The Beginning Ch. 27-28

A/N: Hi guys. I hope all of you had a safe and fun holiday season! I (involuntarily) ended up taking some time off from writing when I realized just how much time and energy my girlfriend's niece could take up! I apologize for the delay, but at long last, here are the next two chapters in Chris' saga.

Thank you for reading, for your patience, your kind words, and your continued support!

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Chapter 27- Asi

23^rd March, 2017
10:40 a.m.
My Abode

I knew that I was up late when I opened my eyes and noticed the beams of sunlight streaming through the partially-closed shutters on the windows. I groaned loudly as I turned to my side to sit up, none of my countless hours of training having ever left me as sore and depleted as I felt right then. A quick check showed me that my Power reserves were still incredibly low; if I'd been attacked right then, I'd have considered myself lucky if I could have managed to fling a pebble at them.

"Hey," Rayka called, pushing the bedroom door open and leaning against the frame as I managed to sit myself up, "you're awake. How do you feel?"

"Sore and drained," I responded, smiling weakly. "Why are you at home, though? Don't tell me that wiping the floor with that chick yesterday somehow pushed you up the rankings, high enough that you're on Vaish's team already."

"'Chick', huh?" she teased, sashaying over to stand in front of me, arms crossed beneath her breasts, popping them up alluringly. "I knew there was something going on when you knew her name!"

"What?!" I exclaimed, acting shocked. "Her? Naa. I could never go for someone who lost that easily."

"Oh?" she asked, mockingly, raising an eyebrow and moving her hands to her hips. "No losers for 'Mister Big Shot' over here, huh? That's good to know, thank you."

"You know that's not what I meant," I protested, rolling my eyes exaggeratedly. "I just couldn't respect someone who couldn't counter a simple Air spell that hurled darts at them."

Her eyes narrowed, expression turning downright dangerous, as I mentioned one of the spells that'd gotten through her defenses the previous day.

"Chris Michaelson," she growled, reaching for her stash of Media, "you talk a big game for somebody who's supposedly drained. Maybe I need to show you what Air spells can do."

"Hey now, I was just kidding!" I clarified, backing away warily.

My defense fell on deaf ears as she pulled out a pebble, glee painting her face. I curled up into a ball, trying to brace myself for whatever was to come, which was—

"A tickle spell?!" I yowled, struggling to get the words out as my body was besieged by dozens of invisible fingers that knew just where to get me. "How— why— do you even have something like that?"

Smiling wickedly, she ramped up the spell's intensity, leaving me unable to think or even breathe, as laughter wracked my body.

"I give up," I gasped, raising an arm weakly in surrender. "No more, please."

"Do you see how somebody could fail to block an Air spell?" Rayka asked imperiously, taking mercy on me and canceling the spell.

If I could have sat up and seen her expression, I'm sure she'd have an eyebrow raised and her arms crossed. The woman really knew how to pose for maximum effectiveness!

"I do," I panted weakly, too winded and sore to even move anymore.

I had to admit, it was a bloody effective spell; a non-lethal alternative that would definitely discourage attack. It's hard to focus on slinging spells when you're laughing so hard that you can't think straight. Of course, under normal conditions, it wouldn't be too difficult a spell to rebuff.

I knew better than to voice that out loud, of course.

"Seriously, though," she said, after giving me a moment to catch my breath. "How are you feeling?"

"That's the second time you've asked me that," I responded, struggling into a seated position so I could look at her. "Out with it, already."

"It's nothing," she sighed, sitting at the foot of the bed. "You just seemed so drained last night, almost like you were at Death's door. You didn't move all night, and I kept waking up to see if you were even breathing.

"I was just scared, Chris. I've never seen you like that, and even though Ronald said that you'd be fine, I couldn't help but worry."

"I understand," I murmured, reaching out to take her hand in mine. "I can't ever remember being this tired or this drained, either. But I'm okay, my love."

She nodded in response, stifling a sniffle as she crawled into my arms, the two of us holding each other tenderly.

"Did you miss a matchup and disqualify yourself from the Proving just because you were worried about me?" I asked after a while, when I felt her breathing return to normal.

