The days at Kaelmor slipped by with the steady rhythm of morning bells and quiet sunsets. The temple, nestled deep in the forested hills, felt detached from the outside world—as if it existed beyond time. Shakes had been at the temple for a week now, and though the place was peaceful, the training had tested him in ways he hadn't expected.
His training focused solely on developing keen sensory perception—heightening his awareness of the world around him without relying on sight or sound alone. There were no flashy powers here, no fire to rely on. This was about instinct, concentration, and mental discipline. And at first, Shakes struggled.
The exercises were simple in structure but exhausting in practice. He would sit in the middle of a wide clearing, blindfolded, while the others took turns walking silently around him. His task: point to where they were and describe their movements. He failed often. Too slow, too inaccurate. The others made it look easy, even boring. For someone as sharp as Shakes, the frustration bit deep. He knew he was smart, fast even—but this was something else. It wasn't just about being alert. It was about knowing without seeing.
One late afternoon, after a failed session, Shakes sat alone at the edge of the courtyard, elbows on knees, sweat trailing down his jawline. The breeze was cool. The leaves overhead whispered. That's when someone sat beside him without a word.
The boy was older, maybe by a few years. Quiet, lean, and calm. He looked forward, not even glancing at Shakes.
"You're trying too hard to see," he said simply. "It's not about trying. It's about listening with your body."
Shakes glanced at him, skeptical. "You some kind of monk?"
The boy smirked. "Nah. Just someone who used to miss everything too. But the moment I stopped forcing it... I started catching things I didn't even know were there."
Shakes didn't respond right away, but the words stuck.
The next few days, something shifted. Shakes stopped trying to predict where others were. Instead, he let himself feel the pressure of space, the subtle movements in the wind, the pattern of footfalls on the earth. Slowly, his responses grew sharper. His finger would shoot out, pointing to a movement before anyone made a sound. His posture straightened. His breath slowed. He was tuning into something deeper.
Master Shiin watched from a distance, rarely offering praise. But his eyes tracked Shakes closely.
Then came the final test.
A courtyard filled with students stood in a wide circle. One by one, they stepped forward to duel Master Shiin. It was a tradition—each student faced the master with wooden swords and blindfolds before moving on. None of them had ever landed a hit on him. A few passed, judged on control and progress, but Shiin always stood untouched.
Shakes stood at the end of the line. He watched the fights closely. Each was quick, technical, and decisive. Shiin never took more than thirty seconds to disarm them. A tap to the leg. A twist of the wrist. Down they went.
Then it was Shakes' turn.
He stepped into the ring in his training robe, wooden sword in hand. One of the seniors handed him a long strip of cloth. No vision. Just sense.
Shakes tied it over his eyes without hesitation.
The students murmured.
"Give me everything you've got, Burnedead," came Master Shiin's voice.
Shakes adjusted his stance. "You asked for it."
They clashed.
At first, it was brutal. Shiin moved like a phantom—fast, fluid, and deadly precise. Shakes barely kept up. Every blow that landed left a bruise. The wooden blade cracked against his ribs, his shoulder, his thigh.
"Use your senses!" Shiin barked.
Shakes took a breath. Then another. He steadied himself. Let the world go quiet.
No vision.
Only space.
Only sound.
Only instinct.
Shiin rushed forward again, this time leaping high for a downward strike meant to end it.
But in that moment, Shakes moved.
He stepped aside just before impact. The blade missed. And in the same instant, Shakes spun, swept his own wooden sword in a perfect arc—and slammed Master Shiin to the ground.
The courtyard fell silent.
It was two impossible things: a blindfolded student landing a hit... and dropping Master Shiin.
"He—he got him!"
"No way! He actually brought down Master Shiin!"
"Is he even human?!"
Shiin lay there for a moment, then pushed himself up with a small, amazed smile.
"Well," he said, brushing off his robes. "You've passed."
Shakes stood still, breathing evenly.
Later that day, after the final ceremony, Shakes changed back into his signature black robe as they prepared to leave. The fabric felt right—familiar, worn, like home. As he stepped into the open courtyard, he offered a respectful nod to a few students and turned to Master Shiin.
"Thank you," Shakes said plainly.
Shiin, arms folded, gave a small nod in return. "You've got sharp instincts. Don't let them dull."
And then—Master Tharion stepped forward from the edge of the crowd.
With calm, deliberate hands, the old man held something out, wrapped in cloth and tied with a leather strap.
Severflame.
The blade.
Gasps filled the courtyard.
"What?! That's his blade?"
"Wait—this guy's a legend. No wonder he dropped Master Shiin!"
"No way he's just a normal student..."
Shakes took Severflame with quiet reverence. As soon as his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the sword hummed faintly—as if it too had missed him. A subtle, almost living sound.
He smiled slightly.
"Good to see you too," he whispered.
Then, wrapping the blade, he slid it into place across his back, where it belonged.
Master Tharion gave him a nod. "Let's move, Burnedead."
They boarded the train bound for Whistlehollow in quiet. Shakes sat near the window, watching the world blur past. A new path was unfolding. One trial down. More to come. He had missed home. He felt the times with his friends who were like family to him. He then gave a smile and said, "You guys just wait. Wait for me I would be coming back soon".
That night, back in his room at Whistlehollow, he sat at his desk. He picked up a quill and inked a letter. Short. Quiet. But filled with weight.
He tied it to a delivery bird and watched it soar into the dusk.
Far away, Emberwatch Fortress glowed under a rising sun. A bird swept down to a tall tower and perched by a window.
A hand reached out.
The letter was taken.
And somewhere in the halls of the fortress... someone smiled.
To be continued...