Tech Era Gift Bearer

Year 23121

Month of Mashen

Thoren Belfry

(Age: 1,057)

Distilled light decorated the grass, shifting at the will and pleasure of the wind. Thoren shook off the fatigue. It had been a while since he had to resort to weaves.

“Getting tired, old man?” Tristin teased.

“Hardly.”

Thoren crouched slightly, his thighs burned, but he pushed past his physical exhaustion and dug into the core of his inner well. Twisting his hands in rhythmic flow, he called out the weave.

“Veisis Gaiza!”

Air rushed past him, building in force as it moved across the field, aimed at Tristin. Impact. Thoren chuckled as Tristin was thrown several feet back, landing hard. He groaned and rolled over, standing and facing Thoren with a determined glare.

“Oh it’s on!”

Fire erupted from Tristin’s left arm. It shifted and condensed quickly until several tight balls of fire circled him. Tristin’s natural connection with the Gift still astounded Thoren. It moved fluently with Tristin, following his movements. Tristin closed in.

Thoren felt the heat with each ball he dodged, each one closer than he’d like. He took hold of his short staff strapped to his back. Pulling it out, he landed a hit to the incoming fireball. Tristin ran now, the space between them a few yards. Thoren then noticed the heat of the fireball he had hit was still present. The fireball melted, passing around the staff and continued on its course toward him.

“Sasaldēt!”

Ice encased the fire and it fell to the ground. Time to go offensive. Thoren took a deep breath and sped towards Tristin. He lifted his staff, both hands on either end, and shoved it upwards into Tristin’s chest, causing him to stumble backward a few steps. Pulling back, Thoren pressed the release trigger and his staff broke in two. With a part in each hand, he swung repeatedly at Tristin. He blocked most of Thoren’s throws.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Tristin smiled despite the hits he was taking.

Thoren pulled back. “Can you handle more?”

“Give me all you’ve got! I can take it!”

You think you can. He steadied his breathing, the ends of each staff pointed at Tristin from his crouched position.

“Aptirēt Kistību,” Thoren reconnected his staff and placed it on his back.

“No fair!” Tristin stood frozen in place.

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong. In battle, your opponent will not be fighting on the basis of what is fair. So how do you get out of it?” Thoren began pacing around him.

“If my biggest opponent in a fight is weaves…” He closed his eyes in thought. “Apspiest!” His eyes shot open and his body broke free of the weave that held him in place. “Ha ha! I remembered! You didn’t think I would, did you?”

“Good! But, Nevizot Netrimus!” Thoren waved his hand at the ground.

Tristin shouted out as he fell.

Thoren folded his arms and looked down at Tristin, sunken up to his shoulders in the ground. He crouched down, balancing on his toes and resting his arms on his knees.

“You let your guard down. Enough for today.” He reached out and patted Tristin’s shaggy blond hair.

He withheld a laugh as he stood, turned and left.

“Wait! Thoren! Are you serious!”

“If you are so good at recalling what I’ve taught you, you will get out of there yourself.” He called back. “If not, I’m sure a passing weaver will be willing to help you out.” He waved casually, his back still turned to him. “I’ll see you at the heart stone after supper.”

He walked a fair ways away, taking turns to keep Tristin from tracking him. It took a few minutes, but Thoren made his way around and took a seat at a nearby bench, watching Tristin from afar. Tristin grunted and shouted out a curse here and there. Thoren shook his head.

“What is all the racket?” The familiar voice of Durkquire sounded from behind.

Durkquire leaned on the backrest of the bench. He watched Tristin a moment then looked at Thoren, his eyebrows raised. He sighed, ready to deliver his opinion.

“This your idea of training?”

“Just wait a bit, would you?” Thoren folded his arms. “He’s so naturally gifted. He can figure out almost any physical attack pattern before the attacker can finish the combination. However, when it comes to weaves, he struggles to recall them. Maybe you should work with him on that.” He twisted to look back at him. “Weaves are your expertise.”

“Maybe. Though I think there is still much he can learn from you.” Durkquire walked around and took a seat beside him. “Once a weaver’s well is spent, all you have left are your physical skills.”

“Indeed, and that would be the case for many fights, but I wonder sometimes if hand-to-hand is really needed anymore. With all the technological advances made in the last century…rumor has it, there’s an energy-based plasma cannon now.”

“I have heard that. I can only imagine what such a weapon would do.” He shook his head. “I’m surprised Marmidon has allowed such things.”

“Is it really getting to that point again?” Thoren hated to think a Calamity would be the result of such advances.

“The design for that weapon came from Kern. It was stolen by Narimond and has now made its way into Marmeada. Tensions are only on the rise between the nations. Petty war breeds hate, only adding to the imbalance.”

“The temperament of humans.” Thoren looked back at Tristin, surprised to see him dusting the dirt off himself. “Ah, see there. Worked his way out of it, but still steaming like a kettle.”

Durkquire chuckled. “His temperament can be worked on, sure, but he looks up to you, you know. The Gift woke only a month ago and he’s progressing well.” Durkquire yawned. “Marmidon will have a say in these wars emerging, mark my words.” He stood and left.

“Indeed she will.”