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Orientation Day.
Like pack animals, Eleanor and her new classmates were dragged into a dry cave at their teacher’s behest.
She didn’t even get to know their names or start a conversation. They were all whisked away by the instructor to some training site. Apparently, names, friendship and camaraderie could be built over breaks and in dorm rooms while the classes could only be for combat, more combat and learning about combat.
Striding, leading the crowd was a woman whose long silver tresses flowed. From the shifting mass of legs, Eleanor spied two swords pinned to her hip. One longer, one shorter.
A duellist. Eleanor thought to herself. The way -prim and proper- she walks makes me think of a higher class. Maybe a daughter of some haughty-toity aristocrat?
Eleanor pitched herself right at the two-third marks of the pack. Her shorter stature disabled her from making any astute observations on her classmates. Her head was held down for the walk, but her eyes probed for interesting friend-candidates. A relatively tall, handsome, tan swordsman who had forgone the uniform jacket a few paces to the left of her. A purple haired woman with a bow who had a strange aura about her trailing the pack. The rest of them, from her covert and uninformed view, were boring and did not hold any potential for her plans.
Finally, they reached their training grounds. Despite the narrow entrance to the cave, it itself was rather sprawling. The ground was flat and Eleanor didn’t see a single rock or pebble on it. Some benches had been erected far from the centre and torchlight was responsible for the luminance as the six suns’ light could only barely peek in.
The group came to a sudden halt and formed a morphing semicircle around the instructor.
“Hello and welcome all to our academy. I hope that the First Day’s Commemoration was to your expectations. Now that the festivities are over, we shall proceed to our first class. This will be one of the major units of your learning: Vesselai v. Vesselai Suppression. Here you will learn the tactics needed to disarm, suppress or kill the opposing Vesselai you will meet on the battlefields. Now, for the un-astute of you, allow me to gift you a brief introduction to the Vesselai. An active Vesselai has two duties upon the battlefield. They are…”
Eleanor drifted off to her thoughts, subconsciously filling with his drawling lecture with her own succinct brevities; as she had the time to write them as such:
First. The annihilation of enemy infantry. As the manifestations of Anima are particular to forces of nature, so too shall decisive victory be gained through sheer force.
Second. The suppression of enemy Vesselai. A well-matured Vesselai is godlike on the battlefield, and so only another Vesselai may stop her.
Oh look, the man was still talking. Something about how Leukos was the greatest academy for Vesselai in this partition of Anshar and how blah blah blah. With the time, she added another.
Third. To protect all those who are not enemy combatants. For there is not a soul on Anshar who deserves to be involved with the War for The New Sun.
“That is why, as with tradition of our great academy, we will be holding a diagnostic test or rather multiple diagnostic tests. A series of duels to determine just how worthy you lot are of becoming a Vesselai.”
Huh. That’s more meritocratic than I thought. Leukos is in a kingdom. With its prestige, most of its populace came from the children of nobility, at least the non-heirs, hoping to gain repute and pride from being a knight of their multi-front war with the neighbouring countries. Their king was easy with the awards for the militant. From her brief looks, there were a few people here who appeared to be trained but there were quite a few who were likely forced here by their parents without a single ounce of combat experience. Touting their ranks would not work for this instructor at least.
Still. This is unfair to the three or so low-borns here. Only nobility and a few outliers have the right to control Anima. Of course, the nobles have had much longer time to practice harnessing the Crystones. I just picked mine up for the first time today.
Her right hand drifted to her sheathed sword. The faintest light of purple sparked and quickly disappeared. No one needed to know how familiar that light was to Eleanor yet.
“That is why, this unit will focus on mock duels between you and your classmates. Who, among you, will be in this great occasion of being in the first duel of your years at Leukos?!”
“I will.”
She did not bother raising her hand as if her involvement was something already preordained. She took two confident steps to the side of the instructor and looked towards the crowd. Her eyes scanning. Her voice was made in what Eleanor assumed must be some sort of royal lilt which was both scary and frankly quite hot.
She’s pretty. She looked like she could be the princess of the royal family. Long tresses of silver hair, amethyst eyes, cold, confident. A deft sword hand placed on the hilt of the longer blade. In a proud stance but it was the stance of a speaker projecting confidence, not a duellist. But that confidence could not be mistaken for arrogance or cockiness. Clearly, through how her eyes scanned them like they were her prey, it was earned.
