Tazaro was shaken lightly awake, tearing him from a damn good dream involving something about Rin telling him to “stand straight and walk tall.” He grumbled as he stirred, opened a groggy eye, and peered at the intruder. Sheeva’s red eyes stared back at him, a tired expression on her face. Despite that, she seemed slightly more calm than usual, perhaps due to their being within the temple walls.

  “What’s up?” He asked as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He swiveled his legs out to the side of the bed, found his shirt, and threw it on. The room was lightly lit by the morning sun. He reached out and slid open the window, staring out of it as his attentions were instantly captivated by the scenery. A serene yet creepy fog sifted through the trees to hover over the grounds, and he felt the difference of humidity as his skin felt slightly damp. The hairs on his arm stood up as his body rippled over with goosebumps in response to the chilly air.

  He searched in his bag for his jacket and hastily threw it on, happy for the new warmth, then looked around the room, unfamiliar with his surroundings. It was a hazy dream all over again, save for the black-haired figure in his room that lingered near the doorway.

  “It is time to get up. Be sure to make your bed. House rules, so to speak. Then, we will go outside and start your training.” She stated with a smirk. It was a dark smirk, and it made Tazaro uneasy.

  “What time is it?” He asked.

  “Six,” She answered after checking her pocket watch.

  Tazaro hummed to mask his groan; no wonder he was so tired. He doubted the temple would have such a luxury as coffee and wished he’d bothered to buy a bag of beans before leaving Roussell.

  As he went to stand, he stopped and rubbed his sore thighs, wincing as he hit a knot. He sucked in a breath and tried to work it out as well as he could, stopping after he could not take any more of the sharp pain. She definitely noticed, giving him a quiet, pitiful “tsk” and a sympathetic wince.

  “In the evenings, I will give you an energy cube. It should help your muscles heal faster and grow stronger. I have enough for both of us for maybe two months. When we run out, I will show you how to make more.” She announced, sliding open the door and stepping out.

  Tazaro braced himself to stand out of the warm bed, none too happy about the cold floor that stabbed into his feet. After tearing through his bag to find socks and a change of loose clothing, he changed, then stepped out of his room.

  Sheeva was posed in a nonchalant lean against the doorframe, deep in thought. She hadn’t considered it beforehand since there was insufficient space in Vincent’s tiny living room, but running through the morning drills with Tazaro while they were journeying to the temple would have been a good idea. For his sake, she hoped the others wouldn’t give the “outsider” too much trouble, but she had faith he could handle such teasing.

  They hurried outside to the large stone square in the plaza center, and Tazaro looked at a curiously uneven patch of bricks he hadn’t noticed the previous day and wondered what had happened to the otherwise obsessively even layout.

  “Hey, Sheeva, what happened here? Tree roots?” He guessed, finding it amusing that Sheeva’s lip curled in sheepishness before she pretended to look at something in the distance.

  “Boss’s spell. Earth burial.” She explained, leaving Tazaro to wonder what the spell entailed as she wandered away to a spigot to fetch water for herself. He couldn’t help but notice the bricks seemed to cave inward, causing his eyebrows to shoot to the skies, but his imagination was cut short when she walked back to his side and handed him a cup of water.

  “I thought that was you. Hard to miss those bloody eyes of yours. It’s been a long five years, Sheeva.” A growling voice said behind them. Sheeva looked over her shoulder, huffed, then turned to face the owner.

  “Hello, Hasch. And, since you're still here: no, it has not been long enough.” She gave a slight shake of her head.

  Her mouth curled at something, and if Hasch was bold enough to imagine it, she had a glint of pride in her eye. Perhaps she was as relieved to spit words with him again as he was, the way they used to when they were children, preteens, teenagers...practically their entire history. Considering they had grown up as rivals, he had heard worse when they were kids, and was surprised she hadn't resorted to one of her usual insulting nicknames.

  Though, he had to admit, "smelly goblin sphincter" still took the proverbial cake. The bite of his cheek assisted the hold of a straight face as he felt his lips attempt to curl into a smile. He settled into a sneer instead.

