The Shattered Crowns

"And you will not have time for those lessons," Jassin said firmly, "as my ward, the blade is law."

Akash nodded, his exhaustion evident but his resolve unbroken.

Jassin's expression softened slightly. "It is time to rest. I would not have you injure yourself through sheer stubbornness."

Fallen's deep voice rumbled as he stepped forward. "Then, allow me to spar with the Oathsworn after his break."

Jassin's sharp eyes studied the towering figure before him. Fallen, a man of steel and sinew, stood a full half-person taller than most men. His presence exuded raw power, and even Jassin, a veteran of countless battles, couldn't help but measure him carefully before giving a nod.

"It will be good for him to face new opponents," Jassin agreed. "Perhaps my styles have become too familiar to him."

Akash, slumped on the ground with his sword lying at his side, let out a laugh between ragged breaths. "You're going to regret saying that, Fallen."

The Ukari warrior tilted his head slightly, his voice cool and confident. "Perhaps. Just remember that when you're on the ground."

Fallen glanced at the other Ukari standing nearby. "Godric might be willing to spar with you as well."

Godric, a more composed and measured figure, shook his head. "My blade is not suited for mere sparring. To even risk damaging the Oathsworn would be dishonorable—"

"Then perhaps not," Fallen interrupted, sparing everyone the start of a lengthy monologue.

Akash collapsed fully onto the dirt, sweat soaking his skin as the sun blazed above. Jassin tossed him a satchel of water, and Akash drank greedily, the cool liquid offering some relief.

Elys padded over, the saber-toothed tiger sprawling beside him. "Ah, Elys!" Akash groaned, shoving at the great cat half-heartedly. "I don't need your fur all over me right now. You're too warm to cuddle."

Elys ignored him entirely and began licking the shallow cuts that had mostly closed, the roughness of her tongue making Akash wince.

Jassin, standing in the shade with arms crossed, spoke with a rare note of praise. "You have done well so far, Akash. A few more years, and you may even challenge my mastery of the blade."

Akash raised an eyebrow, still catching his breath. "A few years? I don't have a few years."

Jassin drew his Annealed blade, the weapon glinting with unnatural sharpness as he traced its edge with a thumb. "I was much the same at your age. Impatient. Hungry to prove myself." A faint smile tugged at his lips as he gazed into the distance. "Ah, those snowy fields of Cordia. Back then, I wielded an axe made from a karnen claw."

"An axe?" Akash blurted, incredulous. "But all those lectures about swords—the obsession with balance, precision, perfection—"

Jassin held up a finger, cutting him off. "—are still true. But I was young. Foolish. I hadn't yet met my master. Cordia is not kind to steel swords. Their blades frost over, and their pommels crack in the biting cold."

Akash nodded faintly, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "It was the same in my village. We used daggers and bows. Too many trees, too many roots. Anything longer than a forearm was more of a hindrance than a help."

"You were fortunate to have a wise village leader," Jassin remarked.

Akash's lips tightened, his gaze lowering to the dirt. "She was something. But Daenys would've been better."

Jassin tilted his head. "A friend of yours?"

"Yes," Akash said quietly. "She and Mirak are lost to me now, but I'll find them. I promised I would." His voice grew softer as he added, almost to himself, "I hope they're doing well. Mirak could be a full-blown sorcerer by now. Daenys might even be leading a nation. I need to keep my promise."

Jassin's grip on Akash's arm was firm yet steady, grounding. "You finally understand."

"Understand what?" Akash asked, his brow furrowing.

Jassin's dark eyes held a strange sadness. "The drive. The need to live up to something—or someone—that pushes you beyond your limits. It's what defines every true Blademaster of Cordia. Your friends may achieve greatness, and the desire to match their heights will keep you sharp. It will force you to strive for mastery."

"And yours?" Akash asked, realization dawning. "What's your drive?"

For a moment, Jassin's expression tightened. Then, he dodged the question with practiced ease. "Nothing as peaceful as yours."

A silence stretched between them, the relentless heat pressing down on the training ground. Finally, Jassin spoke again, his voice low and deliberate. "Hold on to that dream of finding your friends, Akash. Every time you raise your blade, let it remind you that a single mistake could mean the death of that dream. That kind of focus… that kind of obsession… is what transforms swordsmen into legends."

Akash nodded, his throat dry. "I'll do it."

For the first time, Jassin allowed himself a smile. He raked his raven-black hair into a knot, tying it back from his face. "Good. But be cautious, Akash. You and Vyn may be close, but the Sovrans are not to be trusted. Each one schemes to earn Dante's favor. It would reflect poorly on me if my ward fell in his first battle because he followed foolish advice and exposed himself."

"And Veneres?" Akash asked. "Vyn hates him."

"Loathe might be a better term," Jassin replied. "But yes, Veneres is different from the rest of us. He's the only knight among the Dauntless, which gives him significant sway with the Sovrans and the Coven. Many believe he'll lead the company once Dante steps down. But Vyn… Vyn sees things others don't. That makes him a valuable ally, if he's your friend."

Jassin handed Akash a practice sword, signaling the end of the conversation. Akash turned toward Fallen with a holler. "You ready to lose, Fallen?"

The hulking Ukari moved with surprising agility. His massive scythe blocked Akash's opening thrust with ease, the ring of steel on steel echoing across the yard. Before Akash could react, he was on the ground, Fallen's strength overwhelming him.

Groaning, Akash forced himself up. His blade clashed again with Fallen's scythe, but every swing was swatted aside as if it were nothing.

"A certain type of focus is key, Akash," Mirak's voice echoed in his memory. "When I read, I immerse myself fully. I picture myself there, living the lesson."

Akash adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity. Adapt, Daenys' voice chimed in his mind. If you're battered down, stand, shift, and change. That's how plans succeed.

He murmured to himself, "Measure a thousand times, and cut once." The words of the First God King of Reem flowed from his lips like a mantra. He adjusted his grip, his feet steadying in the dirt.

Fallen moved faster than seemed possible for his towering frame, his scythe carving the air with deadly precision. But Akash countered with a flick of his blade, deflecting the arc of the scythe and pivoting into a reverse stab. Though the attack was blocked, it marked a shift in the fight.

Blow after blow, Akash's movements grew fluid, almost instinctive. His strikes became sharper, his defenses more precise. He was no longer merely reacting—he was embodying something older, something rooted in the sands beneath his feet. The rhythm of Reem itself seemed to guide him.

But Fallen was no ordinary opponent. His scythe came down in a brutal arc, shattering Akash's blade and stopping just short of his neck.

Jassin stepped forward, studying Akash with narrowed eyes. "That style… why have you never shown it before?"

Godric, the Ukari with the longsword, answered before Akash could speak. "The sword style of Cerastes, the First God King. I thought it had been lost."

"Cerastes?" Akash asked, confused.

Godric nodded gravely. "A serpent that swam through the sands of Reem long before the desert became a kingdom. Cerastes' strikes were swift, hidden, and deadly—like yours just now."

Jassin rose, brushing the sand from his hands. "Akash, you'll stay here to perfect this style. When the sun sets and the Lunar Storms rise, you'll ride to rejoin the company. Tomorrow, there will be no training. We'll be nearing the Spire."