Weight of Worlds

Grev, Sansir and Esmund told him the next morning, that he’d been walking around with a block of ice covering his nose. Which was according to them a ‘note-worthy’ sight, and to seemingly everyone else hilarious.

By the time he got to his warp class, it felt like everyone knew about it. Mutters of ‘Cold-front’ permeated the field. Most of the students weren’t staring at him, but the occasional glances and whispered comments was more than distraction enough.

He barely got anything done that class. After physical his nose had started throbbing again, a sensation that lingered through lunch and into warp. It was enough of reminder, without people commenting on it to their friends, or calling him Cold-front.

When Ranvir went to weapons training, it wasn’t even quiet murmurs of whispering anymore, he outright heard someone yell, “Look it’s Cold-front.”

He went through the motions of sword training. He did as instructed but without trying. He didn’t register the feedback the Masters gave him, nor did they seem intent on forcing the implementation.

Purple black dread filled him as they moved to the sparring segment. He’d hoped Master Stjarna would pull him out, but the healer didn’t seem so inclined. Instead, he was immediately challenged by a whip-thin man, who was nearly a head taller than Ranvir.

Reluctantly agreeing, he stepped into the ring with his opponent. They squared off. His opponent was faster than him and had better reach. Fortunately, he suffered from the same issue the angry giant Ranvir’d fought yesterday, though he wasn’t nearly as strong.

In the end, the sword in Ranvir’s hand betrayed him. After a clash the handle tore into his palm, ripping open one of his long built callouses. The cold burn of the torn skin, distracting him, Ravnir was too slow to react and his opponent nailed him on the shoulder. The purple black dread seemed to fit him, like a well-worn shoe, as he left the obsidian circle. He’d barely made it two steps, before someone else was challenging ‘Cold-front’.

Ranvir felt a little better after their bout. It was an easy win. This opponent was bulkier, but smaller than Ranvir. He was also wide open. Determining his intentions were less like reading a book, and more like listening to someone reading it aloud.

Someone else had already stepped in, before Ranvir had a chance to leave the ring.

In the end, Ranvir lost more than he won, though he didn’t get caught in the nose again, thankfully.

Neither did Dovar come to condescend towards him. Not that Ranvir thought he should’ve been there at all. Dovar wasn’t just at class, he seemed to have developed a bit of a following. Apparently, sucker punching your fellow student was good for your standing, at the academy.

Dovar hadn’t been punished for attacking Ranvir. Grev wouldn’t tell him the details, but apparently he hadn’t gotten in trouble at all.

Ranvir considered going to Teacher Vigo for an explanation, but in the end, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

Instead, he simply felt happy to retire to the dorm, with his friends. He felt attention, like black knife hovering over his neck, as he watched his friends play chess. Sansir was surprisingly the better player. Chess was generally considered a noble’s game. The only board Ranvir had been aware of in the village, had been owned by two old men who didn’t share.

Another day passed, attention and whispered words dragging Ranvir down, like the anchor of a boat. Dragging him down where blue water turned black, from the lack of light.

He was only ever free, for a few seconds at a time. Most noticeably at the end of the morning jog, when everyone was too exhausted to pay much attention to anything. Or at least he was.

Weapon class was the worst. They had, on order of Teacher Vigo, relented, allowing him some space. Space that only seemed to make them more eager to discuss him. They appeared to have set up a bracket, for the right to challenge him. Which meant he was consistently facing stronger opponent, dragging the experience even further down.

The third day after Dovar broke his nose, Ranvir was sitting in the cafeteria before warp with his friends. They were talking idly, about their day so far. There was enough of a murmur, that he couldn’t pick out any specific words from his surroundings. Even though he still felt the attention like a malicious red presence, hovering just behind him. Sitting just at the edge of his peripheral vision. Enough to be noticed without revealing itself.

“How’s weapons going?” Esmund asked, nudging Ranvir with his hip.

He looked up in time to see both Grev and Sansir wince, though they quickly handled their expression.

“I’m gonna quit.” Ranvir tried to keep his voice even, though he heard the quiver as much as he felt it. “It’s not worth it. I’m barely learning anything, the people there are shit-”

“Ouch!” Grev interrupted, before he could go on.

Wincing, Ranvir spoke up, “I didn’t mean you guys.”

“We know.” Sansir said. He reached across the table, his long arm crossing the space easily, as he clapped Ranvir on the shoulder. “It’s not exactly been easy on you.”

“It could’ve been better.” Grev added. “But you’re also not being fair. You’ve been training with the sword for how long?”