  Sheeva’s eyes surveyed his stature, and Hasch felt his own eyes soften their gaze. He appreciated her doing so, even though she was likely not doing it out of sexual interest. Or, maybe she was, possibly having discovered the thrilling sin of sex in her five-year absence. Searching for an “I’m-checking-you-out” glint in her eyes or innocent blush of her cheeks, he decided it wasn’t out of attraction with the straight-laced expression he found.

  “Well 'hello' to you too, Drools,” He responded with a cross of his arms to hold back his mild disappointment.

  After noting how much Hasch had grown in her absence, Sheeva tutted and frowned, hoping Tazaro wouldn’t ask her about the delightful nickname. She stole a peek at Tazaro’s face, and it appeared he wouldn’t, though he seemed more intimidated with the bearog-statured man in front of her.

  The Micah-built man Sheeva fiercely stared down was about a head taller than Tazaro and wore no shirt, showing off broad shoulders and arms that looked like they could crush a man’s skull if pressed between them. It was a terrifying thought, and Tazaro replaced it by observing the Basilisk tattoo inked around the man’s left shoulder and across his pectorals. Not only did he tower over Sheeva, but he was also twice her size.

  He had black hair, too, held up by a dark green strip of cloth that matched his grass-green eyes, which burned with skepticism and taunt.

  “What are you doing here with my students?” Hasch demanded to know. Sheeva took another deep breath and looked around. The students in question were silent, though greeted her with wide, welcoming smiles.

  Sheeva gave a huff and crossed her arms, then gave Hasch a scornful look that made his skin tingle and the attractive smile almost break on his face.

  Damn, he’d missed that challenging glower.

  “You are a teacher now, Hasch? In that case, I believe you mean to call them punching bags.” She replied with a smirk.

  Hasch blinked and scowled. Her comment about them being punching bags sent him reeling with protectiveness, as he'd never, and would never, treat them as such. It sent anger burning up his back and into his shoulders, and he squared them to stand tall and leer down at her.

  “Hmph. Punching bags? No. I’m not you, Drools.” He didn’t mean it, despite all the times she had thrown a blindsided punch or knocked him off his feet with a sweep.

  Of course, it didn’t help that he also pissed in the hornet’s nest every chance he got, either. He was still, and forever would be, pleased with the day he'd fired back to her torments with "momma's pompous crotch goblin."

  A risible glare broke on Sheeva’s face, and Hasch allowed his sneer to grow, feeling the heat of it in his eyes. Though, as he watched those rubies drop to the lower-left corner of her eyes and noticed the slight fall of her face, it was a look of regret he was surprised to see, in all honesty. She hesitated for a moment and sighed.

  “No, perhaps you’re not,” She grunted.

  “We do not have time for this. I need to figure out where Tazaro’s skill level is, but,” Sheeva dismissed, tilting her head towards the subject of discussion, then continued. “It would be unfair for me to test him. I would wipe the walls with him.”

  Hasch almost snorted, remembering Sheeva’s tough-girl habit of not using contractions.

  “Is that what you call testing people? Wiping the walls with them?” He asked, alluding to the fact that she had whupped his ass all over the temple. He wasn’t sure how many times he and Sheeva had beaten each other into the cobblestone, but if they did keep track, she outnumbered him in wins without a doubt.

  Hasch watched her demeanor drop, finding it unbecoming of the woman. Again, red irises dropped to the corner, and he blinked as he noticed a countenance of disappointment, maybe even shame. She crossed her arms and turned her back to the crowd and lowered her voice.

  “Look, about that, I…I owe you an–

  –Feh! You have some nerve trying to do that after all this time!" Hasch interrupted, feeling the fierce look of disgust and the flash of heat splay in an instant on his face. It stopped Sheeva mid-sentence, appearing as though he'd reached out and slapped her.

  "You son-of-a–She began, visibly biting back her retort.

  If someone offers you a gift and you do not receive it, to whom does it really belong?

  She took a few deep breaths and stepped down.

  "Fine,” She hissed, irate that she’d even bothered trying to apologize in the first place. “I’d whup you again, but you’re not worth my time, Svruhna,” Sheeva sighed, already feeling the pointless wear of their age-old antics. "I've got more important things to do than fight with you."