She could kick my ass and I’d thank her. Eleanor made a little joke to herself. Her brother did say that her sapphic nature would aid her in this plan. This lady could definitely be a part of it if she could convince her. It’d be nice if she could. Otherwise, did she have the time for fleeting crushes?
The light chatter and whispers that pervaded the crowd stopped in its track. Everyone recognised her and they were scared shitless. Well, everyone except for Eleanor. She turned her focus to the oncoming duel, almost a little excited to see how the silver lady will destroy whoever dares to volunteer.
Best not to volunteer. Making a fool of myself will only hamper making my ‘splash’ later.
“Aha! Our first warrior steps up to the mantle! Now who else will partake in the very first duel?”
No hands were raised. No eyes were met.
Please, don’t do this. Not even one of you are going to march to your death for my amusement?
“Will no one else want to partake in the first duel of your many years at Leukos? I promise you there will be many more from this point. There is no point in being shy now.”
No hands were raised. No eyes were met.
Fuck. Okay random chance, please don’t ostracise me. Thank you. Thank you.
“Fine. Fine! A whole bunch of scared Nopon, the lot of you! Though it may be too soon to say that considering what happened to them. They really did get them. Nonetheless, brave and forward-thinking Vesselai, you get to pick.”
Her purple eyes scanned the crowd. Sizing everyone up. The tan swordsman rotated wide rotations with his shoulder. The purple haired archer kept her head down. Eleanor should have done the same, but her curiosity won through. In the same covert manner, she monitored how the lady’s steel gaze passed through the crowd.
It fell on her. Somehow her gaze peeked at her through the crowd. Looked her up. Looked her down. Looked her up once again.
“I want to fight the redhead. She’s the only one who looks strong.”
The people betrayed her as they parted, awkwardly shuffling to the sides and revealed her. Their eyes met for a single moment – amethyst on azure. Then her gaze lifted to her red hair and remained there as Eleanor hesitantly ambled up to her.
Fuck. I knew I should have shaved my head. I guess it’s time for a disgraceful but intentional defeat.
They made their way to a tradition duelling setup. Some of the more muscled hunks in the crowd took offense to her statement. Complaining that they were obviously stronger than a girl. They weren’t but overconfidence was easy to exploit.
If they wanted to fight her so much, why didn’t they raise their hands?”
They made their way to the designated duelling ground. A long rectangular strip of carpet that was about three meters wide. Scorch marks, abrasion marks were very apparent and the carpet itself seemed it was about to fall apart in some places. Still, given how their classmates were making a wide circle around them made it obvious that stepping off the carpet was perfectly acceptable. They stood maybe a few paces away from the other. The silver haired lady spoke up:
“If I may, Instructor, may we partake in another tradition? I would like to have a polite conversation with my opponent before we begin.”
The instructor glanced at her and let out a deep sigh. “Very well, just make it quick.”
“I am- (a particularly loud sneeze happened at this point of time) of House- (then the rampages of a cough. Do hope that particular and rather convenient student gets well),” The lady shot a glare that could wither dragons to whoever that poor sick person was. “Excuse our poor entourage, need I repeat my name?”
“No. It’s fine. I heard you perfectly.” She could always ask for it later. Eleanor performed an awkward and unpractised curtsy. “I am Eleanor of no acclaim. It is my pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. How was the long journey from the north? Did Leukos charter it or did your family?”
“It was fine,” Eleanor responded candidly. “The roads south were a little bumpy, but the sights were beautiful and my family… oh.”
The attractive lady took one-two steps closer. Instantly, she closed the distance, her head just above Eleanor’s shoulder. She could feel the lady’s whisper on her ear. Something about it all made blood rush somewhere.
“I’ve heard a rumour. A rumour of a northbound red-haired family who were enshrined into the nobility despite not a single deed of theirs being known. The enemy are still at our doorstep: burning our fields, plundering our villages, our blood pouring into the soil and yet multiple medals are given to a man who has never took a step outside of his distant-distant village. Curious, no?”
“Yes…quite.”
