Chapter 23
We find the seats allocated to Zenith Wing and sit down together, ready for the knowledge of today’s lessons to be imparted to us.
A large figure walks out onto the stage; he’s tall, broad-shouldered, with leathery skin and a buzzcut that makes his large, curly Angora horns appear even more menacing.
His mink-colored skin is strewn with battle scars.
His deep slate eyes match Vex’s, and they have a distant familial resemblance to their face. Perhaps an uncle?
I glance over to Vex, who actually looks studious for once. Her face is sketched in longing for approval, shaded in fear. He must be someone important to her.
“This is Warrior Physics, and I’m the unfortunate soul who gets to teach it to you.
” His voice is rough, bellowing and abrading against the marble walls.
“Name’s Reginald Hadron, but it’s Professor Hadron to you lot.
If you want to survive out there, then this class is just as important as sparring and battle magic.
If you waste my time, I will kick you out and let the others eat you alive using the skills they gain from my training.
” His commanding tone leaves no one questioning his threat.
“The physics of battle is a complex interplay of forces, motion, and energy, each governing the dynamics of conflict. In this class, I will teach you how to bend these principles to your will, giving you a sharp edge to wield in battle. Especially if your Wing plans to win the Fortress Battle at the end of this academic year.” Excited murmurs regarding his last comment build into a low hum.
Professor Reginald stomps his foot. The room instantly falls to silence.
“When a warrior swings their sword, the kinetic energy generated is merely a product of their mass times the velocity of the blade, equaling their lethality upon impact. Similarly, the trajectory of an arrow is dictated by gravitational forces and air resistance, which affect its range and accuracy.”
Professor Hadron pauses, whipping a bow from his back, slinging an arrow into place.
“One must account for these as they nock their arrow to their bow, mobilizing the potential energy from tension, pulled taut in the bowstring.” The arrow releases, piercing a target on the side of the stage with such momentum, the stand tumbles over.
My eyes widen at his strength before I go back to jotting down notes.
“When two forces collide, momentum and impulse come to play with the outcome determined again by the mass, speed, and angle of collision. An object in motion stays in motion, or that motion is transferred to another object. If you don’t understand momentum and force trajectories, even being bonded to a dragon won’t save you.
In the air, casting magic without considering Knights’ movements around you will end in you slaughtering members of your own Wing. Doing the Wuvon’s objective for them.”
Professor Reginald Hadron snaps his finger as an illusion of the Blackwood forms on stage around him. Haunted black trees twist and screech upward to a crimson canopy.
“The battlefield itself is an arena of friction, where the very ground beneath your feet can be harnessed by the Wuvon to give them the upper hand, leading you into their well-laid traps.” The illusion of the forest shifts around him, vines lashing out as tree branches grasp for him, coming alive with vengeance.
“Understanding these physical principles enables combatants to exploit weaknesses, anticipate enemy movements, and maximize their own efficacy as they transform the fight into a calculated dance of force and energy.”
The physics of combat was one of my favorite topics for Sully to review.
I scribble endlessly as Professor Hadron continues.
Even though I know much of it already, there’s always more to learn.
I’m able to visualize the transfer of energy, see the manipulation of the forces, adjusting and accounting for the different elements of nature that could hinder me in battle.
I’m almost in tune with the physics around me when I’m fighting; it’s just something that’s carved deep into my bones.
The rest of the classes of the morning drag on, and I realize just how weak I am.
All I’ve done is sit and listen, yet my body groans for rest. It’s unsettling to be so powerless when I’ve spent so many years training to never feel that way again.
Yet, with time and continued training, I’ll get back to my former self.
I praise the Celestials that we don’t have another round of sparring until next week. I never thought I’d be thankful to not have my favorite class, but I’m in no shape to enjoy the adrenaline or the challenge.
Lunch comes, and S?las never leaves my side, yet he’s eerily silent. None of the typically obnoxious, flirtatious banter I’ve come to expect from him. He doesn’t even bother to look at me. His focus is elsewhere, like a shadow panther on the hunt, stalking its prey.
I imagine he’s searching for Chet, but he and his lackeys are nowhere to be found. His change in demeanor is unsettling. I never thought I’d say this, but I think I might actually prefer his reckless, flirty side to this focused silence.
Afternoon classes start, and Kissa stays close by my side. It’s strange having no alone time, but at least Kissa and I seem to understand each other. She never insists on filling silence with idle small talk, one of the many things I’ve grown to appreciate about her.
Instead of battle magic in the Warded Hollow, we have a guest lecturer from the frontlines coming to speak to us.
Our afternoon class is held on the top floor.
The ceiling is the domed gold of the central building of Gildorea.
The circular room is filled with tables, aligning the center dais made of crystal to let the light flow to the grand conservatory below.
The circular pattern of tables is broken up by a central passageway from the door to the heart of the room.
The space is intimate due to the rainbow-colored lighting that paints everything, radiating from artistic stained glass set in gothic arched windows.