  Tazaro’s mouth dropped, and his eyes widened at Sheeva’s vulgar language–she’d called the man the equivalent of a man-whore.

  Hasch, angered, threw a punch at Sheeva’s face and when she blocked it with ease, he found himself strangely happy to have her attention once more–he’d missed their arguments and antics, even if they did only end up insulting each other. However, the satisfaction was short-lived when she immediately grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm, and flipped him over her shoulders to slam him down on the cobblestone, astonishment gripped him. Though she’d usually thrown him to the ground more carefully than this, he realized she was serious when she’d told him “no.”

  Hasch sucked in a mildly frightened breath when she stepped over him and pinned him down. When she held his shoulder down with a strong, firm hand, wrapped her other hand around his jaw, and forced his head to the side, he froze. He felt the tips of her long black hair tickle his collarbone and bare chest and felt her shiver from adrenaline as she leaned her mouth to his ear. He couldn’t lie; he was still slightly eager to hear the scathing fury in her voice. He closed his eyes, prepared to relish the sound of the voice he’d come to miss.

  “When I said I have more important things to do than fight you, I meant it. I looked a man in the face as he carried me to the brink of death, and after everything he did," He felt her shudder, and that shocked him. "I survived, and I damn well mean to kill him.” She grasped his throat in threat, “Do not fuck with me,” she hissed.

  Hasch, terrified with the new information, froze and stared at the stone wall across from him, finding he could not move with the way she had him pinned to the ground. He was briefly thankful that the others couldn’t see the horrified look on his face at her confession. Pinned state aside, he was stunned to hear the timbre of her voice.

  The same voice that held irritation when directed at him, that was deliciously dark and strangely alluring, that five years ago would taunt him with delightful quips that he enjoyed to riposte sounded…tainted. Muddled with fear and hidden by false assertion. When it clicked that Sheeva’s shiver was not from adrenaline but horror, it jerked him further out of his fantasy. He choked when her hand tightened, and he swallowed, looking back at her as well as he could. Sure enough, a deep-rooted pain, laced with what he could imagine was self-disgust and, indeed, shame, lingered in her eyes as pink colored her cheeks.

  Hasch tapped her and choked out her name as her hand tightened, and he watched her eyes widen and glaze over with more fear. She gave the tiniest gasp of realization before she let go and stood, immediately turning her back on him. He sat up and stared at her backside for a moment, squinting his eyes in question as he tried to imagine what could have possibly happened to have instilled such a fear.

  Whatever it was, it must have been dire, he assured himself. Sheeva must have been rendered completely defenseless somehow since she had always been able to break free of any grapple he'd thrown her way.

  He pawed at his throat, and coughed. Perhaps she'd been drugged and taken advantage of. That had to be it. He doubted it would have been due to her being drunk; they could drink each other under the table and still fight decently–even fight other patrons decently.

  When they worked together, they were a force not to be taken lightly.

  “Forget it, Hasch,” She denied, offering him the slightest look of apology. “I should test and train him myself.”

  Hasch sat up, bewildered.

  “What’s so special about this outsider that you gotta train him, huh? What, you don’t think I can train him well enough?” Hasch barked, causing Sheeva to hesitate.

  “I owe him…” She mumbled, scrunched her nose in distaste at something, then turned to face Hasch.

  “No, I don’t think you can train him.”

  Hasch got to his feet.

  “Excuse the fuck outta me?” Hasch scoffed, striding over to them. “You don’t even know what I’m capable of!” He continued, budging past and ignoring Tazaro to stand in Sheeva’s face again. She didn’t back away, but stood tall and glared at him again.

  “And you don’t know what we’ll be up against,” Sheeva warned.

  Tazaro felt a shudder ripple through him as he imagined being run through with Zakaraia’s blade or toyed with in the air before being thrown to the ground in the same, demeaning manner that Sheeva had been.

  Hasch paused, looking between the two as he registered the same fear in Sheeva’s voice. She wouldn’t be scared of just anything.

  “To the brink of death” raised in his brain, and he settled a little, hairs rising from a chill.