“Oh. Another rumour comes to mind. Apparently, two things were delivered to the desk of the headmaster a month ago. One, a rather formidable sum of money and two, an intriguing enrolment request where they needed to accept ‘a young man with red hair and a decorated blue and white sword arriving on the dawn of the First Day’ into their academy. If I may state the obvious, Eleanor is a woman’s name, and you are far too cute to be one of those churlish boys.”
“I am a girl, yes.” Eleanor said the obvious with a bit too much hesitance.
Eleanor backpedalled a step, trying anything to gain a bit of advantage. There with such little distance, was the essence of her opponent. Feet in perfect position, her right hand placed on the hilt of the longer blade. Amethyst eyes, set alight with dual flames of curiosity and protective instinct.
“Let’s raise the stakes, shall we?” Her voice bolstered as she announced to the crowd. “If I win, you’ll become my friend and if you win, well, we’ll see whatever it you want when we get there.”
Trained from a young age under many tutors. Perfect form, perfect everything. A sword and a dagger to provide simultaneous parry and riposte. A Vesselai duellist bearing a yellow crystone. And a condition where I need to win. This would definitely be a problem.
But she also only confronted me in secret, in whisper. She’s protecting me for whatever reason. This isn’t the worst-case scenario. Now, I just need to win the fight against Whiteblood.
Eleanor looked to her classmates. Last time for that and all. Most of them had shuffled around to get a good look at the oncoming fight. She spotted some money silently changing hands. Twats didn’t have the balls to fight but could still bet? Ridiculous. Looking over all of this, the teacher had a large smile burst from his lips and did nothing to stop the promises of a future gambling ring. That agonising expression said all he thought about this ‘friendly rivalry’.
Their eyes met. Neither of them knew at the time but this would be the start of something special.
“Are we satisfied with first blood?” He looked to the two duellists and received two nods in kind. “Very well. The first duel of your years at Leukos commences…Now!”
[Misc]
The two drew their blades. Immediately, Eleanor was at a disadvantage. Two was a much bigger number than one after all.
Neither of them activated their Crystones, they relied purely on their swordsmanship and footwork.
Even without the perceived Anima control disadvantage, that parrying dagger made it almost impossible for Eleanor to close the distance. If she tried to gain any advantage, doubling or both of them getting hurt would be an absolute certainty. Winding the blade, any of the fancy moulinets she learned from her brother would be just result in getting stabbed.
Lashes of ornate silver. Quick and each deadly. Luckily, Whiteblood didn’t seem to be the type for feints, at least not now, as she delivered a rampage of cuts and slices.
Eleanor tried to close off lines of attack with her sabre and new ones would quickly open. Her speed and footwork were better than Whiteblood but that only served to prolong her defence not certify her offense.
Her quick slashes of her sabre could beat away the longer blade, but Whiteblood was incredibly nimble with that dagger. Launching out long piercing lunges out of nowhere at the worst of times.
Eleanor could better manage the distance. Her sabre was longer than Whiteblood’s duelling blades and she could press advantage if she could get it just right, but she kept on ceding distance. Deflect, parry, beat, lose tempo. Jump, shift back, gain distance to regain tempo only to lose it. Void after dodge after void all but placed a physical time limit on the duel. It would surely end when her back was placed against that cave wall, only ten meters away.
Another shift backwards. Eight meters. Another half second before Whiteblood closed in. Another half second to think of something better. Something to win. Her mind rattling and in that moment, she heard her brother’s words:
This sheath has been passed through our generations. It will bathe the blade in Anima so it may be as free flowing as the elements.
Bathe? If it stays in its sheath long enough, it could…Make a counter offensive. The essentials were the provoking of the opponent – overextension and the capacity to counter – punishment.
Time’s up. She disengaged once again and another shift back. Six meters now. With an exhale, she sheathed her blade. She could feel it, the confused look on Whiteblood and the audience’s faces. The chuckle of the instructor. Her own mind running two thousand cycles a second.
Most importantly, the thrum of her Crystone. A familiar sensation swirling, sourcing from hilt, sinking towards the end of the blade. Already, it was feeling that glorious lightness and strength. It’s been a second or two, if she unleashed it now, she could-
No! Whiteblood hasn’t overextended. She’s too wary. The opportunity would be spent.
