forest, pushing himself to take down larger and more dangerous prey. But today, as he stumbled out of the woods nursing a bruised shoulder and dragging what was left of his spear, he realized something had to change.
"That was embarrassing," Zoreth quipped, his voice dripping with amusement. "Did you mean to fall face-first into that ditch, or was it a spur-of-the-moment tactical decision?"
"Not in the mood," Rowen muttered, adjusting his grip on the splintered shaft of his weapon.
"Really? Because you look like you're in the perfect mood for a lecture," Zoreth countered. "That spear of yours was barely enough for rabbits, and now you're going after boars and wolves like you're some kind of legendary hunter. Newsflash, Rowen—you're not."
Rowen sighed, his frustration mounting. "I get it, alright? I need better gear. And maybe some actual training."
"Glad we're finally on the same page," Zoreth said. "Now, what kind of weapon are you thinking? Something big and dramatic, I hope. A warhammer, maybe. Or dual axes! Oh, I know—how about a giant sword? The kind that screams, 'I'm compensating for something!'"
Rowen rolled his eyes. "I just need something that works. Something I can actually use without cutting my own leg off."
"Fine, be boring," Zoreth sighed. "But at least pick something that looks cool."
Ignoring the jab, Rowen emerged from the forest, the sight of Emberstead bringing a mix of relief and tension. The village bustled with life, its dirt roads lined with modest homes and workshops. Children darted between buildings, laughter filling the air, while adults went about their work, their abilities subtly shaping every aspect of their lives.
The strong thrived here, their powers earning them respect and opportunity. The weak those with less impressive abilities or none at all, were often overlooked, their contributions undervalued. Rowen had spent most of his life on the latter side of that divide, but he was determined to change that.
Back at the village, Rowen found Ryland in the family workshop, hammering away at a block of stone. His brother looked up as Rowen entered, smirking when he saw the sorry state of the broken spear.
"Let me guess," Ryland said. "You picked a fight with something too big for your stick, and the stick lost."
"Something like that," Rowen admitted, setting the shattered weapon on the workbench.
Ryland chuckled, grabbing a piece of iron from the corner. "Alright, I'll make you something sturdier. But next time, don't take on a boar with a twig and a prayer."
"I'm starting to like your brother more every day. His sass is certainly praiseworthy." Zoreth said, chuckling.
As Ryland worked, their father, Darius, stepped into the workshop. His towering presence and calm demeanor commanded respect, and his gaze lingered on Rowen's disheveled appearance.
"Out hunting again?" Darius asked.
Rowen nodded. "Yeah. But I think I need more than just a new spear."
Darius folded his arms, his expression thoughtful. "You're still working hard, even without a power. That's good. But hard work without direction only gets you so far."
"I know," Rowen said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.
Darius placed a hand on Ryland's shoulder. "Once you're done with the spear, Rowen should pay a visit to Calder."
Ryland paused, looking up from his work. "Calder? You think he'll help?"
"He will," Darius said confidently. "We fought together in the Lionecian army years ago. He's one of the best soldiers I've ever known, and he's trained plenty of recruits. If anyone can teach Rowen how to fight properly, it's him."
"Wait," Rowen said, surprised. "Calder was a soldier?"
Darius nodded. "One of the best. He retired a few years ago and settled just outside the village. Go to him, Rowen. He'll show you what it means to fight—not just against animals, but how to protect yourself from others. As you know, this world can be cruel to those who are deemed weak. He can help you to overcome that weakness. You might not ever develop powers at this point, but hopefully with his guidance, you can have the confidence to stand tall. I would try to teach you myself, but Calder has more experience in combat then I ever got."
Rowen hesitated but eventually nodded. "Alright. I'll go."
The next morning, Rowen set out for Calder's cabin, his new spear slung across his back. The weapon felt solid and well-balanced, a far cry from the crude stick he had been using before.
"So," Zoreth began as they walked along the dirt path leading out of the village, "you're off to see the great Calder. What's the plan? Show him your sparkling personality and hope he doesn't laugh you out of his yard?"
"Pretty much," Rowen said dryly.
"Seriously, though," Zoreth continued, his tone unusually thoughtful. "If this guy is as good as your dad says, maybe you should think about what kind of fighter you want to be. You've got options now."
Rowen frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Zoreth said, "you're stronger and faster than the average person thanks to all that essence you've absorbed. You could use something heavy to really take advantage of that strength—like a hammer or an axe. Or maybe you stick with the spear and focus on keeping your distance. It's all about playing to your strengths."
"I guess," Rowen said, glancing at the spear on his back. "But I'm not exactly experienced with any of this. What if I pick the wrong thing?"
"That's why you've got Calder," Zoreth said. "And me, obviously. Between the two of us, we'll turn you into a half-decent fighter eventually."
...
Calder's cabin was a simple structure surrounded by tools of his trade. Traps, bows, and other hunting gear were scattered around the yard, along with a well-worn training dummy. The man himself was seated on the porch, sharpening a blade.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a weathered face and piercing gray eyes. His hair, streaked with silver, was tied back in a loose ponytail.
"You must be Rowen," Calder said as Rowen approached.
"Yeah," Rowen replied, gripping his spear nervously.
"Darius told me you'd be coming," Calder said, standing up and eyeing Rowen critically. "He also told me you've been running off into the woods without a clue what you're doing."
Rowen winced. "I'm… working on it."
"Good," Calder said gruffly. "Because if you're not serious about this, you're wasting my time. And I don't like wasting time."
"I am serious," Rowen said quickly.
Calder studied him for a moment before nodding. "Alright. First things first—show me what you've got."
The day was grueling. Calder didn't pull any punches, forcing Rowen to go through drills, sparring matches, and weapon handling exercises. The older man's experience was evident in every movement, and he wasted no time pointing out Rowen's flaws.
"You're too stiff," Calder barked as Rowen stumbled during a sparring session. "Loosen up, or you're going to get yourself killed."
"Noted," Rowen panted, trying to adjust his stance.
"Your grip's wrong, too," Calder added, smacking the spear out of Rowen's hands with a quick sweep. "Fix it."
Zoreth, for once, stayed quiet during the training, though Rowen could feel his presence watching intently.
By the time the lesson was over, Rowen's body ached, and his pride had taken a beating. But as he trudged back toward the village, his mind was buzzing with everything he had learned.
"Well," Zoreth said finally, breaking the silence. "That was… something. You didn't completely embarrass yourself. I'm almost proud."
"Thanks, I think," Rowen muttered.
"Don't get used to it," Zoreth replied. "But seriously, this Calder guy might actually know what he's doing. Stick with him."
Rowen nodded, determination hardening in his chest. He had a long way to go, but for the first time, he felt like he was heading in the right direction.