  “What do you mean, ‘what you’ll be up against?” He questioned.

  At this, Sheeva silenced and shielded herself with arms crossed as she touched her throat gently. Hasch noticed, looked back to the spot on the ground where she’d thrown him down, and uttered a small noise of understanding.

  “Must be…pretty strong, huh?” He asked.

  “At least on Master’s level,” Sheeva confirmed. “If not stronger.”

  Hasch’s bushy eyebrows raised into his forehead, and he turned back to Sheeva, impressed.

  “It, it’s true,” Tazaro blurted, trying to help the situation. “He’s…sadistic.”

  Sighing heavily a few times and thinking, Hasch snorted, then finally acknowledged Tazaro.

  “I’d love the opportunity to kick your ass, outsider. If you can’t beat me, you won’t be able to beat anyone,” He grunted. “We'll start there, shall we?” He asked, looking back to Sheeva for confirmation.

  “I’ll see to it that he can, Hasch. You can bet on that.” Sheeva stated, though it held no hint of playfulness in it. Instead, it was said with such conviction, Tazaro worried for himself a little bit.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Hasch followed the two with his eyes as Sheeva turned away and urged the outsider to continue towards the doors, barely overhearing him ask Sheeva so bluntly: What the fuck?

  If he were honest, Hasch wouldn’t feel too happy about being volunteered for such a thing, either. He crossed his arms, huffed the spot of empathy away, and turned back to the group, somewhat shocked to see them all staring back at him.

  Gathering his composure, he forced a stern stare to his face.

  “Did I say you could stop your drills? Get back to it!” He commanded, shooing them off with a wave of his hand. “And, just for standing around slack-jawed, you can run the stairs when you’re done with this morning’s set, you lot of punching bags!” He added, smirking to himself at their collective groans.

  Running stairs was a hell of a punishment, but damn if it doesn’t work, he thought, shaking himself off and jogging over to join his team.

  “Hey, what the fuck?” Tazaro hissed.

  Sheeva didn't acknowledge him, and pressed on toward the door.

  He hustled to keep up with her as she charged through the foyer and into the entrance hall. The terse frown in his face ached in his forehead, and he grunted with the frustration that she’d put him in a situation he wasn’t willing to put up with.

  “Hey, Sheeva, stop,” He called out, pausing beneath the Pink Wisteria as they arrived in the statue’s presence.

  She did, though seemed reluctant, given the look on her face.

  “I, I didn't fully understand what the hell happened back there, but I don't appreciate being volunteered for a fight like that,” he began. “And, I don't want to fight anyone to begin with!”

  Sheeva couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “I didn't mean for that to happen, but even if you don’t want to fight, I think it is a good idea for you to test yourself against Hasch. We trained together as kids. He's a knucklehead, but he's good for sparring,” She chuckled at the comment, then sighed.

  “I apologize. I should have–we should have–included you in the conversation.” She admitted. The lump in her throat fell to her stomach. “That was wrong.”

  Tazaro opened his mouth to hastily state that “yeah, you should have,” but stopped as he realized she had genuinely apologized, and looked sincere in her remorse as her face fell. He bit his tongue, and forced a deep, calming breath.

  With a heavy sigh that carried his shoulders into a slouch with it, he accepted his fate.

  “You’re forgiven. And, I agree; you and I are the only ones who really know what we’re up against, so…” He shuffled his arms crossed as the chill made the hairs on his arms stand. “We should probably train like it, right?” He suggested.

  Sheeva felt her guts twist, as she couldn’t imagine threatening to break Tazaro’s arm or wing, nor run him through with a blade. But, she reasoned, Zakaraia certainly didn’t hold back. We might not have any other choice.

  “I– She began, then coughed away the knot in her throat. “I’m not going to…I can’t…” She stammered, then groaned, annoyed with her inability to accurately phrase her thoughts.

  “Look, I’m not going to start you off without showing you the basics. I don’t know what you know, so…we’ll start by going to the training grounds that Rose trained me in. There should still be some basic training gear.”

  Tazaro felt relieved, then huffed and nodded.