Eleanor locked eyes with Whiteblood, she could see expression change in split seconds. Her confusion turning to confidence. Good. I’m right here! Take me!
“If you wish to die that badly!”
If one could call the beginning of the fight a dance, this would surely be a tempestuous storm. The tempo accelerated dramatically as her silver blade launched attack after attack. Silver slashes cutting at all points, at all lines. That dagger of hers lunging out like lightning. If it was against any other classmate, maybe any other person in this school.
But all blows failed to make their mark against Eleanor. The blades’ edges sailed, cutting deftly through the air but never found their mark. Clever footwork, an incredibly quick reaction and a particularly risky mindset when it came to getting stabbed all made for an open target being incredibly hard to kill. She was still ceding ground and that wall was getting closer, but the advantage was hers.
And besides, Eleanor was starting to get into Whiteblood’s head. She was starting to be able to predict the direction, the timing of the strikes. She could tell that she was getting desperate, getting winded. No one would be able to sustain this silver storm. Honestly, it was impressive that she’d done so for this long.
There! A lunge with both blades, sailing past her. Eleanor took a step, circling her, and made her first offensive move of the duel – a quick knee to Whiteblood’s stomach. A silver arc in deliverance, in retaliation aimed at her head. Once again, barely missing, perhaps cutting a few tips of her hair.
The tempo stuttered to a stop. Whiteblood’s knees buckled a little, but she remained standing. One of her swords imbedded in the ground as she held her palm towards the pain spot. The instructor held his hand out to stop the duel. She won!
“It was first blood, wasn’t it?” Whiteblood stood up and commanded her wincing pain response to stop. “I’m not bleeding, am I?”
The instructor surveyed the situation. With the almost manic expression in his eye, this was clearly beyond his expectations. Far more intense than any beginner Vesselai’s duel should have been. Far more exciting. Ideas were swirling in his head, and all sorts of curiosity spurred him to a desire onto a more definitive conclusion for this duel.
“Very well.” He spoke in a try-to-be calm tone that smothered its excitement
Whiteblood took up her sword. Once more the storm would rage as she took the few steps into striking range.
Before that Eleanor thought to herself. Hand on the sword hilt, ready to strike. Watch the opponent, their steps, their movement, their temperament. Taunt and provoke and watch it become choleric. There is a perfect moment for a counterattack. One coming in just two steps. One pace and…
Take that step and I win. With Whiteblood’s want for victory, to sate her curiosity, to protect this academy, her windedness, her desperation and so she took that step.
Eleanor inhaled.
“The mouth of the river undammed. Let it devour all in its wake.”
Eleanor drew the blade.
The sabre flowed as if a truly oceanic flow of water could finally be unleashed. Three dancing arcs of the blade. Two strikes to disrupt her offense. One slash, running with the river, launched a torrent at her opponent, knocking her off guard, unsteady.
Eleanor held the blade in a coiled stance. The flow of the river, stilled for a moment but always building, abiding. Then, it was unleashed as she lunged with the fury of the waters towards Whiteblood. Victory was…
She blocked it, an incredibly quick manifestation of a wall of fire. Her Anima control was truly special, well practiced. It still that sent her flying, her confident poise scattering. Whiteblood ended up about five minutes away from Eleanor, on her arse with a confused look about her face. But she was unharmed, unbleeding.
Then she stood back up. Victory was still to be determined. Determination, adrenaline, something else shifting her face to utter focus.
Whiteblood’s Crystone glimmered so brightly that Eleanor could see it. As if a radiant dawn was surfacing in that very cave. Something was coalescing from the tip of her blade. Something warm, something hot.
A ball of fire. The sixth sun at her whim. All her rage formed into a single manifestation of Anima.
Eleanor exhaled. She sheathed her blade.
“I’ll show you where you belong, you backwater noble!”
The ball of fire catapulted across the small distance. Impact in 5. 4. 3. 2. And…
Eleanor inhaled. She unsheathed her blade. The lightness returned as she took up a lunger’s stance and the current of the river pierced into the ball of flame.
Immense amounts of smoke, an incredibly loud noise. Eleanor could hear the cries of her classmates as they probably closed their eyes to protect themselves. Eleanor did not have that luxury but still her eyes closed out of pure reaction. The blade of water protected her for the most part, but the outer rims of its projected shield still burnt the sides of her uniform.