Ranvir hesitated before speaking up. “This is the fourth day.”

“But you’re not getting better?”

“I, I don’t thin-“

“Of course you are. Five days ago, you’d never even wielded a sword. You probably didn’t even know about edge alignment, and I guarantee you’d never been in a fight before.”

Ranvir blinked at his friend’s onslaught of words. “I guess you’re right, but- How do you know that I haven’t been in a fight?”

Grev’s expression made it clear that he thought that much was obvious. “You literally insulted the biggest and best fighter in our class.”

“I did not pick that fight!” Ranvir exclaimed, leaning over the table. The red presence was gone, overwhelmed by a boiling tide of black pain and crimson anger, rising from his stomach.

His friend tapped the table. “I saw you two talking. I figured something was going to go wrong, so I made my way over. I couldn’t stop it, but I heard most of your conversation.”

“He was being a dick! I stood up for myself!”

“No, he wasn’t Ranvir. He was standing up for himself. You were acting like an ass. And when you called him a ‘Godless piece of trash’, he responded with proper force.”

Ranvir stood up fully, shoving the bench back, even as Esmund sat on it. “He broke my nose!”

“He could’ve hit you a lot harder.” Grev was getting agitated too. “I don’t know what kind of hero story you’re telling yourself. Listen to me when I say this: It fits Dovar better. He was fighting grown men, when he was fourteen. What were you doing, when you were fourteen?”

Ranvir grit his teeth staring down his friend. Boiling red and black tide was making his skin itch, forcing him to squeeze his fist until it hurt.

“Alright, time to go. Time to leave.” Esmund said, grabbing Ranvir arm. Ranvir resisted his pulling, glaring at Grev.

“Ask anybody, Ranvir.” Grev said. His face was flush, but his voice sounded easy and smooth. “They’ll tell you what I just said. Someone picked that fight, and it wasn’t Dovar.”

Ranvir stopped trying to fight Esmund, letting himself get pulled away.

“Can you believe him?” Ranvir rubbed aggressively against a spot on his uniform, pushing against it hard. They were striding across a series of unoccupied fields. Or rather, Esmund was strolling, Ranvir was furiously stomping.

Esmund gave his friend a long look, one Ranvir had trouble understanding. “He’s…” He stopped again to consider his words, which made Ranvir pause. Esmund rarely, if ever, took more than a second to think over the words escaping his mouth. “He’s not entirely wrong.”

“Yo-“

Esmund held up a hand, shushing him. “Let me finish!” His friend’s assertive tone was a rare enough occasion, that it actually made him stop. “He’s not wrong. I wasn’t there, when Dovar and you fought.”

Ranvir glared at the ground, at those words. There really hadn’t been a fight, which didn’t make it any better.

“But I’ve known you since we were seven.” Esmund continued. “He doesn’t know he took it too far, but you also took it too personally.”

“Me?”

“Yes! You!” Esmund shoved him away slightly. “After your mother got hurt, you’ve had a history of taking innocent comments, as insults. And I mean well beyond their original intent or meaning.”

Ranvir grit his teeth, the boiling tide nearly frothing over. “That’s no-“

“You’re doing it now!” Esmund cut him off, once more.

Black and crimson boiled so hard he felt it might actually escape, and color the world in his anger and pain. Ranvir stared his longest and closest friend down. Esmund was utterly unfazed.

“Many of us understood you, but even now—years after your mother’s accident—it’s still happening. I’m not saying that Dovar was trying to be nice, maybe he was trying to pick a fight. All I’m saying is to take a long hard look at yourself.” Esmund stopped putting a hand on Ranvir’s shoulder. “You’re my friend. My brother.”

Some of heat behind the boiling tide faded, at Esmund’s words. You’re wrong… But he didn’t say it out loud. Instead, he embraced his friend. His brother.

After that Esmund headed off to talk with Grev and Sansir, while Ranvir walked the fields some more.

He’s not right. I know he’s not. I was there. I heard him. He’s been mocking me from day one. Ranvir thought. He paused next to the low wall surrounding the academy.

From this side of the complex the usual forest had been replaced with fields on rolling hills, being worked by farmhands. The green crop stood tall and proud covering the land before him. He could see the waves of the wind, as it played through the long stalks.

It was so close to familiar, but the fields were too big and the weather too warm. Like home, although not quite. But as he watched the farmhands wander the fields, and the wind rushing around them, he could forget.