  “That’s a fair place to start, I think.”

  With a nod and wave of her hand, Sheeva beckoned him to follow. They stopped at the aged door to the Master’s chambers, and entered when given permission.

  “Could you give Tazaro access to the training grounds I used to use?” Sheeva asked.

  Aglis looked up, seeming confused.

  “Did your meeting with Hasch not go well?” He asked.

  Sheeva shook her head, then sighed heavily.

  “I…realized that the only person that can train Tazaro is me, considering I know the most of anyone here what we're facing.”

  He hummed in thought, seeming to silently disagree.

  “That does not mean he cannot learn from anyone else,” he countered.

  Sheeva pressed her lips together.

  “Still, I think it's best if he started with me. We have a plan to test him against Hasch after when we feel ready.”

  Aglis hummed again, and Tazaro wondered if he was thinking of something else to say that might sway Sheeva against training him by herself.

  “I suppose you are right. Old rivalries and feelings oft get in the way of one’s goals.”

  They watched as he reached for a cane, helped himself to his feet, and sauntered to the bare wall guarded by wyrms. The stone lyndwyrms winding around the pillars crackled to life after Aglis uttered something Tazaro didn’t understand.

  From beak tip to tail-tip, the grey, textured stone slowly gained color and a bright, shellac sheen.

  The drake on the left now resembled a forest lindwyrm, marbled and serpentine in color, with bright green wings, dark green limbs, and an elegant mane and tail of tallgrasses. The vibrant scales resembled leaves, with an array of shades from lime-green to dark greens so rich with anthocyanins that they appeared almost purple. As it opened its mouth in a comical yawn, the inside of its mouth was a deep, navy blue, with a long, light-blue tongue, and as the thing stretched, its paws were an elegant sea-green color.

  Its twin had a similar palette, though filled with a smear of stunning reds, oranges, and yellows, with a black mouth and long forked tongue, but what held Tazaro's interest the most were the smoldering glow of its oval, interlocking scales. Its mane and tail rose and ebbed as though a flickering flame and Tazaro wondered if the shimmering mane would burn someone if touched.

  As the red lyndwyrm headed toward him, Tazaro got his answer as the creature pushed itself up against his hand for pets. The mane was soft, like a well-brushed and conditioned Sleipnir’s mane, and the creature crooned and cooed as Tazaro’s nails scritched its scaly scalp.

  “Wow, this thing is adorab–ow!” He barked, caught unawares as the creature bit at his finger hard enough to draw blood. Immediately, he brought his finger to his mouth to suckle at the wound and prevent calling the thing a bastard in front of the temple leader.

  The wyrms seemed to give a hissing snicker as they crawled back to the wall, inhaled, and blew a breath upon the clear stone wall, revealing a blueprint of the temple. A ripple spread through the wall as a bony finger pressed on what appeared to be the space the three of them currently occupied. Tazaro looked around, confused as a wave of magic hit him and fizzled in his hair. He was certain that if he reached out and touched someone or something, he’d end up shocking himself from static.

  Sheeva did not seem bothered but rather energized, impressed at the brief show of powerful magic.

  “You both are free to do as you will. I have faith that Tazaro will do well. Might even bring Hasch to the ground himself.” The corners of his beard bowed in a smile.

  Sheeva dropped her gaze to the floor in embarrassment.

  “I felt it was necessary, sir. I needed him to understand the seriousness of my convictions. We are short of time.”

  He nodded contemplatively, waved his hand, and sat down. Tazaro watched as the two wyrms wound themselves back around the pillars and returned to marble-stone.

  “If you can grow, Sheeva Jules, so can he. Hasch is not the same man you knew five years ago–perhaps you can learn something from each other someday.” He insisted. Sheeva fought a scowl. True, maybe she had become a little more accepting of some circumstances, but she couldn’t see herself working well with Hasch at all.

  “You had Rose as your guide. Remember her steps, her teachings. Go. Begin your journey.” He dismissed them. After Sheeva gave a respectful bow and Tazaro gave an awkward one, they walked through the large decorated doors.

