LEVORA APOLLA ARVENALDI
VAIGON CITADEL
I OUTSTRETCH MY SWORDS before me and Amias stands a distance away.
“Position,” he calls.
Greyce observes intently while standing near Amias.
Settling lower, I curl my left arm and my elbow points outward. Aligning the edge of one sword along my forearm, the other guards one side of my body.
“Perfect,” he smiles. “Now hold position, come up the balance beam and walk. When you are battling, you will need to know your center, and in your center you must be aware of your surroundings to guard yourself. You cannot focus too long in one area, tunnel vision will cause your death.”
I walk across the narrow beam solid in position. “Now on one leg, lower, and rise up.” Greyce advises.
Amias raises an eyebrow at her. “The trainer here is whom?”
Greyce crosses her arms not making eye contact with him. “I am a trainer, if you would like to be technical.”
“Stop, I cannot focus if you two are going to bicker.”
I stare ahead at a tree, using it as my focal point, lifting one leg, I hold my guarded position while slowly sinking.
“Hold it,” Amias says, witnessing my leg shake. “Now move your arms out to your sides and guard yourself again, feel every muscle and control it. Now up.”
In a struggle, I move my arms outward. Keeping my focus ahead, I sink down and within my motion upward, I guard my body again. Then, I repeat this once more.
“There is the dancer we all know well.” Amias teases.
“I did not know you danced.” Greyce looks up at me with widened hazel eyes.
I point my sword at her. “Used to dance.”
Amias chuckles at the image of us before him. “Your background in dancing will aid you well in war. You know good balance and can move your body within it, keep practicing this, little sister, you will do well with this before moving forward.”
Dancing. Of all the crafts I tried as a child I excelled in dance and would use it as my gateway for peace and clarity. After being taken to the Mortal Lands, my love for movement ended, as I no longer felt like myself.
I have not danced in years, now I am relearning those days to conquer the dance of war.
“We will do it again, this time, train your right leg.”
“And this time, the both of you will be quiet.” I say to them.
Greyce nudges him playfully and Amias fights his smile but his happiness wins.
* * *
We stand before the portal that opens for us with just the reach of Phyv’s hands. The sharp, crooked strikes of lightning through the portal grow larger and I can gradually see the view of the woods behind it.
A place so comforting, and all the same, traumatizing.
The day of a new life and the leaving of old.
Greyce stands beside me as Phyv’s outstretched hand expands the portal to the height of the trees in the Hashthyna Forest.
“Nyt and Salem are missing out.” Greyce chuckles.
“Oh, only due time before they come back with us. I am sure Morano will enjoy his time with Nyt, I am not so sure about Salem.” We are only going home for a short visit and coming back. Just to be sure that the portal still properly functions from both sides.
“Ladies, now would be the most opportune time to enter before it closes.”
Greyce smiles and I grab her hand as we go back to the place we once called home.
When the three of us enter Phyv draws his eyes around the area of the sunlit woods.
“I have always hated the smell of the Mortal Lands.” Greyce scrunches her nose.
“And somehow, you endured quite a few years of it.” Phyv teases here. “We are not fabricated,” Phyv says as his black wings slowly tuck inward. “If there is anything either of you need we must act quickly.”
“Trust me, we will be done soon.” Greyce says observing the woods and sniffing. “I would like to attend the Voschantai Gala tonight.”
Thinking of the Gala only makes me wish to be here past the time we must be home, I do not want to face Daevien again after our last interaction.
What did it mean?
‘Why did they bring you there?’
“I am sure you are dying to be dressed prettily and flaunt it.” Phyv chuckles.
There is a quiet rustle in the woods before it grows louder. “Holy shit!” A young voice shouts.
Swiftly turning, we see a group of young children in the distance.
“He has wings!” A little girl screams.
Before they can make a run for it, Phyv projects a shield that stops them in their tracks and keeps them in place.
“He has wings?” One of them exasperates. “They just came here through that thing!” He says referring to the portal.
“Oh my god, we’re going to die here. I’m so young.” Another cries as she tries to punch her way out of the shield.
“Enough!” Greyce shouts over them. “What are you doing in these woods alone?”
“What are you doing in these woods coming through that thing!” The little girl with large curly hair shouts back.
“They will talk,” I say. “Phyv, we cannot risk it.”
I will need to find Amias, their memory must be wiped clean in order for us to pass through consistently without danger.
“No! We will not say anything!” The little boy holds his hand out.
Greyce analyzes them. “I do not trust children.”
“You can trust us, pinky swear! Our friend is like you!”
The two girls eyes widen as they look at the boy rambling off at the mouth.
“Just like us how?” Phyv asks.
“He can cast spells and they work! He turned a boy into a frog!” The boy continues.
“Shut your mouth before you get us killed!” One of the girls shouts and pushes him against the wall of the shield.
Simultaneously, me, Phyv, and Greyce look at one another.
“Galitan,” we say in unison.
“Galitan?” The girl with pin straight black hair asks. “That is where he said he is from. Are you from where he is from?”
“We searched maps all over to find Galitan and there is no such thing.”
“There is no such thing to you.” Greyce corrects.
The children within the shield begin to hit each other as they stare behind us.
Phyv quickly ducks as something veers over our heads, turning around, a young boy stands in the distance.
In a precise motion, his hands curve in front of him, forming a purple sphere that continues to grow between his palms.
“Leave my friends alone.”
