A week had passed since the changing.
The marks on my arms had become a part of me, but their presence was still unsettling. The faint hum of energy beneath my skin, the intricate spirals that glowed faintly in the right light—it was impossible to forget that I was different now.
Rorik's training had intensified. He pushed me harder, his sharp corrections and gruff encouragement a constant reminder of how much I still had to learn.
We were in the middle of sparring, the dull thud of my fists against the training dummy echoing through the barn, when Rorik suddenly stopped.
"Logan," he said, his voice low.
I turned to see his eyes fixed on the horizon. Following his gaze, I saw two figures approaching the farm, their silhouettes stark against the midday sun.
---
The first man was enormous, standing at least six and a half feet tall. He carried a massive axe strapped to his back and a round shield slung over one shoulder. His presence was imposing, his movements purposeful and heavy.
"That's Ulrik Thorskald," Rorik muttered. "My old leader."
The second man was shorter, maybe 5'10", with a wiry frame. He wore a long cloak that seemed to shift with the breeze, his steps lighter and more fluid. His sharp features carried an air of curiosity, his eyes darting around the farm as though cataloging every detail.
"And the other?" I asked, my voice cautious.
"Vidal Thrainsson," Rorik replied. "A Magi. He was part of Ulrik's team. Curious to a fault, that one. Ulrik's spent years trying to keep him in line."
The two men reached the barn, their contrasting presences filling the space. Ulrik's brutal intensity clashed with Vidal's restless energy, but together they seemed perfectly balanced.
---
"So," Ulrik said, his voice a deep rumble, "this is the boy?"
Rorik nodded. "Logan Grant."
Ulrik's sharp eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I felt like I was being weighed and measured.
"Show me your arms," he commanded.
I hesitated, glancing at Rorik, who gave a slight nod. Slowly, I rolled up my sleeves, revealing the red and blue spirals that marked my skin.
Vidal stepped closer, his cloak billowing slightly as he moved. His eyes lit up with curiosity as he examined the marks, his fingers twitching as though resisting the urge to touch them.
"Incredible," Vidal muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "The intricacy... the symmetry..."
Ulrik held up a hand, silencing him. "Later."
Turning back to me, he said, "Before we talk, there's a test. We need to see what you can do."
---
Ulrik stepped back, unstrapping his axe and shield and placing them on the ground. He cracked his neck, the motion exaggerated and deliberate, before putting one hand behind his back.
"Attack me," he said simply.
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," Ulrik said, his tone cold and commanding. "Come at me with everything you've got. Show me what you've learned."
I glanced at Rorik, who gave no indication that I should refuse.
Taking a deep breath, I shifted into an orthodox stance, studying Ulrik's posture. He stood relaxed, almost disinterested, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that warned me not to underestimate him.
I moved in, fainting a jab to gauge his reaction. He didn't flinch.
I followed with a level change, driving forward with my shoulder, but it was like hitting a wall. Ulrik didn't budge. Instead, he swatted me away with ease, sending me stumbling backward.
Gritting my teeth, I tried again, this time throwing a jab-cross combination followed by a low kick. He stepped to the side, dodging effortlessly, his hand still behind his back.
"You're slow," he said, his voice laced with disdain.
---
The fight continued like this, every move I made countered with effortless precision. I tried everything—faints, angles, clinches—but nothing worked. Ulrik's calm demeanor never wavered, and his casual dismissals left me increasingly frustrated.
Finally, he stepped back, raising his hand to stop me. "Enough," he said.
I stood panting, my body aching from the repeated failures.
"You're not ready," Ulrik said bluntly. "But you've got potential."
---
He reached into a leather pouch at his side and pulled out two small orbs. One glowed faintly red, the other a soft blue.
"These," he said, holding them up, "will tell us what you're capable of."
He handed me the red orb first. "Hold this in your right hand."
I did as he said, and almost immediately, the orb began to glow brighter. Five runes appeared on its surface, glowing faintly in sequence.
Vidal's eyes widened, but he said nothing, his gaze darting between the orb and Ulrik.
Ulrik nodded, taking the red orb back and handing me the blue one. "Now this. Left hand."
As soon as I grasped the blue orb, a series of colors appeared: midnight black, a darker, almost sinister black, blood red, and fiery orange.
The air seemed to thicken, and both Ulrik and Vidal exchanged a look.
"What does that mean?" I asked, confused by their reactions.
Neither of them answered.
Ulrik simply tucked the orbs away and turned to Rorik. "We'll talk later," he said.
The tension in the air was palpable as the three of them stepped aside, leaving me standing there, confused and alone with the weight of their silence.