  She led him down the steps and around to their backside. Tazaro waited patiently, scouring the brickwork to see if any miscolored bricks were laid to cue others that this was a secret passage of some kind.

  After motioning for Tazaro to come closer, she pointed out a sigil that reminded him much of the twining lyndwyrms, and as slender fingers reached to touch the glyph, a wave of calm swept over him, as though he’d been rolled up in a blanket and made cozy with a cup of warm tea. Too relaxed to bother speaking, he could only sigh and bask.

  “That makes it so that people cannot see us and this door.” Sheeva explained, smiling as she received a pacified “hm, cool.”

  She pushed and slid a stone aside, uncovering a set of stairs leading down behind the wall with a grinding noise that made Tazaro wince in discomfort. They stepped in, and she pushed the stone back. The brick wall shuffled back into place, shrouding them in momentary darkness.

  Led by orb light, the hallway here was long, thin, and linear, with a musty, stale smell, and it made Tazaro’s nose scrunch.

  “Where are we going?” He asked, trying to make conversation to ease his nerves. Sheeva looked back and fought a laugh as he walked straight into a cobweb, spitting and wiping at his face.

  “I was taken here by Rose when she learned that I needed more isolated training. You have to keep in mind, I am not fully Sferran, and perhaps, now, neither are you.” She explained.

  They stopped at a dead end, and Tazaro waited while she opened the door.

  He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the bright, blinding light that rushed in as she opened the door. He could smell a sweet aroma, like flowers, and hear the chirping of birds and ripples of water. Far off in the distance, he was sure there was a hiss of a volcano.

  At this, he dropped his hand, confused. Vivroa didn’t have any volcanoes as far as he knew.

  His mouth dropped as he gazed upon what seemed to be a new world. Bizarrely colored birds with short beaks flew with long, trailing tail feathers in the sky. Others roosted in nests in the tall trees that towered over them. As he looked up at them, he felt dwarfed by their stature. It reminded him of looking up at the clock tower as a child.

  He turned around, and the door they exited the hallway from was carved neatly into the side of the hill, adorned with a mahogany awning and a stone pathway leading to a fork that split. One path led into the dense forest, and the other led toward the opposite hills. A bubbling brook weaved and rippled through, flowing towards the distant fields of grass that spanned as far as he could see.

  A gentle breeze swept the hillside to bring fresh floral and earthy scents with it rather than the tunnel’s musty odor. Tazaro was also pleased to find that his nose began to clear up. Yellow, pink, and some kind of purple and red flower littered the hillside. At the top of the hill was what looked like a gate, or maybe even a place of worship.

  Curiosity getting the better of him, he walked toward it and then circled it as he examined it, careful to not step on the metal incense tray resting on the stone foundation. The designs were beautiful, well-carved, and intricate, and Tazaro traced their path with his fingers. If he ever went back to woodworking, it would be something that would attract a lot of attention and maybe even be a famous mimic. He wondered to whom he might give the credit.

  “Alright, let’s get started,” Sheeva called to him, bringing his attention away from the pagoda.

  She clapped her hands together and rubbed them, then held up a finger, something she’d do when she wanted to show him something particularly important. He walked up to her and watched as she slowly formed some seals, then snapped her fingers. Out from the grass shot a body that looked like a mannequin in a tailor’s shop, except with fingers and toes, and it moved to hold its fists out at the ready. A patch of grass served as a head of hair, and two stones made for beady eyes.

  “A summoning technique for you to practice with. You can tell it to be passive, to defend, or to go on the offensive, and it will.” She explained, picking up a staff resting on a rack next to the door. The dirt clone picked one up as well, and she began to run through various strikes and defensive stances. She even knocked its legs out from underneath it and drove the staff through its throat. It crumbled into a pile of dirt.

  Tazaro touched his throat in nerves.

  “Can you really impale a person with a staff?” He asked. She shook her head.

  “I have never seen it, but you can crush a person’s throat this way. You can also do it with a well-aimed palm strike. They will not be able to breathe.” She explained.

  “However, we are not to be sadistic. Should you need to take a life, do it quickly. A better option than making them suffocate.” She stated, seeming uncomfortable as she gently touched her neck where Zakaraia’s sword had scraped the skin. Shaking the nerves off, she scowled and cleared her throat, then held out the staff for him to take.