A smile curls at my lips. The colors reflecting throughout the white marble construction are alive and vibrant.
The display reminds me of a time when I felt that way.
Before I lost Sully. Before my heart shattered and pieced itself together, not quite right, before I encased it back in ice.
Before I left a bunch of vulnerable bits for S?las to peck at until he found the right time to stab me where it hurt most. I roll my shoulder, brushing the memories aside.
From this view, I can see the terracing levels of Gildorea. Sometimes, I wonder how they managed to find enough white marble to build this enormous campus. I shudder to think about the poor souls who had to carve it out of the earth and then haul it here.
“It’s my pleasure to take a day of reprieve to give you updates from the frontlines of Cascara. My name is Captain Maya Maza.”
She’s Mao, like Kissa. Her undone tangerine hair sweeps over her shoulders with petite ears peeking out, marked by golden piercings.
She has chocolate-colored fur, with orange stripes instead of spots.
Rainbow irises encircle her black slit pupils.
A wrapped-up whip sits on one hip and a chakram circular blade on the other.
Sickle blades glint over her back. She picks her teeth with a bone, a pure warrior presence cascading off her; she’s a force to be reckoned with.
“I will not lie to you. The Wuvon advance the Blackwood every day, despite our efforts to keep them at bay. This is why the Bloodline magic we foster here is more important than ever. We need warriors and even stronger magic wielders to keep them back. We lost an Ellian Knight this week at the fortress of Mysthold fending off a horde of monsters that climbed the walls. They killed his bonded creature before he could take to the air. Despite his years of combat, he was quickly overrun, separated from his other Wing members.” Captain Maza’s jaw clenches, lips almost twitching into a snarl before she swipes her claws into her hair, pushing it back, gaining her composure once more.
“The Wuvon who attacked seemed to sense his isolation, focusing all the monsters on him. After they had nearly eaten him alive, leaving his mental shields vulnerable, a pale female shrouded in darkness sauntered in, lifting him off the ground. The rest of us arrived to see the last of his bones breaking before she disappeared into black mist. The monsters that had heeled while she finished her torture then descended on us. By the time we got to his body, he was unrecognizable.” Her gaze becomes hollow, grappling against the haunting memory she’s struggling to wrangle.
It’s very uncommon for the Wuvon to directly assault a stronghold without extending the Blackwood closer to the grounds of the building. This attack is so odd, bubbling my brewing thoughts aloud without even thinking.
“There has to be a reason for the Wuvon to attack the stronghold. They normally keep the fight in Blackwood, or at least on the borderlands of the wilds that surround them, where their magic is the strongest. It doesn’t make strategic sense to risk themselves out in the open like that.
Mysthold is at least six hundred paces from the wilds and even further from the Blackwood. ”
“A very astute observation, Ensign Savaé. I see ex-Commander Sully Stonewall trained you well.” Captain Maza’s compliment prickles the back of my eyes with tears, which I blink right out my mosaic window as she continues, “While they have extended the Blackwood closer to Mysthold by about two hundred paces, you are correct: that’s still too far for them to typically risk an attack.
They seemed to counter this exposure with over a hundred monsters, overwhelming the infantry quickly.
The only survivors were those who made it to the skies.
As for the Wuvon who walked the corridors, it appears she stole several maps and scrolls from the executive officer stationed there.
Obviously, all correspondence and maps are coded so she won’t get much, but it’s clear they were willing to take a big risk looking for something. ”
A male Pesche with merlot-colored scales that glisten on the pronounced ridge of his scalp is next to speak. “Have we sent any Scouting Rogues or Spycraft lieutenants into known camps of the Wuvon to determine what the female is looking for?”
With a feline smile displaying her sharp canines, Captain Maza responds, “I know, you know, that is classified, Ensign. Rest assured: we are doing everything possible to investigate this new behavior and prevent future aggressions such as this.” It’s clear from her tone no more questions on the topic will be answered.
Another ensign asks about the scariest monster she’s ever seen, but I’m too distracted by thoughts of what they could be possibly looking for.
I tap Atlas on the shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Have there been other attacks like this?”
He twists around, brows pinched in annoyance by my interruption. “No. If they truly are looking for something or someone, this will not be the first attack of its kind.” He shushes me off with a wave of his hand, implying he’s done talking about this here.
What did he mean by ‘someone’? He clearly knows more than he’s letting on. Luckily, I know he’s interested in Pip; hopefully, I can use the time he wants to investigate him to further suss out whatever he’s hiding.
Frustration suddenly licks up the seams of my composure.
The Zenith want my unyielding trust but seem not to trust me.
I let out an exasperated huff in Atlas’s direction, crossing my arms. To be fair, I haven’t been the most forthcoming, nor have I done anything to earn their trust. Surely, saving my life and taking care of me for the last three days merits the trust they’re asking for?
Earning their trust is a challenge I am willing to take on.