Echoing thunder rocked his world. For a second, it seemed like noise even touched the vegetation of the farms. Then Ranvir wasn’t so certain, it was probably the wind. Unfortunately, the defeaning boom was not the wind, but it broke the spell very effectively. He turned away from the fields of make-believe, turning his eyes on the black tower rising in the center of the academy.

He realized he was clenching the necklace, through his uniform. “Another class.” Ranvir paused, thoughts of sitting down in another class filled his being. Hearing whispers of Cold-front, the murmured rumors, and the staring.

It filled him with lake bottom black exhaustion. There weren’t any other students in his vicinity. Sure there were a few field hands that might see him, but he doubted they would interfere.

Putting both hands on the top of the wall, he stepped onto the stone bottom, then vaulted over the wooden fence. His thumped into the soft grass on the other side, outside of the academy. There was a few hundred yards of distance between the academy and where the fields began.

He looked back over the fence, almost expecting a master to come running out and telling him off. After a moment, he let out a long breath. He slumped down, leaning against the wall. The act hid him completely from anybody looking out from the academy.

Ranvir didn’t sleep as he rested against the wall. As much as the idea of following Esmund’s argument appealed to him—in the sense that he’s a dear friend—he also didn’t linger on his interaction with Dovar.

He just… took a break. From the staring and the whispers. A couple hours, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone looking for him.

He actually spent a lot of the time with his tether, searching for the elusive feeling of power escaping, or at least wanting to escape. After long hours of sitting alone, yet completely focused, he registered the bell ringing once more.

Cautiously, he peaked over the top of the wall. Right into a black clothed chest. It was accented with simple, but elegant patterns of white. Turning his glance up, he already recognized the uniform of a master, though he hoped it wasn’t someone he knew.

“Ah, good.” Svenar’s icy-blue voice rang out, in the bell deadened air. “Student Ranvir, I’ve been meaning to talk with you.”

“M-master.” Ranvir said, straightening and bowing, nearly knocking his head against the fence. “Teacher Svenar, sir.”

Ranvir walked alongside Svenar. His teacher didn’t look at him, not even a glance in his direction. Even his stride, somehow, didn’t even acknowledge him. He simply walked like Ranvir wasn’t there at all.

The silence was oppressing. Like a thick gray blanket suppressing Ranvir’s every move and thought.

He wetted his lips to speak, but even the thought of speaking seemed to close his throat up.

“I can understand why you didn’t come.” Svenar finally said. His words were like a bright green breath of air. It filled Ranvir’s entire body with relief, as the oppressive gray fled. “What I can’t understand is why you wouldn’t talk to your teacher, first.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Ranvir was finally able to speak. “I was a little overwrought and didn’t…” What could he say. He hadn’t wanted to come, so he hadn’t shown up. “I couldn’t find the strength to make it.”

It was a loss, Ranvir felt. As soon as he said, he knew it was more true than he was comfortable with. His eyes began to sting, almost on reflex. He’d gone too far, revealed too much.

“That is not acceptable.” Svenar said, the ice back in his voice. “But it is understandable. It takes great strength to admit your failings and short comings.”

Ranvir felt a deep pit of shadowed purples and blacks open in his stomach. It did its best to swallow him up. He opened his mouth to correct the Master, but closed it before saying anything. He felt his stare drag down to the ground, avoiding all eye contact.

“If it happens again, I implore you to tell your teacher, or at the very least a teacher, before wandering off.” Svenar stopped, forcing Ranvir to follow his action. They stood in silence for many long moments, each dragging along like an overworked ox. Slowly, Ranvir lifted his gaze to the Master, this seemed to prompt him. “I will not punish you, this time.”

Ranvir once more felt green and refreshing breeze run through his body. “Thank you, Teacher.”

“Whenever it gets too much for me.” Teacher Svenar’s words hit Ranvir like a physical shock, sending a ripple of involuntary movement through him. “I like to count the strands of my tether, though that can get quite hard as your threads grow in number. Sometimes I count the seconds it takes to make a full rotation”

Ranvir nodded along, listening intently.

“I recommend doing one of these before going to bed, tonight. While you’re at it, think over your day. Find one point where you thought you could do better.” Ranvir knew in his heart, that it wouldn’t be hard. “Then find something you did right. Something to be proud of.”

Ranvir’s mind stuttered. ‘Something to be proud of.’

Teacher Svenar laid a hand on Ranvir’s shoulder. “It’ll get better. First years have a short attention span, and an even shorter memory. Dismissed.” Then he walked away.