  Tazaro took it from her and bounced the thing in his hands for a moment, surprised to find that it was lighter than he expected. With the sturdiness and striations, the weapon must have been made from an oak tree, he decided.

  “You should try to summon your own training dummy. Visualize your mannequin as a copy of yourself–your strengths, your weaknesses. If you cannot do it yet, that is fine. I will summon them for you until you can.” She suggested.

  “I might as well try, right?” Tazaro said eagerly.

  He took a deep, nervous breath, formed the seals, and snapped, surprised to find the ground began to rumble as it shifted. From a mound of upheaved dirt, a tiny mannequin sprouted from the ground, only about a foot high, and Tazaro fought back a laugh at himself. When the thing stretched up with stubby arms like a toddler reaching for a parent, Tazaro found it mildly adorable, if not also embarrassing.

  “Heh, uh, was there something I missed?” He asked, looking back at Sheeva with a worried wince. Sheeva chuckled, thought for a second, then stooped down and held out a finger for it to grasp. It took it, and Tazaro thought he saw her lips curl in a small smile.

  “Does not seem like it. You might not be skilled enough yet. That is fine. With practice, eventually, you will be.” She stated, breaking her finger away from the clone’s grip.

  “Hey, can you teach me that shrinking and expanding spell you use for the Stargazer? I’d like to see if it works on clones.” He asked. Perhaps, practicing on dirt objects would be better than practicing with his machine and breaking it.

  With a curt nod, Sheeva walked him through the spell, and when he hovered his hand over the mannequin, a blue light shined from his palm. He fed a little energy, and it seemed to work as the figure grew to double its height. As he felt a burst of excitement at his success, a wave of energy flew through his palm, and the mannequin grew, swelled, and then burst, shooting dirt everywhere.

  “Whoa!” He barked, backing off and shielding his eyes.

  Sheeva had an annoyed look on her face as she brushed herself off.

  “Sorry. I, uh, didn’t know that would happen.”

  She walked to the nearby river, washed off her face, and then drank deeply.

  “With any spell, you need to contain your excitement. Otherwise, things blow up.” She reminded him in a mild grumble. It’d been the first thing she’d taught him when she’d walked him through the magic light spell.

  He nodded and stooped down to drink from the river, too.

  He felt his stomach growl and heard it rumble. Sheeva looked over at him, confused, then immediately offered him an apologetic frown.

  “That is right. You have not eaten. Usually, we have breakfast after we train in the plaza.” She stated, looking towards the forest’s edge. “Let’s see if there are any fruits. Though, they might not be ripe yet. This place doesn’t exactly conform to harvest seasons.”

  The suggestion that this new place didn’t match up with Vivroa’s seasons caused Tazaro to quirk an eyebrow, but he quickly stifled his interest in the matter–if Sheeva didn’t know what was going on, perhaps no one did.

  “Aren’t you hungry too?” He asked. Sheeva shrugged and wandered over to a tree and looked up at it, searching the branches for any ripened fruits.

  Spotting one, she crawled up the tree’s low-hanging branches to pick it, wiped it on her shirt, and tossed it to Tazaro. Tazaro caught it swiftly, having to use both hands, surprised at the audible hollow thump the thing made as his paws caught it like a kickball. This particular fruit had to be as big as his head, the fruit’s skin tough and leathery. Its purple color and yellow swirls were an exciting combination of colors.

  Sheeva searched for another ripe fruit and picked it, wiped it off, then stuck it in her mouth as she climbed down.

  The juice of the fruit dribbled down her chin as she bit into it, and she wiped at her mouth with her sleeve. The citrusy scent the fruit gave off was misleading to her taste buds, as the fruit was sweet, crisp.

  “Sheeva, what is this called? I’ve never seen anything like this before.” He asked, curious as he took another bite of the twisted fruit.

  “It is called a lemar fruit.” She replied. Tazaro took another bite, slurping the juice that threatened to fall. It was such a delicious fruit; he didn’t want to waste any of it. He found it tasted like a tomato, somehow, but with a tang of lemon juice.