As soon as she felt the force of the solar flare disappear and dissipate, she charged through the distance between them. Eleanor looked and saw Whiteblood was holding her blades in an exhausted motion, idly limping by her sides. Now it was just a leap, a sword poised outward, an incredibly open chest for a target. Victory was Eleanor’s.
Then, the leap was made. Then, the sword poised outward. But then, with the heroic effort needed to divert the tide, Eleanor averted the strike so that it merely glanced against Whiteblood’s cheek. A small stream of red ran down.
A cut on her pretty face.
Gotcha. Eleanor found victory.
Unfortunately, momentum was still a thing in the world of Anshar. While it avoided skewering her silver haired rival, it flew out of Eleanor’s hand as soon as she relaxed her grip just a little bit. Thankfully, it fell only a few meters away from the audience. Whiteblood’s swords were knocked of her hands and fell harmlessly to the ground.
Oh, and she did literally leap at her rival and so Eleanor and her went tumbling down in a mess of red, silver and blue. They knocked themselves down and made a full mess of things, kicking up just a bit more dust for the road. Eleanor found herself in a position where she was essentially lying atop of her rival. Their faces were so close. Lips inches apart. Propped up by a single arm that could easily lower itself. Her rival, who so nearly lobbed her head off a moment ago was utterly helpless. Looking down, she saw:
Indignation at having lost. Exhaustion at fighting so long. Disappointment in herself. The warrior’s euphoria at a fight well fought. Adrenaline fading, reality slowly sliding back in. A slowly creeping embarrassment as she realised the position they were in and just how close this deadly, cute threat was. While she hadn’t thought it at the time, Eleanor was pretty beautiful when she was this close. Her eyes tried to look away at anything but Eleanor.
Eleanor would scream into her pillow on the night after this duel and she would blame it on the adrenaline quickly fleeting her system and she would blame it on the raging sapphic taking control of her body. And maybe she could rationalise that it wasn’t so bad. All she did was lower herself onto her rival. Nice and slowly. She heard the tiny squeak involuntarily leave her mouth, she felt her warm breath fanning across her lips, and she even saw the way her rival’s eyes closed as she prepared herself for something to happen.
Eleanor, with the heroic might of someone diverting a flood, deeply pressed her lips on her rival’s cheek. Covering them with blood.
The reaction was absolutely worth it. As Eleanor resurfaced and looked down at her once again. The narrowing and widening of her eyes as she stared in utter… well something and her small lips gulping like a fish.
“That was a good fight. But I won, didn’t I?” Eleanor taunted.
“You did. So name your price, ingrate.” Her rival spat as she was still trying to regain her composure.
“Hmm. I think I want to do this again. I think I want to be your rival.”
A moment passes. And she realises what she has to do.
Eleanor licks her lips. The taste of her rival had a particular odd palette but it was one Eleanor could tell she’d like more of.
“You…you.” Her rival sputtered and then sighed defeatedly. A look passes as the fire in her eyes kindles once more.
Her rival, helpless as she seemed, grabbed Eleanor’s cravat with her unpinned hand and tugged her down. Down in such a way, where she could breathe one last secret on Eleanor’s ear.
“Okay.”
The widest smile broke on Eleanor’s face. Maybe these days at this school wouldn’t be so bad.
Suddenly, her rival pushed Eleanor off with a fury that seemed to rediscover its strength. Eleanor rolled off to the side, laughing, as her rival stood up, failed to stand up and then stood up.
“You are an in-in,” She pointed at Eleanor in an accusatory motion.
“What? Intimidating? Incomparable? Intensely skilled? Intensely cute?” Eleanor propped herself up and looked at the mess she made of her. A prim and proper lady, stuttering. How uncouth one may say.
“An incorrigible, backwater dimwit who just happened to get lucky! You will rue the day when you decided to pes-bot, fuck it, mess with Jane of the House Agnes!”
Another moment passes. She realises what she has to do.
“Oh! So that’s your name. Sorry I didn’t quite catch it the first time.” Eleanor smiles at her indignant rival so widely it hurts.
Ever one for retaliation, Jane walks over to kneel over Eleanor and socks her right in the stomach.