Nick swung his sword like he was cutting it through water, he slammed it downwards like he was trying to club a stone, and he kept it high and steady like he was trying to take down a hrall.
He had been practicing the forms for weeks. He knew them intimately. They were instinct, now. But, even still, in the midday sun, moisture began to bead his forehead and his shirt was damp with sweat.
His initiation as a defender was happening on a hot day.
He flipped his sword from side to side, trying to ignore the gazes of the people around him, of the crowd around him. If he got nervous, if his hand started to shake, he could end up making a fool of himself.
No, he couldn't think of the crowd, of the expectations. He needed to focus. So, instead, he thought about the forms.
The five forms of Ifeelee, named after the famous master, the legendary general, the man who had defeated the empire. Which was about all that Nick had learned about the man during training. Listening to Commander Kerser drone on and on and on about the history of the defenders had been about as interesting as watching grass grow.
His beard was itching badly. The sweat was making it sting. All he wanted to do was drop the sword, reach up, and scratch his chin with both hands. But he couldn't do that, he wouldn't do that.
Because this was it. This was the culmination of months of hard, grueling work.
Becoming a defender was not easy. He hadn't expected it to be easy, but his expectations had done nothing to make living through the training any easier.
He had been waking up at the ass-crack of dawn every single morning, jogging around the fields outside of the city. He had spent dozens of mornings endlessly drilling the Ifeelee forms, swinging his sword around until he couldn't feel his arms anymore. He had been sitting in study with Commander Kerser, learning all about the history of the defenders, the tactics that they employed, the principles that they adhered to.
Our people above all.
Now, as he flipped his sword from side to side, as he brought it crashing down and rearing upwards, using the weapon was like walking. It was second nature to him. His sword was a part of his body. When he drilled the forms, the world faded away, and the only thing that mattered was him and his sword.
What did his instructors always call it?
The great duo.
The true soulmates, a man and his sword.
Unity through courage.
He was almost there, almost done. A few more strokes. His footwork was airy and light as he shifted around the courtyard, moving through the sparse, dusty grass. The eyes around him were piercing, but he wasn't going to let that phase him.
Almost done. Shift. Almost done. Swipe.
For our Goddess. For our land.
Nick tore his sword upwards. A final, elegant strike.
And then he was finished.
Nick kept his sword hoisted his in the air. The steel glinted in the hot, Sesstrian sun as it shot towards the clear, blue sky.
He was done. Finally, he was done. How long had it been since he had begun this program? How many months? How many hours?
The assembled crowd erupted into cheers. For a moment, Nick thought that something else had happened, that someone else must've stepped into the center of the courtyard. But no, they were cheering for him. This ceremony was for him.
YOU ARE READING
💎A Collision of Fates💎 (Straight to Gay) (MxM) (18+)
Romance"Whatever else happened to him, Chris knew three things would never change: (1) The only d*ck he would ever touch was his own. (2) The only man he loved was his dad. (3) He was totally, completely, 100% straight." 💎...