  “I learned the hard way not to use these for target practice or for practicing my expansion spell.” She admitted, giving a rare, grinning laugh.

  He choked on the bite he’d taken as he laughed at the idea of exploding fruit, and after gaining his composure, finished his fruit in silence, save for the occasional slurp. He didn’t dare comment on how bizarre it was to hear her be just as messy, but the fact that she struggled to keep neat with this fruit was reassuring that she wouldn’t be judging him for terrible manners. Tazaro was surprised to find that he was full since most of the fruit seemed to consist of juice. If he had a straw, he could practically drink the insides.

  “So, what’s the deal with Hasch?” Tazaro asked, splashing water on a handkerchief to wipe at the stickiness of his face.

  Sheeva turned to look at him, a spaced-out expression on her face. She hadn’t quite heard the question, too engrossed in her thoughts. Due to not sleeping well, she found herself drained, but also, Aglis’s recommendation to follow Rose’s teachings had her chest aching with memory.

  “Hm?” She murmured.

  “Old rivals? Scorned ex-boyfriend?” Tazaro asked, mildly joking with the second assumption. She scoffed and glared at him.

  “Hasch? Pfft, don’t be ridiculous!” She snapped in anger.

  “I was not serious at all!” He defended. Her glare softened, but he could tell she still didn’t appreciate the tease. “Sorry–it was a bad time for a joke.”

  The softened glare turned to a serious frown.

  “No, old rivals. Have been since we were children. It got...worse after Rose’s death. He’s more confrontational than I am. Reckless. Arrogant. We would spar beyond normal competitiveness. Anything we could compete in, you could bet that we did—even drinking.” She shuddered and her lip curled curiously in disgust at a memory before she sighed. “I will say we’ve started more than our fair share of bar fights, thanks to him running his mouth.”

  “I’ve punched him a couple of times in response to an insult, but I only did it once unprovoked. The master pulled me into the ground and left me there for…well, I don’t know, but long enough that I thought about my actions and understood I’d done wrong.”

  His stomach leaped into his throat, and he jerked his head to look at her.

  “In-Into the ground?” He stammered, eyebrows raised into his hairline and eyes wide with terror.

  “Was ‘earth burial’ not clear enough?” She deadpanned, looking away at something on the other side of them. She took comfort in still being grateful that no one had spit on her or done some other disgusting and demoralizing thing.

  “My head was sticking out of the ground, so I could still breathe, but… ugh.” She inhaled sharply when she felt the closed-in discomfort again.

  “I had plenty of time to look at it after being gone for a while, and I realize this is something beyond childhood rivalry. It is… disgusting, somehow. Perhaps dishonorable is a better word? I am not sure.” She mused, then scowled. “But for him to tell me I’m not allowed to apologize, he can…go suck an egg.”

  Tazaro thought for a moment. The unsettling idea of being buried alive aside, Sheeva and Hasch seemed ironically similar, considering how opposed they were to each other. He wanted to ask if they hated each other because they saw bits of themselves in the other that they loathed, but held onto the particular question; she would likely refuse to think about it or refuse to answer.

  He glanced as she lay back to stare up at the clouds, a thoughtful look on her face, and by the solemness of it, she was probably still trying to grasp for a definition of their “rivalry.” As it fell to something guilty and sad, Tazaro had the gut feeling to leave her be for a moment or two.

  Abruptly, Tazaro unscrewed the cap to the water pouch, drank, closed it off, and stood to subtly announce his intentions.

  “I’m gonna take a walk and check out this forest.” He announced, shuffling his hands in his pockets.

  “Very well. Don’t eat anything strange.” She warned, barely breaking her gaze away from the skies to glance at him from the corner of her eye.

  He gave a soft, amused huff and waved it off, already not planning on it.

  “Thank you.” She added after he’d taken a few steps away.

  Tazaro paused and hid his smile.

  “Mm. You’re welcome, Sheeva.” He replied over his shoulder, shuffling his hands into his pockets as he meandered along the treeline to busy his time by identifying the types of trees available for any future projects he might be interested in.