War is just like love...it's all about the moments in between.

  A keen general keeps their eyes peeled not for the moment of the shield clash, but the spaces between the clang of steel and clamour of voices. Those quiet moments where men decide if they hold firm or abandon all reason.

  Likewise, pretty words don't make a lover. It's the silent spaces, where breath is all that disturbs the world and desires have room to be felt.

  Master the gaps, the spaces between each moment where the world hangs on the edge of a thread, and you will fare well in love and war.

  - High Marshall Arterion The Fell addressing concerns on his strategy against the Sarhail threat in the late 3rd age.

  The closing ceremony of The Blending held many surprises in store for me.

  My first shock was to see someone other than Sandent Varselli claim the title of First. The young genius was defeated by an older boy, though still in his teenage years, from the Green-Bough clan.

  He was rangy; long-limbs that seemed feeble but could apparently carry lethal momentum into his strikes. He had two small daggers strapped to his belt and was by all accounts a shockingly fast mage. Not enormously powerful, like Sandent had been, but Vera had drilled into my head the lesson that you don’t need much power if you can hit first.

  The second surprise in store for me was both how much reverence was shown to the younger generation, and simultaneously how informal the ceremony was.

  I had thought that the turnout would be low, assuming that most of the spectators were eager to see fighting and had little care for the personalities involved. But not so. There were thousands of people in attendance as the Council of Elders handed out praise and material rewards to the highly placed fighters.

  Many young ones – children, as I would have described them – received special feedback. They had obviously failed to place highly due to their low levels, but the clans had clearly decided it was good to get them exposed to the thrill of battle from a young age, and so I saw many teenagers, some even as young as 10, step forwards to be praised in front of the crowd.

  Soon it was my turn to stand before the jostling mass of expectant faces, as 13 men and women in fine garb addressed me from a raised plinth.

  “Rise, Lamb. You fought well and earned your place as Second. Name your boon.”

  The usual praise and ritual was cut from my address, presumably a political move from some members of the council, but I was too ignorant to understand the ins and outs of it all. Or care. I knew what I wanted, and they would abide or deny me as they saw fit. Better to ask than to hope, after all.

  “I wish for allies. My companions and I are heading over the Dragon-Spine mountains, bound for battle. Any fighting men and women who wish to join us would be welcomed.”

  It was a more formal style of speech than I was used to, but I figured the ceremony demanded a little gravitas. I doubted I would get many fighters lining up if I simply said ‘Oi, who fancies a scrap?’

  Although…my eyes searched the crowd for a shock of red hair standing head and shoulders above others, but I saw no sign of Alker. Probably still sleeping off the hangover.

  There was a drawn-out silence before a woman, tall and built like a willow stalk, spoke. She stepped forwards as she did so, seeming to bend in the gentle breeze.

  “Are you urging the clans to war, young man? That is far beyond the scope of your boon,” she hissed, disapproval lacing her quiet voice.

  “No, of course not. I simply seek the council’s permission to recruit any who are interested,” I hurriedly reassured them. “If there are fighters among you who wish to see the world, I would ask that you grant them leave to do so.”

  Two of the men on the dais, who had leaned forwards in anger at my request, now settled back down. There was a quiet hum as the Council of Elders deliberated, and I was left to examine them.

  They were an eclectic group, dressed in colours presumably representing the clans they hailed from but each with a style distinctly their own. The willowy woman clearly held a position of prominence, as did another man built like a hunting cat – all sleek muscle and graceful movement.

  They didn’t spend long discussing, and soon I had an answer.

  “We are prepared to grant you leave to recruit, but only amongst the newly awakened 2nd tier warriors. We will not risk our younger generation on an outsider’s mission, and our more powerful warriors cannot be spared with the Southlands at war once more.”

  I inclined my head gratefully. “Thank you, council” I said, and turned to leave.

  “One more thing, lowlander,” one of the Elders called.

  Turning back, I saw him stand next to the lithe woman who seemed to command such respect. He was of medium height and build. Strong, without the excessive musculature of some of his peers, grey trimming his short-cropped hair, and dressed in flowing yellow robes of a surprisingly humble design.

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  “Your demand may have started bold, but its fruit is now humble. There are unlikely to be more than a few warriors eligible to join your expedition, let alone interested, and it is therefore unlikely that we,” at this he gestured both arms to encompass the entire council, “will be granting much of a boon at all…”

  “We cannot allow our reputation to suffer, since you did fight bravely and obtain a position of honour among our clans. It has also come to my attention, and that of the council’s, that one of your opponents was using profane methods with which to enhance themselves. This is not acceptable.”

  I looked on in surprise, unsure how this would proceed. It wasn’t exactly good news that there were few we could recruit from, but even a single 2nd tier warrior was a substantial increase to our current power. Besides, it felt as if the man was building to something.

  “We cannot have our hospitality questioned or besmirched by your experiences, and I see only two ways to present this. If we are unwilling to execute you now-”

  I blanched at that, and some of the horror must have shown on my face, for he hurried on with his decree a tad faster than before.

