Blade institute: the unseen prophecy

13

The next day, I was jolted awake by a rhythmic pounding on my front door, the sound reverberating through my cramped apartment like a fire alarm on full blast. With a groan, I buried my face in my pillow, wishing I could will it away. Morning had come far too early, and the remnants of a dream I couldn't remember slipped away like sand through my fingers.

The banging persisted, growing more insistent. I pushed myself up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and glanced at the clock—8:00 AM. On a Saturday! With a resigned sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and shuffled toward the door, hoping it wasn't some salesman trying to sell me something I didn't need at this ungodly hour.

When I opened the door, I was greeted by a familiar figure standing in the hallway. Ethan stood there, all tousled hair and gleaming with early morning energy, holding a small brown paper bag in one hand and two steaming cups of coffee in the other. His sunny smile was bright enough to compete with the morning sun filtering through the windows behind him. "Why, good morning, Sleeping Beauty!" he declared, feigning a royal bow. "I brought muffins and coffee to awaken your slumbering spirit."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes playfully, but the corners of my mouth lifted into a smile nonetheless. "What kind of sadist thinks it's a good idea to bang on someone's door before noon?" I retorted, giving him a friendly shove as I stepped aside. "Come on in, you obnoxious morning person."

He laughed, stepping over the threshold like he owned the place, and settled onto my worn-out couch. It was a small space, cluttered with books and strewn clothes, but his presence always seemed to fill the room with warmth. He handed me a cup of coffee, the aromatic steam curling up into the air, and I took a deep breath, grateful for the much-needed caffeine.

As I sank into the worn fabric of the couch, I took a sip of the coffee. It was rich and dark, just the way I liked it. The sweetness of blueberry muffins flowed with the warmth of the drink, grounding me in the comfort of our friendship. "So, what do you think of Rian?" Ethan inquired, breaking the morning lull.

The mention of Rian sent a chill down my spine, an instinctual reaction that surprised even me. I set down my coffee cup and searched for the right words. "Honestly, I get a weird feeling about him," I confessed, thinking back to the first time we met. "He's just... too quiet. Like, there's something lurking beneath the surface, and I can't get a read on him."

Ethan nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing just slightly. "You're right. He has this aura, like he's playing a part but holding everything back. He's friendly enough, but it's like there's a wall up between him and the rest of the world."

I fidgeted with the muffin in my lap, weighing my thoughts. "Exactly! I feel like he's constantly observing, but never really participating. And it makes me uneasy." The last thing I wanted was another enigmatic figure complicating my life. "I don't know, maybe I'm just overthinking it. He could be perfectly nice."

"Or he could be hiding something," Ethan replied, a hint of mischief in his tone. "Either way, we should keep an eye on him."

We fell into a comfortable banter over playful theories about Rian, but deep down, I knew this didn't sit right with me. As our laughter filled the cozy space, I realized that whatever Rian was hiding, it wouldn't remain a mystery for long. The day ahead promised more encounters, maybe a chance to unravel the enigma he presented, but I felt an invisible thread pulling between caution and curiosity.

I sipped my coffee again, letting its warmth seep into me as I glanced at the morning light spilling through the window.

—-

Later that day at the Blade Institute, the sharpening station buzzed with the sounds of blades being sharpened. The air was thick with anticipation as students prepared for their upcoming battles. I picked my way through the room, my focus on my sword, wanting to ensure it was ready for the fight ahead.

As I approached the sharpening station, I noticed Rian across the way, his brow furrowed in concentration as he methodically honed his blade. I admired the precision with which he worked but couldn't help but feel a twinge of tension simmering beneath the surface.

I called out to him, trying to break the ice. "Looks like we're both getting ready for the same storm."

Rian glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Some of us take this seriously. Swords aren't just for show."

I bristled at the hint of accusation in his tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He motioned towards my sword, which I had only recently acquired. "It means you're reckless. You can't just dive into battle without proper preparation. You think that blade will protect you? It's a tool for the unskilled; it won't save you when the real fighting starts."

His words stung, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to back down. "I can handle myself, Rian. This isn't just about the sword; it's about the warrior wielding it."

Rian let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You're naive. A warrior's skill can only go so far; if you're not prepared, you're just inviting failure. This is serious—lives are on the line. Sharp blades require sharp minds."

I stepped closer, feeling the heat of our argument rising. "And standing around polishing your weapon isn't going to make you invincible! It's not just about the blade—it's about strategy, training, and knowing when to strike, not just how to shine your sword."

He crossed his arms, leaning against the workbench, a smirk on his face. "Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself. What happens when your recklessness lands you in trouble? I won't be there to save you."

I met his gaze steady, determined. "I don't need saving, Rian. I trust my instincts, and I'm willing to take risks. That's what will make me a better warrior in the long run."

He straightened, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "You may trust your instincts, but without refinement, you're just throwing yourself into the fire."

"And you?" I challenged, frustrated. "Are you going to stand by and wait for the perfect moment while others fight? Sometimes, the greatest battles are won by those willing to take chances."

Rian's expression hardened. "I'm not advocating for cowardice. I'm advocating for preparation. You can't let your bravado cloud your judgment."

I took a deep breath, grounding myself. "We all have different approaches, Rian. I respect your dedication, but don't mistake my confidence for recklessness. I know what I'm doing."

"For now," he replied, a shadow of doubt lingering in his eyes. "But in the heat of battle, can you maintain that confidence? Or will that recklessness be your downfall?"

The air between us was thick with tension. It wasn't just a clash of opinions: it was a clash of ideals. I still believed in taking bold risks, but as I looked into Rian's eyes, I also recognized a flicker of concern—a reminder of just how thin the line could be between bravery and foolishness.

"Time will tell, Rian," I said quietly. "But everyone fights their own battles their way. Just be ready when the time comes. You never know what might happen out there."

At a lost for word I left deciding to come back at a later time, to angry to not want to stab him with a blade.