"I didn't have to," she responded, straightening herself, placing both hands on my shoulders and looking me in the eye. "You weren't wrong earlier. Beating that Tier 2 Wielder yesterday, even though it was a stroke of luck, apparently proved that I can hold my own in battle. After my second battle yesterday, Byrav met with me, and told me that I'd been accepted into Vaishnavi's squad. The Sapt Senapati were just that impressed with my performance."

"You did it," I whispered, a knot in my throat.

"I did," she agreed quietly, her voice catching as well, unshed tears shining in her eyes.

I pulled her into another hug, my body shuddering with emotion. She hugged me back tightly, whispering about how it was over and how everything would soon be alright. While I knew that that was true from her perspective, I knew that I could never tell her that the shudders weren't repressed tension being relieved, but helplessness, terror, and rage being shoved as deep as possible.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rayka's early acceptance into Vaishnavi's squad was something Vince and Byrav would hold over me to force me to do their bidding. Delivering the news to her himself was Byrav's way of sending me a message, of showing me the extent of his power and influence.

I was a fly caught on a strip of paper, facing what could only be my own destruction.

And there wasn't a single person who could save me.

Lost in my own thoughts, I was no longer listening to what Rayka was saying. An expectant silence jarred me back to reality, and I found her looking at me, brow furrowed with worry, absently nibbling the edge of her bottom lip.

"Sorry," I apologized, smiling wanly. "I'm just tired and drifted off. What were you saying?"

"I was asking whether you felt up to getting out of bed and taking a look at your Armor and weapons. They're still all wrapped up, out on the couch; Ronald and I felt like you should be the first to look at them."

"I am," I answered, still smiling. "Why don't you give me a few to freshen up and take a quick shower, and I'll join you out there."

She smiled and nodded, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before extricating herself from my arms and walking out of the room, shutting the door behind her. The smile was wiped off my face as soon as she did, my features locking into a scowl of rage. If Rayka hadn't been there, and I hadn't been so drained, I had no doubt that I'd have broken everything around me.

I loathed feeling helpless; impotent.

It took all my strength to get to my feet, and then to stand without swaying, but a warm shower helped lighten some of my mood and soothe a few of my muscles, too. I focused on relaxing as much as I could while getting dressed. The last thing I wanted was for Rayka to notice that something was off; she was absolutely incapable of standing by and not acting out against Byrav, if she was to find out, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that her doing so would actually put her in very real danger.

I harbored a strong suspicion that Byrav and Vince had no end to the lengths that they were willing to go to, in order to make somebody "fall in line". I found myself wondering just how many people, innocent Wielders, they might have perverted or outright killed, but shut down that line of thought promptly. That was one rabbit hole that I was better off not going down.

Exhaling deeply, I relaxed my facial muscles and pulled the door open, walking out into the living room. I was surprised to find that Rayka and I weren't alone.

"Ronald, Kassandra," I greeted them, causing them to turn around and look at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Chris," Ronald said in greeting, standing up to pull me into a hug. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks," I replied with a smile, nodding cordially at Kassandra.

After letting her into my mind while we forged my weapons, I must admit that I felt an odd kinship with her.

"It pleases me to hear that," Kassandra said, smiling widely at me as she accepted a cup of— what smelled like— coffee from Rayka. "I have never worked with somebody who was Unbound before. You have remarkable reserves of Power, little one, but I was worried that the strain I put you through yesterday might have left your body too tired to rouse today."

"I thank you for your concern," I responded, inclining my head to her, "and I'm pleased to see that you're feeling okay, too. I wasn't the only one left drained by the forging!"

"Have I mentioned that I like this boy?" she asked, rhetorically, earning an exaggerated eyeroll from Ronald.

"I planned to check on you, anyway," Ronald said, as we all sat down on the couches, Rayka and myself facing Ronald and Kassandra, a hastily-wrapped package sitting heavily between them. "Nana insisted on tagging along. She said that she had to give you a history lesson of some sort."

"Oh?" I questioned, looking at Kassandra.

"In due time, little one," she said, before taking a sip from her cup. "First, you might want to actually take a look at your weapons."