  “Which I can assure you that we are,” a quick hard glare at one of the men on the council before he turned back to address me once more. “Then we must remedy the situation. It would not be proper for us to grant a tangible reward in addition to your boon, but information is something we can share for free…”

  I waited somewhat impatiently while the man held the crowd’s anticipation at bay. Clearly, despite doing me a solid favour, this was mostly a way to curry favour with whatever factions within the clans were to be impressed with displays of generosity to outsiders. Perhaps it was simply important to show the younger generation, and possibly their close relatives, that ample rewards were given for reaching a good position in The Blending?

  “The Titan’s Crown is a sacred place. Its holy waters nourish the land, and places of power form in abundance around and beneath this blessed basin. To the west you will find the Lost Grove, and its bounty shall be yours if you are deemed worthy to claim it.”

  I was surprised by the abrupt turn back towards more ritualised language but had enough of my wits to bow appreciatively and give my thanks, before retreating back to my place among the crowd.

  The ceremony continued on for another half a bell before I was interrupted by a shuffling in the crowd behind me. I turned around, by this point eager for any distraction from the monotony. There were a few disgruntled murmurs as people were softly pushed aside, and moments later a figure had moved to stand by my side.

  Sadrianna looked at me out of the corner of her eye, a small smile on her face. She was nominally watching the ceremony like the rest of us in the front few rows, but she leaned over slightly to whisper conspiratorially to me as the Council of Elders continued their ceremony.

  “Congratulations on your placing. Impressed with your prize?”

  I sighed quietly before speaking. “Honestly, I have no fucking idea what that guy was on about.”

  She laughed then, and quickly snapped her mouth shut after a hard look from an older woman to her left. Doing her best to look contrite, she whispered back, “I thought as much. You looked confused as all hells, but don’t worry. Father was playing up the drama for the crowd, but he’s asked me to give you the rundown on this Lost Grove.”

  I looked at her in surprise then, and she simply nodded, saying, “come”, before beckoning me over. I followed her back through the crowd, and we strolled on towards the Basin of Tears, as the lake around which clan White-Cliff’s camp was located was named.

  She told me about the Grove in light detail – a small copse of trees within a sinkhole, brimming with mana and magic – and assured me that she would escort me to and from it whenever I was ready. She refused to tell me more about what I would find there and why it counted as a reward however – apparently Jorge had determined that it would be better for me to discover on my own. Even this was just another plot masterminded by that annoying old man, apparently.

  We made pleasant small talk as we wandered, and I asked after the fallout from her botched scouting mission where we first met. She lost a bit of her cheeriness after that, so I decided to cheer her up by telling her all about last night. At the mention of Alfie, I noticed her curl her lip slightly, but when Alker entered the story, she grinned once more.

  “He didn’t!?” she laughed as I described my temporary employment as a doll in the big man’s hands.

  “He did! Threw me around like a baby. Told her to keep her grubby little mittens off of my innocent face, or something of the like” I said, smiling at the memory.

  “Ha! He’s right too, you don’t want to get tangled up with Alfie. She’s got a sharp tongue, that one. How’s your friend holding up? The one with the knee?” she asked.

  I filled her in on Nathlan’s progress and we made it back to the camp shortly afterwards.

  It had been a pleasant morning spent with Jorge, Vera, Nathlan and Sadrianna in our shared tent. We’d eaten and chatted, and Jorge had spent some time with me reviewing my options for which skill to eliminate if I was to be granted a 2nd late skill – something we both thought was likely.

  It was good to see Nathlan up and around again. He was still being careful – Vera watched him like a hawk and anytime he tried to move too fast or without support, she was there to glare him back into submission, but he was moving under his own weight, at least.

  The physical damage had been mostly repaired, but the muscles around the joint, and more worryingly tendons and ligaments, needed time to strengthen once again before he could be said to be anywhere approaching healed.

  I had attempted to introduce Sadrianna to everyone, but it turned out she was already familiar with Vera and Jorge, and Nathlan was a relatively closed-off person to those he did not know well. I expected the pain wasn’t helping in that regard as well.

  It quickly turned into me begging Jorge to tell me what was happening and what the Lost Grove was, and Jorge refusing to answer in anything but asinine riddles and nonsense truisms.

  “Please?”

  “If one must ask the question, are they truly ready for the answer?”

  “I hate you.”

  Eventually he relented though, as do all when faced with my assault of childlike enthusiasm. The Lost Grove was the key to me reaching the 2nd tier. I needed to fight a few more enemies, gain some more experience and level up to the peak of the 1st tier, and a trek through wilderness with a destination in mind was a sure-fire way to facilitate that goal.

  More importantly though, once I reached the peak of 1st tier, I would need to achieve a feat of sufficient renown that The System recognised my worthiness and granted me access to 2nd tier classes. There were many types of feat; crafting a powerful item, defeating a powerful enemy, achieving a high rank within a storied organisation. All had one thing in common though – they had to ring with significance and be tied to your class.

  I would find the means of achieving such a feat within the Lost Grove, according to Jorge at least, and I was about to find out how.

  “Right Lamb. I believe I promised you a piece of a weapon, aye?”