The Sun Blade

An Unlikely Ally

Cresana was losing sleep, rapidly. It wasn't a question of being tired – in fact, she felt more weary and exhausted now then she'd ever felt at The Institute. Each time she used her powers, although it was exhilarating while the light poured out from her, it left her feeling impossibly drained afterwards. It was also becoming harder to stop her powers once they'd begun.

This was a particularly concerning development for Cresana. Even though her powers had thus far proven immune to refinement on any level, she had at least retained the ability to turn them on and off at will. Her grasp on that was slipping, though. Each time she used her powers, she felt a bit of herself – her old self – splinter away and disintegrate. She was starting to feel numb unless she was summoning light.

It didn't help that Kirigan was becoming an increasingly impatient tutor. She could hardly blame him, as she fully realized how disappointing her lack of control over her powers had proven, but she also couldn't help feeling intensely resentful of his rebukes. Their training sessions were becoming fewer, but each was longer, and Cresana could feel Kirigan pushing her to the edges of her abilities each time. She had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying to prove her uselessness – to her or him, Cresana wasn't sure. So far, though, he'd been very successful on that point.

One unanticipated development, and not an unpleasant one, was the thawing tension between Cresana and Ivan. Cresana knew that Ivan's newfound kindness towards her was one borne out of pity, but she didn't mind too much. She felt the sting of falling out of favor with the General keenly, both in her pride but also in the lack of niceties she'd grown used to since arriving at the Little Palace. Her chamber remained bare, and although Cresana had once appreciated the sparseness she now found it suffocating and oppressive. Her meals had grown less appealing, to the point where she now found herself eating gruel and mealy apples most days. Her bathwater had become cold as well, and she no longer had the prying eyes of multiple servants trying to tidy her bedsheets or comb through her hair. At first, Cresana had relished the privacy – especially given her all-too-obvious status as Kirigan's discarded disappointment, even if the servants didn't know why – but now she felt surprisingly lonely.

One of the few bright spots of her day was when Ivan came to check on her. It had started as an errand for Kirigan; Ivan was sent to Cresana's chambers mid-afternoon to ensure she'd eaten and provide her instructions on when and where to meet him for training that evening. As Kirigan's training sessions became less frequent, though, Ivan's visits did not. He didn't say much, and although Cresana thought it might be easy to interpret Ivan's silence as fear or stupidity, she quickly realized it was a shrewd move to keep one's mouth closed around Kirigan.

The first time he'd brought something to Cresana, she'd been completely blindsided.

"Brought you this," Ivan announced gruffly, handing Cresana what was obviously a book wrapped in grimy burlap. She was perplexed but also intensely intrigued. Thus far, all Ivan had said to her were perfunctory data gathering questions: have you eaten, any progress with your powers, how do you feel. Cresana knew she was being monitored closely for signs that the transition hadn't worked, or was going sour. Thankfully, that did not seem to be the case. It had been nearly ten full weeks since she'd finished the terrible tincture regimen, and although her powers had proven intractable in response to training, they hadn't gotten any less powerful.

Cresana raised one eyebrow in questioning at Ivan, the book in her arms.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You need something to do," he commented offhandedly, as if he were doing her a favor. Cresana chuckled slightly to realize that, in fact, he was doing her a favor. She did need something to do.

Cresana unwrapped the book, curiosity fully piqued. It was a heavy tome, and obviously quite old judging by the faded cover. It was a simple book for the Little Palace standards: no gold gilding or elaborate hand-painted scenery on the front. Along the front read the words "History and Traditions of the Order of the Blades"; at the bottom, the author's signature – barely visible with age and wear – read "Jarkon Militova, Blade to Squaller Edvard Raygon".