I nodded, a sudden rush of anticipation leaving me feeling like I was a young boy, waiting to open my presents from Santa on Christmas day. I moved to stand up, but a shooing motion from Kassandra stopped me in my tracks.

"Not like that, child," she chided, handing Ronald her cup to hold. "Honestly, Ronald, do you teach them nothing?!"

"Nana—"

"Summon your weapons with your magic, Chris," Kassandra continued, steamrolling over Ronald's protests. "They are yours, Bound to you. Extensions of your flesh. Call to them. Command them."

"We might be better off making some room, first," Ronald suggested, as he stood up, walking over to help Kassandra up as well. "I'd also suggest setting up a barrier. It's his first time summoning anything, after all."

She halfheartedly shooed him away, but I could see that she needed his help. It would seem that I wasn't the only one who was downplaying just how tired and drained I was.

I followed their lead, and as Rayka stood up, she used a quick burst of Air to move all the furniture up against the walls, creating a large free space in the center of the room. The three of them then stood closer to the edges, Ronald and Rayka coordinating to set up a wall of Air between myself and the bundle on the couch, and themselves.

I closed my eyes and searched my mind, instantly becoming aware of the faint nodules that Bound my weapons and Armor to myself. Like my Implement, I imagined them filling "inventory slots" like in multiple video games, which was my way of handling things. Just like my pool of magic, each Wielder would see them differently.

Ignoring my Armor for the moment, I focused on my quarterstaff. It seemed to light up in my head, and I was instantly aware of its shape, size, weight, and presence in the room. I knew, from everything that I'd read and heard, and my experience with my Implement, that I would be able to sense it the same way, regardless of where in the world— any world— it was.

Clenching and unclenching my fists, I imagined myself yanking at an imaginary rope that joined me and my quarterstaff. I'd never had to summon my Implement to me before, even though it was similarly Bound to myself, and the feeling of a seven-foot metallic pole striking me across my body was solid evidence of that.

I fell to my knees as my eyes burst open, alternatively clutching my arms and chest, pushing what little magic I had into healing the bruises where I'd been struck. A metallic clang echoed around the room as the quarterstaff fell to the floor and rolled away.

"Softer!" Ronald exclaimed, from the other side of the barrier that I now saw the reason for. "You're reaching for your weapons, not pulling them away from an enemy!"

I nodded distractedly, rising shakily to my feet and fixing my gaze on my quarterstaff. Now that I knew what I was reaching for, I tried to pull it to me gently, exerting as little force as possible on the same imaginary rope.

It rolled maybe three centimeters towards me.

"Not that softly!" Ronald moaned, his palm covering his face.

"I got it!" I retorted, more harshly than I intended to, as embarrassment colored my ears.

Taking a deep breath, I changed my approach, imagining myself reaching for my quarterstaff and gently picking it up, instead of pulling it via something else. It rose off the ground and flew towards me, but not faster nor harder than I could take. Catching it in my poised hands, I twirled it smoothly, moving through a few forms instinctively.

Everybody had always told me that once I got a bespoke weapon, it would be like handling an extension of my own body. Honestly, I hadn't comprehended quite what they meant, till that very moment.

As soon as my fingers closed around my quarterstaff, holding and wielding it was the most natural thing in the world. Bracing it against my body before whipping it at an imaginary opponent, shifting my grip, and even using it to support myself, all felt so normal. Even though it was nothing more than a long, unadorned, silvery-metallic cylinder, I felt absolutely no concern about dropping it or about my hold on it slipping.

"This is amazing," I breathed, as I finally came to a stop, thumping the butt of the quarterstaff solidly against the floor.

"I am pleased you like it, boy," Kassandra grunted, taking in her own work with an appraising eye. "Do the bow next."

Nodding in response, I rolled the quarterstaff away from me, and called to my bow next. It flew out from under the sheet that'd been covering everything, sending it flying away and exposing a sheathed sword and suit of Armor. My attention, however, was fixed on the bow.

Contrary to expectations, it wasn't made of the same metal— Weildium— as my sword and quarterstaff. As I took ahold of it, smoothly nocking an imaginary arrow before drawing and shooting off a volley, I noticed that it was made of some sort of wood, interwoven with metal, like strands of thread making up a thicker string. The caps on each end were all metal, and were embossed with mystical-looking swirls.

I could tell that the metal was a weaker alloy than Weildium, though I was sure that Kassandra wouldn't have given me anything that was actually inferior. Its makeup did nothing to reduce how natural using it felt, so I didn't know whether it was a question worth asking.

"As we forged your weapons," Kassandra said, saving me the trouble, "I noticed that you only use your bow as a last resort, and rarely channel any sort of magic into it. As a result, I surmised that a standard titanium-wood alloy would be fit for purpose. I saw no need to use up what little Weildium I had on a weapon that you probably would never draw in battle."

"That makes sense," I agreed. "But how could it be a titanium-wood alloy?"

"Magic," was all the response I got from her.

In all honesty, it explained things perfectly! I did make a mental note, however, to pick Lisbet's brain later, or see if she knew about any books that might help me further understand the process. If the voice showed up again, I'd be sure to ask him, too.

Placing my bow on the floor behind me, I braced myself to summon the third, and last, of my weapons. Butterflies started flitting around my belly as strange nervousness replaced my excitement, and in a sudden bout of clarity, I realized that Kassandra's sudden visit might have been because of the comment she'd made during the forging, along the lines of the design of my sword being "fascinating".

"Might as well get this over with," I whispered under my breath, as I gathered my will and summoned my sword to me.

It was easier, almost instinctive to handle. As soon as I focused on it, I understood it deeply, at a level that I couldn't put into words. I got it to rise off the couch smoothly, propping it upright in midair and slowly spinning it around.

The first thing that jumped out at me was how unadorned the sheathe was. It looked like it was made out of some sort of burnished bronze, but something told me that it was another alloy that Wielders used, that just looked like bronze. It was narrow where it met the hilt and widened a bit closer to the tip.

I pulled it towards me, taking in more detail as it got closer. The hilt was wrapped in stained leather and had a glistening emerald set in the pommel. I knew from conversations with Ronald that emeralds weren't the best Batteries around, so I had to assume that it was merely cosmetic.

It fit my hand perfectly, the bastard grip feeling more comfortable than even intertwining my own fingers. Letting go of my mental hold on it, I tensed my arms to take the full weight of the sword, but was caught off-guard by the fact that it wasn't heavy nor unwieldly at all. It truly was just like an extension of my body.

Focusing on the appearance of it again, I saw that the cross-guard was just a rectangular Weildium bar, with no real accents either. From the looks of it, what I was holding was nothing more than a standard blade. Switching grips, I swung the sheathed sword around my body, bracing it against my back and holding it there with my left hand, while I pulled it free with my right, mimicking the motion I would actually use.

Only on unsheathing it did I see just how wrong I was to assume that I was holding a regular blade.

For starters, the fuller was extremely short and formed a triangle. A small hole towards the base of the triangle and the raised line running through it reminded me of the nib of an ink pen.

Like the sheath indicated, the sword was narrower towards the hilt and widened towards the tip. Rather than being a straight line that tapered to a point, the sharp edge of the sword actually broke out into three curved "fins" about 75% of the way down, with the taper beginning where they ended. It was like a scimitar that also sort of "folded open" three times.

The fins captured my attention, simply because I'd never seen anything like them before. They were somewhere between being serrations and sword breakers. Each of the fins had its own sharp and dull edges, with the dull ones facing the hilt and forming the backs of the curves. While the sharp edges and points would deal considerable slashing damage, the concave curve would allow me to trap a sword between the fins, and presumably shatter it.

A single word placed in the center of the blade, written with a delicate flourish, proudly declared its name.

"Do you know what 'dharma' means, Chris?" Ronald asked, as himself and Rayka dropped the barrier surrounding me and the three of them walked up for a closer look.

"It's Sanskrit for 'duty', isn't it?" I asked, looking up to see him studying the sword with a pensive expression on his face.

"If you were to consult a dictionary, yes," he responded, tracing a finger reverently across the word. "The word itself, however, has a much deeper meaning. It expresses the true depth of duty; the weight it carries, the sacrifices it demands, and the strength required to see it through.